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I don’t know the story behind this song by The Velvet Underground, but then, oddly, I do, and so do you.
F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote the famous line “”In a real dark night of the soul it is always three o’clock in the morning”. True One lays awake…wondering not about Jesus or God so much as about the life one has, doesn’t have, wishes to have, or has destroyed.
This is where the “dark night of the soul” of mystics like St John of the Cross and Saint Thérèse of Lisieux differ, for they ended in mystical union with the Divine.
Most of us just wish to reach morning.
A friend of mine was detoxing from heroin and had agonizing nights. To make matters worse, his friends and family had written him off as hopeless and his ex-girlfriend, who he still loved, lived in the next room and as he was writhing in pain (with the words of John Lennon’s Cold Turkey churning in his brain over and over and reverberating through his body), she was having loud sex with some guy she had never met over the phone.
[Um...note that "Jesus" is playing bass...ahhh life]
Inconsolable and unable to form any thought that did not lead back into a hopeless loop he remembered that a pastor had suggested that he simply say the name of Jesus over and over again in his head when he was sleepless and in pain. The man had suggested that the name of Jesus was one both to focus on (whether one believed or not) simply because it was inherently and utterly GOOD. (There was other advice, like find a rehab facility and get some support, but this is all my friend remembered as he shook violently in bed hearing the ecstatic screams from the next room).
He told me later that this “Jesus thing worked” for him. He was not interested in Church (said he wasn’t “good enough”) but he said “It’s the one name that isn’t messed up…it’s pure and makes me feel safe.”
I use to be an insomniac…mostly born from worry, anxiety and no small amount of legitimate fears and questions. I thanked him for the insight, which he felt was odd.
“But you are a Christian” he said “I would think that a given.”
“No, it really isn’t. And as horrendous as your story is I have had a lot of sleepless nights where that would have come in handy.”
“Well what do you think about?” he asked.
“Mostly girls…”
After we stopped laughing he said “doesn’t work does it?”
“It works a little, but certainly not when they are in the next room..you know…”
He slumped back and took a long drag of his cigarette and was quiet. “I do ask a lot of questions though,” I said “. “I mean, it’s quiet, I think God is a good listener, though God probably gets real tired of the whining…”
“What do you ask?”
“Mostly what the Eff I am doing here? Is this all there is (working for an ad agency trying to get people to buy stuff they don’t need).
“I thought you Christians had all the answers” he said leaning back smugly.
“Do I look like I have all the answers?”
He laughed. “But I like that old ‘Jesus’ song Lou Reed did with the Velvet Underground.” I said. “It’s a sweet heart-filled simple song where he just asks Jesus to help him find his ‘proper place’. I don’t have the answers, but I think that’s a core question for me.”
We parted with a hug and for the rest of the day I couldn’t get it the “Jesus” song out of my head..but I didn’t mind. It’s not like that stupid
“Free Credit Report” song that makes me want to shoot my TV or hunt Canadians.
My only beef with the song is the slight self-flagellation of “cuz I’ve fallen out of grace”. You cannot fall out of grace. By it’s very nature is holds and protects and secures. You’d have an easier time of falling off the Salt flats in Utah.
But I love the song, and the question. Now that the grace of Jesus has found me, can I find my “proper place”?
Sweetness
There was also a sweetness and playfulness at moments at the Old Simpson. Doc skewering Rich or me, the pranks…some serious learning, and lastly the man we kind of all looked to: Doc.
The only commemorative thing I have ever purchased was a paver stone at the Valley Springs Presbyterian Church in Roseville. It was my last footprint in that whole (for me) somewhat loathsome valley, just as Doc left his footprint inside me from that one year at Simpson. A man of refined taste, humor, grace and intelligence, he was a fine mentor.
As I have been Jedi master to as many as ten serious “patowans” (seven of which are in ministry or ordained), Rich and I were Doc’s renegade patowans. He had others. Dale S. was president of the student body and a boy scout…true, a Canadian boy scout, but we were converts from across the tracks. Raw, uncultured and devoid of religion. Doc took a quiet joy in our exploits, even as he tried to impart the beauties of art and literature in Western culture and managed to pass on his love for Kierkegaard on to me.
Over coffees, he endured my constant, and not yet gracious, railings against church institutions, including the one that he was vice president of.
The New Simpson would be more free and joyful and not be about fundraising or building expansions. Someone like Doc would be at the helm…a quiet, thoughtful, even reserved man of wisdom and depth. Those there would have the mirth that Lewis speaks of—a laughter that is deeper because those involved have taken each other and their callings seriously first.
That’s the dream and my view. On the other hand, it might just have been something I ate.
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