
Yesterday, Tara and I traveled to Columbus, Ohio for the purpose of experiencing what, for us, was a post-Easter continuation of our celebration of the Resurrection. The man who led us in this celebration was a preacher of sorts—a peculiar prophet from New Jersey whose pulpit is the storytelling rock and roll behind which he has stood for nearly 40 years; whose liturgist is Little Steven Van Zandt; and whose choir is none other than the E Street Band.
The prophet to which I am making reference, of course, is none other than “The Reverend” Bruce Springsteen, whose concert at Ohio State University Tara and I were privileged to attend last night with a couple of our good friends.
Thanks to our friends’ concert-going savvy, we wound up being at the right place at the right time to win the “lottery” for being in the pit in front of the stage. This meant that we were about ten yards away from Bruce throughout the entire show. Let me put it this way: When the Boss periodically cleared his nostrils “farmer style,” we were grateful that he was facing in the other direction.
The show was relentless in its energy. If you are a fan of Springsteen’s music, the show’s set list (which he changes from show to show to keep himself and his band perpetually fresh and alert) speaks volumes about the show’s mood and energy level. Here is last night’s set list:
The Ties That Bind
Radio Nowhere
Lonesome Day
Adam Raised a Cain
Gypsy Biker
Something in the Night
Reason to Believe
You’ll Be Comin’ Down
Because the Night
She’s the One
Livin’ in the Future
The Promised Land
Sherry Darling
Incident on 57th Street
Devil’s Arcade
The Rising
Last to Die
Long Walk Home
Badlands
* * *
Girls in Their Summer Clothes
Born to Run (with Ed Manion)
Rosalita
Glory Days
American Land
My favorite song of the night, given the celebration of the Resurrection that we had experienced the day before, was “The Rising.” It resonated with particular depth for me as I listened to its multi-layered lyrics (the parenthetical reflections are mine):
Can’t see nothin’ in front of me
(the future, in other words, seems unclear)
Can’t see nothin’ coming up behind
(the past seems far away too, as though time has moved from chronos into kairos—which, I think, is precisely what happened on the cross)
I make my way through this darkness
(The darkness of what? Pain? Suffering? Death?)
I can’t feel nothing but this chain that binds me
(The lyrics describe a situation of enslavement. And doesn’t suffering often feel like that—like a bondage perpetuated by spiritual chains?)
Lost track of how far I’ve gone, how high I’ve climbed
(”My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”)
On my back’s a sixty pound stone
(or a wooden cross? It made me think of that line from “Lord of the Dance” in which we are told that “it’s hard to dance with the devil on your back.”)
On my shoulder a half mile of line
(or a half mile of scars?)
Come on up for the rising
(What’s this? Resurrection?!!)
Come on up, lay your hands in mine
(”Go ahead, Thomas, touch the scars in my hands.”)
Come on up for the rising
Come on up for the rising tonight
(come on up tonight—or come on up “early on the first day of the week.”)
There are spirits above and behind me
(What spirits? Perhaps the spirits of all the human souls—past, present, and future—with which Jesus is connected during his time on the cross.)
Faces gone black, eyes burning bright
(Faces with expressions of despair, eyes burning with a hopeful vision for deliverance)
May their precious blood blind me
(Does our blood commingle with the blood of Christ? Does our suffering connect with his suffering? I believe so.)
Lord, as I stand before your fiery light
(”Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.”)
Come on up for the rising.
Springsteen, of course, would not be so Christocentric in his explanation of his lyrics. But with the memory of a packed sanctuary singing “Christ the Lord Is Risen Today” still fresh in my thoughts, how could I interpret the lyrics in any other way?
Today, I am still singing the song to myself. “Come on up for the rising.” It has become my prayer. Come on up, church. Come on up, world. Come on up, pewboy. Come on up for the Resurrection of Jesus, which is God’s authoritative “no” in the face of sin and death’s dominion over human souls. Come on up for the resurrecting power that God continues to provide to broken souls suffering in the midst of the “little deaths” of depression, grief, illness, and poverty.
Come on up for the rising.
One last thought. As I stood in front of the stage last night, I looked around the packed arena and saw thousands of people of all ages standing up and moving to the music with their hands in the air. I found myself wondering why the church has such a difficult time getting as excited as that about Jesus. “Dignified” people will dance and clap with abandon at a Springsteen concert. “Dignified” United Methodists, on the other hand, can’t even raise their hands in worship without feeling scrutinized by the “pentecostal prevention patrol.” I don’t mean to sound cynical about this, because I’m really not. I’m just…wondering.
Maybe if I wore a bandanna in the pulpit, like Little Stevie…








