I was not prepared for the reversal of roles in the John Prine song “Everybody.” It describes a chance encounter with Jesus.
While out sailing on the ocean, while out sailing on the sea:
Bumped into the Saviour. He said, “Pardon me.”
I said, “Jesus, you look tired.” He said, “Jesus, so do you.
Oh, sit down son ‘cause I got some fat to chew”
Thus began a lengthy counseling session, except—the person needing to unload his concerns was, surprise, Jesus himself.
Well, he spoke to me of morality, starvation, pain, and sin.
Matter of fact, the whole dang time I only got a few words in.
But I won’t squawk; let ‘im talk. Hell, it’s been a long, long time.
Any friend that’s been turned down is bound to be a friend of mine.
The idea of Jesus needing somebody to talk to had never crossed my mind. I had always assumed it was you and I and people like us who needed the listening ear of another: a counselor, a therapist, a pastor. In fact, I had been trained as a listener to the troubles of others.
But Jesus as a person seeking a sympathetic ear? This was a fresh take on Jesus, one that caught me off guard. But, I must confess, it was one that immediately appealed to me.
I raised the matter with Diana Butler Bass.
We were talking (in The Meetinghouse, of course) about her new book Freeing Jesus in which she traces her own spiritual journey as a series of relationships with Jesus. She identifies six different people she called Jesus, beginning with her preschool Friend, and moving to her childhood Teacher, her adolescent Savior, her collegiate Lord, her adult Way, and finally her mature Presence.
“I can think of another six versions of Jesus,” I said; and I named Jesus as Warrior, Therapist, Icon, Fraud, Santa Claus, and God. It was Jesus as Fraud I really wanted to talk about, remembering Tim Sledge and his book Goodbye Jesus (wherein he recounts his journey away from Church, Jesus, and finally God!) She, on the other hand, fixed on Jesus as Warrior and took the dialogue in that direction.
But her book and our conversation helped me understand why I was so thoroughly converted to the music of John Prine when first I was introduced to him on June 12 of last year (more than two months after he died of the COVID at age 73).
I had traveled with every Jesus she described and was, apparently, ready for his next iteration, one that could speak into the chaos of my own life as well as address the conditions of the body politic caught in the grip of a vicious pandemic.
John Prine gave me a fresh way to see the Jesus I’ve loved and studied all my life. In some cases, like in the “Everybody” song quoted above and below, the Jesus he presents is fresh, inventive, invigorating, yet surprisingly familiar.
In “Spanish Pipedream,” Prine uses a modern setting to highlight a practice featured in the biblical accounts—a spiritual leader hobnobbing with outcasts. In the song, a man visits a topless bar only to receive some gospel-infused advice from one of the dancers:
Blow up your TV, throw away your paper, go to the country, build you a home.
Plant a little garden, eat a lot of peaches, try an’ find Jesus on your own.
Here Prine invokes the Jesus who was at home among sinners as well as saints, who irritated religious authorities by socializing with unclean people, whose avenue to authentic spirituality detoured around religious institutions such as temples and churches.
The song ends with the thirsty man and the topless therapist hooking up to follow her advice:
We blew up our TV, threw away our paper, went to the country, built us a home.
Had a lot of children, fed ’em on peaches: they all found Jesus on their own.
And in his live concerts, Prine always added, “Everyone one of them!”
This Jesus is both quirky and strangely authentic, offering to me, late in life, a Jesus I had never encountered but had always admired, one with the disposition to connect with us especially in the unexpected (and unwanted) episodes of life.
Who wouldn’t like the One John Prine describes in verse three and chorus of his wonderful “Everybody” song?
Now we sat there for an hour or two just a-eatin’ that Gospel pie.
When around the bend come a terrible wind and lightning lit the sky.
He said, “So long son, I gotta run. I appreciate you listening to me”
And I believe I heard him sing these words as he skipped out across the sea:
Everybody needs somebody that they can talk to,
Someone to open up their ears and let that trouble through.
Now you don’t have to sympathize or care what they may do;
But everybody needs somebody that they can talk to.
I’m glad I bumped into this Jesus, and I hope to write more about him as I continue my deep dive into the life and lyrics of the late John Prine!
