A paper presented to the Christian Scholars Conference, June 9, 2023
Our theme “What Will Be Our Future?” gives us opportunity to consider the role of artists in both remembering the past and appropriating what we remember to help shape the future. Much of the future-casting in our culture is dominated by, on the one hand, technology, especially artificial intelligence, and, on the other hand, politics, both national and global. In between these significant social forces are the artists, of all kinds: creating and engaging, performing and presenting, coaching and critiquing. They—we—offer a different way to imagine the future and embrace the powers that can lead us to a more humane community.
John Prine illustrates just this sort of artist. A native of Chicago but with much Kentucky blood running through his veins and, later, a long-time resident of Nashville, Prine took his blue-collar life and childhood Christian experience and molded them into a compelling and memorable vision of what life could be: playful and gentle, humorous and helpful, creative and compassionate, and memorable in all the best ways.[1]
Prine died three years ago, of the COVID; and I first discovered him two months after his death, thus three years ago this month.
The song “Spanish Pipedream” illustrates much of the religious imagery and humor in the songwriting of John Prine (1947-2020).[2] First, it employs the name of Jesus, in the chorus, when the soldier is encouraged to:
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 and find Jesus on your own.
Second, it sets this invitation to follow Jesus in a decidedly un-churchy venue—a topless bar. Hardly any of Prine’s lyrics conjure up a traditional religious or sacramental setting of any sort.
Third, Prine’s religious vision infuses the entire text with a humorous, even playful feel, as when the call to follow Jesus comes from a topless dancer described as “having something up her sleeve.”
These things demonstrate the frequency of religious imagery in the lyrics of John Prine, the seriousness with which he takes the fundamental Christian message, and the playful disposition he has in all creative circumstances, including that involving the most serious of religious ideas and practices (in this case, the imitation of Jesus).
I.
It may be hard to find an essentially secular singer-songwriter that incorporates more religious ideas and instincts than John Prine. What I mean is this: Prine is not a “Christian artist” in the sense that he is writing for a religious audience or a religious venue. Neither was he known as a church-attending person, even though there was much of that during his childhood in Chicago (and Kentucky).
Nevertheless, his songs are full of religious, biblical, and Christian language.
Here is a sampling.
In the song, “Grandpa Was a Carpenter,” Prine describes this Sunday ritual when the family traveled from Chicago back to their home territory in Muhlenberg County, Kentucky.[3]
Well, he’d drive to church on Sunday.
And he’d take me with him, too.
Stain glass in every window,
Hearing aids in every pew.
The song “Sweet Revenge” describes three situations where some sort of lighthearted “revenge” was in order. One was about the milkman, another described an episode on an airplane, but the one claiming our attention is taken from a famous biblical story:
I got kicked off Noah’s Ark.
I turn my cheek to unkind remarks.
There was two of everything, but one of me.
And when the rains came tumbling down,
I held my breath and I stood my ground,
And I watched that ship go sailing out to sea.
Finally, there is this odd piece, his rendition of the song of another artist. It tells the story of a conversion of a person on his way to play in what was likely a nightclub band. He is interrupted by another band, a street band—perhaps a Salvation Army group—playing their own song. Here is the whole story, two verses of lyrics.
While walking out one evening, not knowing where to go,
Just to pass the time away before we held our show,
I heard a little mission band, playing with all their might.
I give my soul to Jesus and left the show that night.
The day will soon be over, and evening will be done.
And no more gems be gathered, so let us all press on.
When Jesus comes to claim us and says it is enough,
The diamonds will be shining, no longer in the rough.
It is a difficult task to explain why this song, so religious and so serious, so appealed to John Prine, enough that he would rewrite much of the text and include it on one of his albums. In this instance, he named the whole album “Diamonds in the Rough.”[4]
II.
John Prine took religion seriously, not necessarily as a public ritual (like church attendance) but as a life performance. His music extolled the virtues of the Christian religion and also critiqued those who embraced the public ritual but disobeyed the lived performance.
Nothing illustrates this double-sided approach to religion like the song “Flag Decal.” Here is the chorus:
But your flag decal won’t get you into Heaven anymore.
