Monday, October 13, 2008

Walking the Line with Johnny Cash

By Rev Ed Hird+

-an article for the November 2008 Deep Cove Crier

During Johnny Cash’s nearly fifty years of music, he sold over ninety million albums. He learned to sing while picking cotton as an impoverished sharecropper’s son in Kingsland, Arkansas. Cash recorded more than 1,500 songs including well-known hits like ‘A Boy named Sue’, ‘Folsom Prison Blues’ and ‘Ring of Fire.’ Johnny Cash is the only musician who has ever been threefold-inducted into the Songwriter’s, Country Music, and Rock and Roll Halls of Fame.”

More than 100 other recording artists and groups have recorded Cash’s song "I Walk the Line." Cash commented: “I wrote ‘I walk the Line’ when I was on the road in Texas in 1956, having a hard time resisting the temptation to be unfaithful to my wife back in Memphis”: ‘I keep a close watch on this heart of mine. I keep my eyes wide open all the time. I keep the ends out for the tie that binds. Because you’re mine, I walk the line.’

Cash’s life was often fraught with tragedy and heartbreak. “After my 14-year-old brother Jack’s death, said Johnny, “I felt like I’d died, too. I just didn’t feel alive. I was terribly lonely without him. I had no other friend.” Like his father before him, Johnny struggled for many years with addiction issues. His father was never able to tell his children that he loved them. Johnny Cash’s first marriage ran aground in the midst of workaholism and pill-popping. In Cash’ autobiography, he comments: “Touring and drugs were what I did, with the effort involved in drugs mounting steadily as time went by.” Amphetamines keep him going without sleep, and barbiturates and alcohol knocked him out. Cash comments: “I was in and out of jails, hospitals, and car wrecks. I was a walking vision of death, and that’s exactly how I felt. I was scraping the filthy bottom of the barrel of life.”

He knew that he had wasted his life and drifted far from God. In desperation, Cash decided to end his life in 1967 by crawling deep into the inner recesses of Nickajack Cave on the Tennessee River. There in pitch darkness he met God and then miraculously was able to crawl to the opening of the cave. There waiting for him was his future wife June Carter and his mother. That was Cash’s turning point in getting serious about battling his addiction. Cash stayed free of drugs until attacked in 1981 by an ostrich that ripped his stomach open and broke several ribs. While in hospital, he became re-addicted to painkillers. In 1983, his family and friends did an intervention, which included Cash’s going to the Betty Ford Clinic. Cash comments: “I’m still absolutely convinced that the intervention was the hand of God working in my life, telling me that I still had a long way to go, a lot left to do. But first I had to humble myself before God.”

In the midst of great trauma, Cash found that spiritual music helped bring him back from the despair of his addictions. “Wherever I go, I can start singing one of them and immediately begin to feel peace settle over me as God’s grace flows in. They’re powerful, those songs. At times they’ve been my only way back, the only door out of the dark, bad places the black dog calls home.” Cash began to find great strength in reading the bible and in prayer. He learned to stop hating himself, and to forgive himself and others.

During this time, Billy Graham became a personal friend and mentor. Billy Graham “was interested, but never judgmental...I’ve always been able to share my secrets and problems with Billy, and I’ve benefited greatly from his support and advice. He’s never pressed me when I’ve been in trouble; he’s waited for me to reveal myself, and then he’s helped me as much as he can.”

I thank God for the late Johnny Cash’s recovery from serious addiction, and pray that all of us will have the courage to change the things that can be changed.

The Reverend Ed Hird+
Rector, St. Simon’s North Vancouver
Anglican Coalition in Canada

Saturday, October 4, 2008

Golfing with My Undertaker

By Rev Ed Hird+
-an article published in the October 2008 Deep Cove Crier

Golf is now over 500 years old, having been played officially throughout Scotland since 1502. Most of the earliest references to golf were about attempts to ban it or to condemn the golfers. On 6th March 1457 in Edinburgh, King James II banned ‘ye golf’ because it was more popular than archery.

As a teenager, I golfed religiously three times a week at Langara Golf Course in Vancouver. To prove my dedication, I even sometimes golfed in the snow. I also used to caddy for my father, which was a great way to spend quality time with him.

Years later, my golf game has its moments of glory, as well as many reminders of how far I have fallen. I recently took part in a golfing tournament with forty undertakers and one hundred and ten clergy. On the second hole of the tournament, I sunk a forty-five-foot putt. Delusions of being the next Tiger Woods filled my mind until I missed a four-foot putt on the very next hole. Golf can be very humbling, and is therefore good for the soul, or so they tell me.

In the twenty-eight years since I was ordained, I have taken many funerals. Virtually every funeral involves a funeral director, sometimes called a family services counselor. I have found them to be very personal, decent individuals. It was not until I started golfing with funeral directors that I really came to know them personally. Over the eighteen holes, the pastors and undertakers shared the inevitable victories and defeats. It really helped us realize how much we had in common, though the funeral directors are usually better golfers.

Both funeral directors and clergy are usually called upon in times of sorrow and death. While some people try to do their own services, most Canadians still look to professionals to help them through this most difficult of times. Both pastors and undertakers are often misunderstood. People sometimes don’t realize that undertakers and clergy are ordinary human beings much like themselves. I remember once when a Deep Cove resident was shocked to see me shopping at Safeway, because they didn’t think that clergy actually shopped.

One of the privileges of serving for twenty-one years has been to walk with North Shore families and individuals through the key transitions of life: birth, marriage, and death. With one local family, I had the privilege of burying four members. Families during funerals will open up and share their hearts in ways that you rarely otherwise see.

Death is the great leveler. No matter how we try to avoid it and deny it, death catches up with every family. We can put it off for a while through healthy eating and exercising, but sooner or later we all face the grim reaper.

Both funeral directors and clergy can make a big difference in helping families navigate these painful waters. I am grateful that I can remind grieving people that there is a bridge over troubled waters, that Jesus made a way and prepared a resting place for them. I am grateful that death does not have the final say. My prayer for those reading this article is that each of us will find that bridge over troubled waters.

The Reverend Ed Hird+
Rector, St. Simon’s North Vancouver
Anglican Coalition in Canada