the beast in all of us
I’ve just finished reading Steve Turner’s biography of Johnny Cash, and it’s got me wondering. How on earth did a man who was so blunt and direct about his faith remain so respected by, well, pretty much everybody?
I mean, Cash didn’t approach being a Christian in the music world like Sufjan Stevens, throwing in songs about Abraham and the transfiguration among all kinds of other stuff, and then refusing to talk about his faith in interview. He didn’t even approach it like Bono, with shovelfuls of irony and subtlety and poetic indirectness. He was just a big-Bible gospel-preaching, hell-fearing believer and he didn’t care who knew it. This was a guy who stood on stage with Billy Graham and called the masses to repent. The last album he released before his death began with an apocalyptic song about the day of judgment, warning that “everyone won’t be treated all the same, when The Man comes around.”
And yet this is a man loved and revered and spoken of as a legend by everyone from Bob Dylan to Jonny Depp to Bruce Springsteen to Tim Robbins to Nick Cave. How can people who are full of contempt for most figures of America’s religious establishment be so ready to shower Johnny Cash with praise?
My guess is that there are two connected reasons. One is that Johnny Cash was not afraid to talk and sing about the darker side of life. As Steve Turner observes in another book, Christians have often preferred to produce and consume art with a kind of “Pollyanna quality,” pictures of kittens and sunsets, positive and upbuilding songs – art that seems to take place in an almost unfallen world, where any problems that arise are trivial and easily overcome.
Johnny Cash was willing to wrestle with the shadow side of life, and he sang songs about poverty and hardship, murder and infidelity, addiction and violence, loss and loneliness. He explained his now iconic habit of dressing all in black like this:
Oh, I’d love to wear a rainbow every day,
And tell the world that everything’s OK,
But I’ll try to carry off a little darkness on my back,
Till things are brighter, I’m the Man in Black.
The second reason is that Cash identified himself, in the present, with the darkness that he saw in the world. He had personally lived a pretty wild life that included plenty of addiction, infidelity, violence and loss. But his posture as he engaged with people was never one that implied, “I used to be like you. You are a mess. You need Jesus.” He was always aware of the darkness in his own heart, his present capacity for selfishness and stupidity and sin. Even at the end of his life he sang with deep conviction about “The Beast in Me,” borrowing words from Nick Lowe but making them sound like only he could have written them.
So what he conveyed to everyone he met was, “We are broken and stupid and selfish and weak. We need Jesus.” He met the world with open hands and not a pointing finger. He somehow managed to sing gospel songs to prisoners without coming across as self-righteous and judgmental. They loved him and saw him as one of them.
Maybe the rest of us need to learn to face the darkness in the world with a bit of honesty, and especially the darkness in our own hearts. Then the world might want to listen to our songs and stories too.
Andy Neill says:
September 17th, 2007 at 12:05 pm
Am sure you have but check out the autobiography. Brilliant to hear him talk about himself in his darker times, as no less the Christian that he ended up being. Indeed it was his dark desperation that provided his sole contribution and qualification for salvation – his sin.
Enjoy the blogs by the way, keep it up.
beardy bastard says:
September 17th, 2007 at 8:54 pm
just recently bought “live at san quentin” and i can’t think of anyone else i admire more. funny, chaotic, authentic – genius.
you’re still a pretentious f**ker though
David Williamson says:
September 21st, 2007 at 10:46 am
It’s interesting that many of the great things that can be said about Cash also apply to Steve Turner, his biographer. In the distinct worlds of rock journalism and religious writing he has built a reputation for honesty and insight which is scarcely rivalled.
His achievement is not only to critique the sacharrine (is that how you spell it) of Christendom’s cultural output, but to remedy the situation with great work that transcends the sacred/spiritual divide.
I think this presents a challenge for all of us who are in the community of the church and prone to agitated moments.
It’s 13 years since Mark Noll wrote – with very good reason – The Scandal of the Evangelical Mind.
Since then we’ve churned out critiques of the loopy aspects of dispensationalism, the dangnabit craziness of prospertiy theology and the danger of allying Christianity with political agendae.
For the past decade Christian low culture has been dominated by pulpy dross, but the degree-holding class has characterised itself by what it is not.
This could be just an adolescent stage in the emergence of a more mature spirituality as a generation noisily and stroppily distances itself from its parents. But out of this indignation has yet to come a theology of what people who follow Christ are for.
I reckon it’s time we stopped obsessing about the Falwell era and took a leaf out of Mr Turner’s book/s. Let’s write books, create art, do works and share a message which is drawn out of hope and radically different to what humanism can proffer.
Just as his (and Cash’s) poetry is soaked in the divine but accessible and true to anyone with functioning synapses and a human heart, we need work that engages in the mess and beauty of creation.
jimlad says:
October 9th, 2007 at 12:45 pm
Amen to what David Williamson says…
Now how to do it? A degree holding Christian has generally been trained for thought rather than action. Let’s think about the obstacles, the best way to do it etc, but this won’t get it done.
Like Peter, we will probably fail. I’ve written a song recently that ended up being an evangelical conversation, but is it something people will enjoy? Probably not much, since it’s my first attempt. If you aren’t convinced that it won’t be that good, just read some of the “poetry” on my page before I get rid of it in an attempt to make the web page more reader friendly.
Speaking of getting around to things, It seems like I don’t have time to do what David suggests though I want to do more.
There is no way I can do much. It is up to God.
Do I just leave it there? If I believe it is up to God, I will forget my own understanding and trust in the Lord, and He will set my paths straight.
As Jabercrow says, Johny Cash was open about the dark side of life, like David a man after God’s heart. The degree holding class have the skill, but it’s only engrossed us in academia. We’ve learned the truth of the gospel but we’ve been trained to interact by examination, and so we apply our proud skill to the gospel instead of applying it to ourselves. Living in the knowledge of our brokenness is the one thing that brings us down to earth and gives us the motivation to trust. Let’s trust God and let the world know how weak we are, and laugh at their surprise when despite our fumbling attempts, the world is changed.
I don’t believe that I will ever be a writer or that any art of mine will generate a useful reputation. I am beginning to believe that God is good and I am bad, that all things are possible and that He will grant me an unforeseen place in his victory.
Rachel Gilmore says:
October 16th, 2007 at 10:05 pm
Hi! This is slightly off topic as I’d be rather out of my depth to make any interesting comment on Johnny Cash but I noticed you’re reading the Kite Runner! Great book… Let me know how you enjoy it!