They’re already overcrowded from your dirty little war.
Now Jesus don’t like killin’, no matter what the reason’s for.
And your flag decal won’t get you into Heaven anymore.
The song, reflecting his moral formation during the anti-war period of the 1960s, takes seriously the prophetic stance of Jesus (and the Hebrew prophets) against killing as well as the too-easy equation of church and culture, of waving the Christian flag and the American flag at the same time.
Another song, “Billy the Bum,” describes a person “with two twisted legs and a childhood disease” as “a gentle boy, a real florescent light: cried pennies on Sunday morning, laughed nickels on Saturday night.” But all around this double-line description of the boy living down by the railroad tracks, is the story that reveals, again, Prine’s disdain for much of organized religion:
Now some folks a-wait and some folks a-pray
For Jesus to rise up again.
But none of these folks in their holy cloaks
Ever took Billy on as a friend.
For pity’s a crime, it ain’t worth a dime
To a person who’s really in need.
Just treat ’em the same as you would your own name
Next time that your heart starts to bleed.
This critique of religion comes through with equal power in the lament titled “Some Humans Ain’t Human.” It includes a general observation about humanity (and a specific application to a certain demographic:
Some humans ain’t human;
Some people ain’t kind.
You open up their hearts,
And here’s what you’ll find.
A few frozen pizzas,
Some ice cubes with hair,
A broken popsicle,
You don’t wanna go there.
You might go to church;
You sit down in a pew.
Those humans who ain’t human
Could be sittin’ right next to you.
They talk about your family,
They talk about your clothes.
When they don’t know their own ass
From their own elbows.
These Prine songs illustrate his critiques, humorous as they are, of dominant social and religious customs. Another such song, one I cannot describe further, is his version of the one-time popular kitsch song entitled “Plastic Jesus.”[5]
III.
There were some religious ideas or doctrines that Prine embraced wholeheartedly, and none of these was more powerful in his life and his music than the idea (and hope) of heaven.
Consider this, one of his most famous songs, half spoken, half song, but always remembered with a smile:
When I get to heaven, I’m gonna shake God’s hand,
Thank Him for more blessings than one man can stand.
Then I’m gonna get a guitar and start a rock and roll band,
Check into a swell hotel; ain’t the afterlife grand?
And then I’m gonna get a cocktail, vodka and ginger ale.
Yeah, I’m gonna smoke a cigarette that’s nine miles long.
I’m gonna kiss that pretty girl on the Tilt-a-whirl,
‘Cause this old man is goin’ to town.
The song ends up with a testimony of sorts. He describes how his dad (William Mason Prine, 1915-1971) always told him one thing about the afterlife while his own faith promised him something else.
I miss them all like crazy, bless their little hearts.
And I always will remember these words my daddy said.
He said, “Buddy, when you’re dead, you’re a dead pecker-head.”
I hope to prove him wrong, that is, when I get to heaven.
You might also like
‘Cause I’m gonna have a cocktail, vodka and ginger ale.
Yeah I’m gonna smoke a cigarette that’s nine miles long.
I’m gonna kiss that pretty girl on the Tilt-a-whirl.
Yeah this old man is goin’ to town.
Yeah this old man is goin’ to town.
Artists have a way of helping us see familiar things from a new angle or pushing us to reshape what we have always thought or believed. Nowhere does this calling of the artist come into play more than in John Prine’s song, “Everybody.” It is humorous, profoundly serious, and thoroughly original. Normally, we think of people talking to Jesus, telling the Savior their problems: but not so in this version. It is Jesus that needs somebody to talk to.
It is worth printing the entire text, recognizing that this song incorporates and illustrates most of the features of John Prine’s music that I have tried to describe in this article.
PLAY “EVERYBODY”
While out sailing on the ocean, while out sailing on the sea
I bumped into the Savior and He said, “Pardon me”
I said, “Jesus, you look tired”, he said, “Jesus, so do you
Won’t you sit down, son ’cause I got some fat to chew?”
See, 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.
