I Feel So Break Up, I Want to Go Home

In 1927, the American Poet Carl Sandburg included a poem called "The John B. Sails" in his compilation of folk songs The American Songbag.  A little over 20 years later, the poem was recorded as a song.  But it wasn't recorded by the group you might be thinking of.  It was first recorded by a group known as The Weavers.  Over the ensuing years, others recorded the song, including Johnny Cash and Dwight Yoakum.  But the most famous recording is probably the one The Beach Boys released in 1966.

The poem (and later the song) tells the story of a sloop named the John B.  According to legend, a Welshman named John Bethel lived in the Colonial Bahamas in the mid 1600's.  His sloop, the John B, later wrecked near Florida.  The wreck of the John B became somewhat famous in the area which inspired the lyrics of the song.

We come on the sloop John B

My grandfather and me

Around Nassau town we do roam

Drinking all night, got into a fight

I feel so break up, I want go to home

Hoist up the John B's sail

See how the mainsail sets

Call for the Captain ashore

Let me go home, let me go home

I want to go home, why won't you let me go home?

I feel so break up, I want to go home

The first mate got drunk

Broke up the people's trunk

The constable had to come and take him away

Sheriff John Stone, why don't you leave me alone?

I feel so break up, I want to go home

Hoist up the John B's sail

See how the mainsail sets

Call for the Captain ashore

Let me go home, let me go home

I want to go home, let me go home

Why don't you let me go home?

I feel so break up, I want to go home

The cook, yeah, he caught the fits

He threw away all my grits

And then he came and he ate up all of my corn

Let me go home, why won't you let me go home?

This is the worst trip since I have been born

So hoist up the John B's sail

See how the mainsail sets

Call for the Captain ashore

Let me go home, let me go home

I want to go home, why don't you let me go home?

I feel so break up, I want to go home. 

Well, folks, this song sums up perfectly my voyage with Covid.  On Sunday, January 9th, my 22 month winning streak of not getting the dreaded disease came to an end.  About 3:30 that afternoon, my throat became scratchy.  As the afternoon wore on, I felt worse and worse.  When Myranda got home that afternoon from seeing patients, I told her of my symptoms.  I'm pretty sure we both knew in the back of our minds what was next.

I made myself a lair in Palynn's bedroom since it is isolated from the rest of the house and has a bathroom near it that everyone else could avoid.  Palynn moved in with Emma.  When I woke up Monday morning, I was much worse.  After a several hours long trek throughout Abilene, we finally were able to get a home test.  As soon as I put the drops on the test strip, two lines lit up.  The last time I saw lines like that on a test strip, it was good news.  It meant that we were positive for a baby.  This time, not so much.

By Monday night, I was absolutely miserable.  Chills, check.  Fever, check.  Sore throat, check.  Headache, check.  Cough and congestion, check and check.  Awaking on Tuesday, I had high hopes.  But alas, no.  I was still miserable.  Now, new symptoms had appeared.  Muscle aches so severe I thought I would die.  My eyes felt swollen with pain.  A flash of burning agony shot up from my jaw into my inner ear.  And the strangest prickle would randomly come alive in my nostrils.  I suffered through Tuesday lying on the bed like a lump of illformed clay that would never be useful again.

Wednesday morning, there was a miracle.  I felt better; not worse.  I still had a lot of fatigue, but I was able to sit up.  I made some calls, checked in with the Aldersgate staff, and sent out some texts.  I was even able to enjoy a meal.  Last night when I went to bed, I was so glad that the journey was coming to an end.  Then I woke up this morning.

As soon as I did, I knew things weren't better.  The Covid headache was back.  In fact, it's still with me even as a write.  But the symptom that I've dreaded the most, the one symptom I hadn't had and didn't want to get, it was waiting silently in the wings.  I had made myself a steaming cup of strong coffee and a delicate slice of perfectly seasoned cinnamon toast.  At the time, I didn't notice that the aroma of cinnamon wafting from the oven was missing.  I sat down to enjoy a leisurely breakfast.  I took my first sip of coffee.  My first thought was, "This coffee sure isn't very strong.  It must be getting old.  I'll ask Myranda to get some more when she is out today."

Then my world came crashing down.  I bit into my lovingly prepared toast...and nothing.  I lifted my coffee cup to my nose and took a huge whiff.  Nothing.  Quickly I grabbed my bottle of Lip Medex and inhaled a giant sized breath.  Nothing.  Filled with the deepest of darknesses, I crammed the whole piece of toast into my mouth.  I swallowed as quickly as possible.  Then I chugged my coffee.  Covid had struck again.

That's when the Sloop John B came to mind.  Throughout the voyage, the protagonist encounters one pitiful experience on top of another.  All he can think about is going home.  He wanted things to go back to normal.  Yet, he was still on his journey.  He had to suffer through before he could get back home.  I suspect that even after he got home, it wasn't the way it was before.

On my Covid journey, one symptom after another keeps cropping up.  I cry out to Covid, "I want to go home, why don't you let me go home? I feel so break up, I want to go home."  But Covid just laughs at me and has another plan.  So I sit adrift in the sea.  I wait to see what fresh new hell Covid will bring.  But in the meantime, I choose to sing and laugh at myself.  