I was not prepared for the reversal of roles in the John Prine song “Everybody.” It describes a chance encounter with Jesus.
While out sailing on the ocean, while out sailing on the sea:
Bumped into the Saviour. He said, “Pardon me.”
I said, “Jesus, you look tired.” He said, “Jesus, so do you.
Oh, sit down son ‘cause I got some fat to chew”
Thus began a lengthy counseling session, except—the person needing to unload his concerns was, surprise, Jesus himself.
Well, he spoke to me of morality, starvation, pain, and sin.
Matter of fact, the whole dang time I only got a few words in.
But I won’t squawk; let ‘im talk. Hell, it’s been a long, long time.
Any friend that’s been turned down is bound to be a friend of mine.
The idea of Jesus needing somebody to talk to had never crossed my mind. I had always assumed it was you and I and people like us who needed the listening ear of another: a counselor, a therapist, a pastor. In fact, I had been trained as a listener to the troubles of others.
But Jesus as a person seeking a sympathetic ear? This was a fresh take on Jesus, one that caught me off guard. But, I must confess, it was one that immediately appealed to me.
I raised the matter with Diana Butler Bass.
We were talking (in The Meetinghouse, of course) about her new book Freeing Jesus in which she traces her own spiritual journey as a series of relationships with Jesus. She identifies six different people she called Jesus, beginning with her preschool Friend, and moving to her childhood Teacher, her adolescent Savior, her collegiate Lord, her adult Way, and finally her mature Presence.
“I can think of another six versions of Jesus,” I said; and I named Jesus as Warrior, Therapist, Icon, Fraud, Santa Claus, and God. It was Jesus as Fraud I really wanted to talk about, remembering Tim Sledge and his book Goodbye Jesus (wherein he recounts his journey away from Church, Jesus, and finally God!) She, on the other hand, fixed on Jesus as Warrior and took the dialogue in that direction.
But her book and our conversation helped me understand why I was so thoroughly converted to the music of John Prine when first I was introduced to him on June 12 of last year (more than two months after he died of the COVID at age 73).
I had traveled with every Jesus she described and was, apparently, ready for his next iteration, one that could speak into the chaos of my own life as well as address the conditions of the body politic caught in the grip of a vicious pandemic.
John Prine gave me a fresh way to see the Jesus I’ve loved and studied all my life. In some cases, like in the “Everybody” song quoted above and below, the Jesus he presents is fresh, inventive, invigorating, yet surprisingly familiar.
In “Spanish Pipedream,” Prine uses a modern setting to highlight a practice featured in the biblical accounts—a spiritual leader hobnobbing with outcasts. In the song, a man visits a topless bar only to receive some gospel-infused advice from one of the dancers:
Blow up your TV, throw away your paper, go to the country, build you a home.
Plant a little garden, eat a lot of peaches, try an’ find Jesus on your own.
Here Prine invokes the Jesus who was at home among sinners as well as saints, who irritated religious authorities by socializing with unclean people, whose avenue to authentic spirituality detoured around religious institutions such as temples and churches.
The song ends with the thirsty man and the topless therapist hooking up to follow her advice:
We blew up our TV, threw away our paper, went to the country, built us a home.
Had a lot of children, fed ’em on peaches: they all found Jesus on their own.
And in his live concerts, Prine always added, “Everyone one of them!”
This Jesus is both quirky and strangely authentic, offering to me, late in life, a Jesus I had never encountered but had always admired, one with the disposition to connect with us especially in the unexpected (and unwanted) episodes of life.
Who wouldn’t like the One John Prine describes in verse three and chorus of his wonderful “Everybody” song?
Now we sat there for an hour or two just a-eatin’ that Gospel pie.
When around the bend come a terrible wind and lightning lit the sky.
He said, “So long son, I gotta run. I appreciate you listening to me”
And I believe I heard him sing these words as he skipped out across the sea:
Everybody needs somebody that they can talk to,
Someone to open up their ears and let that trouble through.
Now you don’t have to sympathize or care what they may do;
But everybody needs somebody that they can talk to.
I’m glad I bumped into this Jesus, and I hope to write more about him as I continue my deep dive into the life and lyrics of the late John Prine!
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