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 him talk, hell, it’s been a long, long time,
And any friend that’s been turned down is bound to be a friend of mine.
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:
Hey, 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.[6]
I pray that our future as members of the human community and as members of the Christian community will include as much true religion, genuine humility, impressive creativity, and pleasant humor as the lyrics and the life of the late, great John Prine.
Dr. Dwight A. Moody is a veteran pastor, professor, administrator, and social entrepreneur who launched The Meetinghouse Inc in 1998 as a media platform for conversation on religion and American Life. He is a scholar who holds the PhD in systematic theology and has written six books and edited five others. This is his second article about John Prine; see note 6 above.
[1] There is still insufficient research into the life and times of John Prine. His longtime friend and collaborator Holly Gleason has written the first book to be published since his death. Prine on Prine: Interviews and Encounters with John Prine will be available in September of 2023.
[2] The use of the word “Spanish” here is a mystery (at least to me), as is a similar adjective in the title of his wonderful song about the death of his father, “Mexican Home.”
[3] The people of Muhlenberg County, Kentucky, have taken to heart their connection to Prine. There is both a public park named in his honor and an annual musical event. Upon his death, some of his ashes were scattered in the Green River, which drains much of western Kentucky into the Ohio River. For many years, the space once occupied by the town of Paradise was used as a coal-powered electricity-producing plant. Now, it is being demolished and the terrain is being restored to its original position, per federal law. It seems to be just the place for a new federal or state park, named in honor of the late, great John Prine.
[4] This song by Prine is a shortened rendition of an old mountain ballad, sung by, among others, the Carter Family and Willie Nelson); it is not to be confused with the 2008 album (or its 2020 remaster) of the heavy metal group Avenged Sevenfold or the even earlier television show hosted by Barry J. Farber.
[5] This song pokes fun at the practice of some to post on their car dashboard a small Jesus figurine, made of plastic, of course!
[6] See also Dr. Moody’s article “Eating That Gospel Pie” in the fall 2022 edition of Christian Ethics Today (www.christianethicstoday.com).
A paper presented to the Christian Scholars Conference, June 9, 2023
Our theme “What Will Be Our Future?” gives us opportunity to consider the role of artists in both remembering the past and appropriating what we remember to help shape the future. Much of the future-casting in our culture is dominated by, on the one hand, technology, especially artificial intelligence, and, on the other hand, politics, both national and global. In between these significant social forces are the artists, of all kinds: creating and engaging, performing and presenting, coaching and critiquing. They—we—offer a different way to imagine the future and embrace the powers that can lead us to a more humane community.
John Prine illustrates just this sort of artist. A native of Chicago but with much Kentucky blood running through his veins and, later, a long-time resident of Nashville, Prine took his blue-collar life and childhood Christian experience and molded them into a compelling and memorable vision of what life could be: playful and gentle, humorous and helpful, creative and compassionate, and memorable in all the best ways.[1]
Prine died three years ago, of the COVID; and I first discovered him two months after his death, thus three years ago this month.
The song “Spanish Pipedream” illustrates much of the religious imagery and humor in the songwriting of John Prine (1947-2020).[2] First, it employs the name of Jesus, in the chorus, when the soldier is encouraged to:
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 and find Jesus on your own.
Second, it sets this invitation to follow Jesus in a decidedly un-churchy venue—a topless bar. Hardly any of Prine’s lyrics conjure up a traditional religious or sacramental setting of any sort.
Third, Prine’s religious vision infuses the entire text with a humorous, even playful feel, as when the call to follow Jesus comes from a topless dancer described as “having something up her sleeve.”
These things demonstrate the frequency of religious imagery in the lyrics of John Prine, the seriousness with which he takes the fundamental Christian message, and the playful disposition he has in all creative circumstances, including that involving the most serious of religious ideas and practices (in this case, the imitation of Jesus).
I.
It may be hard to find an essentially secular singer-songwriter that incorporates more religious ideas and instincts than John Prine. What I mean is this: Prine is not a “Christian artist” in the sense that he is writing for a religious audience or a religious venue. Neither was he known as a church-attending person, even though there was much of that during his childhood in Chicago (and Kentucky).