Paint the Beauty

In the fall of 2021, a couple of people recommended a podcast to me.  Usually the podcasts I listen to are focused on comedy, true crime, or the supernatural.  I intentionally try to stay away from religious based things.  After all, it can become too consuming.  And I do have a life outside of the church.  But the podcast intrigued me.  It's called 'The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill' produced by "Christianity Today."

If you're not familiar with Mars Hill, it was a church planted by Mark Driscoll (and others) in Seattle in the mid-1990's.  At the time, it was a bold move on the part of the church planters.  Seattle is known to be one of the least religious cities in the United States and most people agreed at the time that a conservative church plant would never succeed.  But they were wrong.  Mars Hill did succeed.  Not only did it stick, but it actually flourished.

But this post isn't about Mars Hill.  There are hundreds of blogs about that if you're interested.  It's not a post about Mark Driscoll.  I don't know him.  It's a post about my experience of listening to the podcast.  As I reluctantly hit play on the first episode, I really wasn't expecting to get into the story as quickly as I did.  As I listened, I did get into it.  There was just something about the story telling that intrigued me.  By the time I got through the second episode I realized what the intrigue was.  I felt as thought the Holy Spirit was holding a mirror in front of me.  He was convicting me to examine my own pastoral leadership through the lens of what happened with Driscoll and Mars Hill.

Throughout Driscoll's tenure at Mars Hill, he manipulated the system to his benefit.  He refused to be held accountable by anyone.  If someone disagreed with him, he would angrily dismiss the person.  In fact he famously stated, "There is a pile of dead bodies behind the Mars Hill bus, and by God's grace, it'll be a mountain by the time we're done."  Instead of lamenting about the carnage he was causing, Driscoll celebrated it.

As the Spirit of God held the mirror up in front of me episode after episode I reflected back on my years in pastoral leadership.  How many people had I run over with a bus?  Was there a pile of bodies in my wake? How often have I used the system to benefit me?  These questions, and hundreds like them, continued to swirl through my mind.  With a repentant spirit, I listened.  Many times I dreaded the story that the next episode would reveal.  I was sorry partly for the Mars Hill people it happened to.  But I was also sorry for the things I had said and done in my own past that caused pain in people.

When I finished the podcast this week, two important things have remained with me.  First, is a question that's asked at the end.  "What gospel was Mars Hill preaching?"  I can't answer that question.  But I can explore the question of "What gospel do I preach?"  My hope is that I consistently preach the good news of Jesus Christ.  But what I preach and what people hear me preach could very well be two different gospels. So I'm being more intentional in my sermon preparation.  I'm intentionally seeking to balance righteousness with mercy and grace with justice built on the foundation of love.  If I fail to do that then I've failed to preach the gospel of Jesus.

Secondly, this podcast opened a wound within me that I've desperately tried to let scar over.  That scar is a result of the pending split of The United Methodist Church.  The opening theme of the podcast is a song written and performed by Kings Kaleidoscope, a band formed at Mars Hill.  The song's title is "Sticks and Stones."  Here are the lyrics:

Did I pledge my allegiance

For the purpose of progress

To a priest or a prophet

Playing god in the process?

Was I chasing convenience

In a wave of disaster

Where the captain's a captor

And I'm a puppet to pastor?

A worthless war

A curtain torn

To take control of this ship

A nail of shame

A broken vein

To write redemption a script

A truth-less gun

A dying Son

To turn the tables we flipped

Turn the tables we flipped

Paint the beauty we split

Paint the beauty we split

Paint the beauty we split

Paint the beauty we split

Nah nah nah, nah

They don't get it, I don't get it

We're committed to sticks and stones

What's a vision if it's driven to imprison?

I don't know

They don't get it, I don't get it

We're committed to sticks and stones

Undecided, but I'm trying still divided

So it goes

A worthless war

A curtain torn

To take control of this ship

A nail of shame

A broken vein

To write redemption a script

A truth-less gun

A dying Son

To turn the tables we flipped

Turn the tables we flipped

Paint the beauty we split

Paint the beauty we split

Paint the beauty we split

Paint the beauty we split

Turn the tables we flipped (Nah nah nah, nah)

Paint the beauty we split

Take control of this ship

Paint the beauty we split

Write redemption a script

Paint the beauty we split

Turn the tables we flipped

Paint the beauty we split

Nah nah nah, nah

Show me a man, an honest mission

I'm willing to hope beyond suspicion

Show me the race, I'll run the distance

Longing to give and taste forgiveness

Dying to live a pure religion

Settle the rush to chase submission

Open my eyes and soul to listen

This song was originally written as the band processed their part of the Mars Hill story.  But it is much larger than that.  When I hear it, I hear the story of The United Methodist Church.  Both sides of our church have pledged their allegiance to the purpose of progress to a priest or a prophet.  We have allowed ourselves to be puppets to whichever leader is in control of our faction of the church.  We have been committed to sticks and stones.  We have flipped the tables and in the process we have piled up the bodies behind the United Methodist bus.  

After I finished listening to the final podcast, I immediately listened to this song.  I wept.  When I allow myself to think about it, I weep again.  I'm tired of the posturing.  I'm tired of the table flipping.  I'm tired of the split.  So where do I go from here?  I don't know.  I'm disenfranchised from both sides of my church.  There is no place for me or my voice in the post-split church.  For now, I wait.  The hope I have is that Jesus will paint the beauty we split.  Somewhere in that painted beauty maybe I'll find my way.