Nevertheless, his songs are full of religious, biblical, and Christian language.
Here is a sampling.
In the song, “Grandpa Was a Carpenter,” Prine describes this Sunday ritual when the family traveled from Chicago back to their home territory in Muhlenberg County, Kentucky.[3]
Well, he’d drive to church on Sunday.
And he’d take me with him, too.
Stain glass in every window,
Hearing aids in every pew.
The song “Sweet Revenge” describes three situations where some sort of lighthearted “revenge” was in order. One was about the milkman, another described an episode on an airplane, but the one claiming our attention is taken from a famous biblical story:
I got kicked off Noah’s Ark.
I turn my cheek to unkind remarks.
There was two of everything, but one of me.
And when the rains came tumbling down,
I held my breath and I stood my ground,
And I watched that ship go sailing out to sea.
Finally, there is this odd piece, his rendition of the song of another artist. It tells the story of a conversion of a person on his way to play in what was likely a nightclub band. He is interrupted by another band, a street band—perhaps a Salvation Army group—playing their own song. Here is the whole story, two verses of lyrics.
While walking out one evening, not knowing where to go,
Just to pass the time away before we held our show,
I heard a little mission band, playing with all their might.
I give my soul to Jesus and left the show that night.
The day will soon be over, and evening will be done.
And no more gems be gathered, so let us all press on.
When Jesus comes to claim us and says it is enough,
The diamonds will be shining, no longer in the rough.
It is a difficult task to explain why this song, so religious and so serious, so appealed to John Prine, enough that he would rewrite much of the text and include it on one of his albums. In this instance, he named the whole album “Diamonds in the Rough.”[4]
II.
John Prine took religion seriously, not necessarily as a public ritual (like church attendance) but as a life performance. His music extolled the virtues of the Christian religion and also critiqued those who embraced the public ritual but disobeyed the lived performance.
Nothing illustrates this double-sided approach to religion like the song “Flag Decal.” Here is the chorus:
But your flag decal won’t get you into Heaven anymore.
They’re already overcrowded from your dirty little war.
Now Jesus don’t like killin’, no matter what the reason’s for.
And your flag decal won’t get you into Heaven anymore.
The song, reflecting his moral formation during the anti-war period of the 1960s, takes seriously the prophetic stance of Jesus (and the Hebrew prophets) against killing as well as the too-easy equation of church and culture, of waving the Christian flag and the American flag at the same time.
Another song, “Billy the Bum,” describes a person “with two twisted legs and a childhood disease” as “a gentle boy, a real florescent light: cried pennies on Sunday morning, laughed nickels on Saturday night.” But all around this double-line description of the boy living down by the railroad tracks, is the story that reveals, again, Prine’s disdain for much of organized religion:
Now some folks a-wait and some folks a-pray
For Jesus to rise up again.
But none of these folks in their holy cloaks
Ever took Billy on as a friend.
For pity’s a crime, it ain’t worth a dime
To a person who’s really in need.
Just treat ’em the same as you would your own name
Next time that your heart starts to bleed.
This critique of religion comes through with equal power in the lament titled “Some Humans Ain’t Human.” It includes a general observation about humanity (and a specific application to a certain demographic:
Some humans ain’t human;
Some people ain’t kind.
You open up their hearts,
And here’s what you’ll find.
A few frozen pizzas,
Some ice cubes with hair,
A broken popsicle,
You don’t wanna go there.
You might go to church;
You sit down in a pew.
Those humans who ain’t human
Could be sittin’ right next to you.
They talk about your family,
They talk about your clothes.
When they don’t know their own ass
From their own elbows.
These Prine songs illustrate his critiques, humorous as they are, of dominant social and religious customs. Another such song, one I cannot describe further, is his version of the one-time popular kitsch song entitled “Plastic Jesus.”[5]
III.
There were some religious ideas or doctrines that Prine embraced wholeheartedly, and none of these was more powerful in his life and his music than the idea (and hope) of heaven.
Consider this, one of his most famous songs, half spoken, half song, but always remembered with a smile:
When I get to heaven, I’m gonna shake God’s hand,
Thank Him for more blessings than one man can stand.
Then I’m gonna get a guitar and start a rock and roll band,
Check into a swell hotel; ain’t the afterlife grand?
And then I’m gonna get a cocktail, vodka and ginger ale.
Yeah, I’m gonna smoke a cigarette that’s nine miles long.
I’m gonna kiss that pretty girl on the Tilt-a-whirl,
‘Cause this old man is goin’ to town.
The song ends up with a testimony of sorts. He describes how his dad (William Mason Prine, 1915-1971) always told him one thing about the afterlife while his own faith promised him something else.
I miss them all like crazy, bless their little hearts.
And I always will remember these words my daddy said.
He said, “Buddy, when you’re dead, you’re a dead pecker-head.”
I hope to prove him wrong, that is, when I get to heaven.
You might also like
‘Cause I’m gonna have a cocktail, vodka and ginger ale.
Yeah I’m gonna smoke a cigarette that’s nine miles long.
I’m gonna kiss that pretty girl on the Tilt-a-whirl.
Yeah this old man is goin’ to town.
Yeah this old man is goin’ to town.
Artists have a way of helping us see familiar things from a new angle or pushing us to reshape what we have always thought or believed. Nowhere does this calling of the artist come into play more than in John Prine’s song, “Everybody.” It is humorous, profoundly serious, and thoroughly original. Normally, we think of people talking to Jesus, telling the Savior their problems: but not so in this version. It is Jesus that needs somebody to talk to.
It is worth printing the entire text, recognizing that this song incorporates and illustrates most of the features of John Prine’s music that I have tried to describe in this article.
PLAY “EVERYBODY”
While out sailing on the ocean, while out sailing on the sea
I bumped into the Savior and He said, “Pardon me”
I said, “Jesus, you look tired”, he said, “Jesus, so do you
Won’t you sit down, son ’cause I got some fat to chew?”
See, 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.
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 him talk, hell, it’s been a long, long time,
And any friend that’s been turned down is bound to be a friend of mine.
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:
Hey, 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.[6]
I pray that our future as members of the human community and as members of the Christian community will include as much true religion, genuine humility, impressive creativity, and pleasant humor as the lyrics and the life of the late, great John Prine.
Dr. Dwight A. Moody is a veteran pastor, professor, administrator, and social entrepreneur who launched The Meetinghouse Inc in 1998 as a media platform for conversation on religion and American Life. He is a scholar who holds the PhD in systematic theology and has written six books and edited five others. This is his second article about John Prine; see note 6 above.
[1] There is still insufficient research into the life and times of John Prine. His longtime friend and collaborator Holly Gleason has written the first book to be published since his death. Prine on Prine: Interviews and Encounters with John Prine will be available in September of 2023.
[2] The use of the word “Spanish” here is a mystery (at least to me), as is a similar adjective in the title of his wonderful song about the death of his father, “Mexican Home.”
[3] The people of Muhlenberg County, Kentucky, have taken to heart their connection to Prine. There is both a public park named in his honor and an annual musical event. Upon his death, some of his ashes were scattered in the Green River, which drains much of western Kentucky into the Ohio River. For many years, the space once occupied by the town of Paradise was used as a coal-powered electricity-producing plant. Now, it is being demolished and the terrain is being restored to its original position, per federal law. It seems to be just the place for a new federal or state park, named in honor of the late, great John Prine.
[4] This song by Prine is a shortened rendition of an old mountain ballad, sung by, among others, the Carter Family and Willie Nelson); it is not to be confused with the 2008 album (or its 2020 remaster) of the heavy metal group Avenged Sevenfold or the even earlier television show hosted by Barry J. Farber.
[5] This song pokes fun at the practice of some to post on their car dashboard a small Jesus figurine, made of plastic, of course!
[6] See also Dr. Moody’s article “Eating That Gospel Pie” in the fall 2022 edition of Christian Ethics Today (www.christianethicstoday.com).
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