I Was Your Friend

Today is the 15th anniversary of the death of singer-songwriter and all around ragamuffin Rich Mullins.  His music was a touchstone for me in my college days and I consider his album "A Liturgy, a Legacy, & a Ragamuffin Band" a bright star from my past that continues to cast light forward into my 40's.  His lyrics were penetrating, honest, and beautifully sculpted.  The music he set them to was of a quality I'd not hither-to known possible in what has been called "Contemporary Christian Music".  I don't want to disparage other artists in that genre, but for me Rich was a singular artist and a profound human being whose influence moved well beyond his music making.

Sitting here writing this I can still feel the exhilaration I experienced when "A Liturgy, a Legacy..." was released in 1993 as I sat in my apartment listening to it for the first time.  At that time I had only recently returned to Indiana Wesleyan University to finish my senior year after having served two years as an infantryman in Korea.  I was starving for some spiritual sustenance and this music was feeding my weary soul.  When it was finished playing I snatched it out of the CD player and sprinted across campus to a friend's house and excitedly told her she *had* to hear it as I stood there panting and out of breath.

Prior to my leaving IWU for my stent in the Army I had attended a concert of his in a small chapel where he played in front of about 50 students.  It was just him and his bestfriend/traveling companion, "Beaker".  Rich rotated from guitar to piano to hammer dulcimer over the course of the concert and afterwards he came to the lobby of our dorm for a small pizza reception.  He looked pretty scraggly and had dirty bare feet.  I talked with him a bit and probably asked him a few questions that I don't remember.  What I do remember is that he was delightfully peculiar and had a loving acceptance that surrounded him like an invisible hug.

Fast forward to 1997.  It was September and I'd just started my first year of Medical School.  I had a one room attic apartment a few blocks from IU's campus and my parents had come for a visit.  We chit chatted for awhile and at some point the conversation kinda died down into silence.  I remember sitting in a green recliner that had been my grandma's while my Dad sat on a metal table chair and my Mom sat on my futon.  Almost as a "by the way" my Mom suddenly remembered something she had wanted to ask me.  "Did you hear about the singer who recently died?  I think he was someone you've talked about before."

I got  a very strange sensation that moved from my head down into my body and back up again.  Just a few days prior in my Infectious Diseases class I had caught a snippet of a conversation between two other students who were talking after class.  The words that had caught my attention along with their tone was "Rich Mullins" but I'd paid no further mind to it.  With a sinking feeling in my gut I asked my Mom in a kind of forced voice, "Was it Rich Mullins?"

"Yes!  That's who it was, Rich Mullins.  He was killed in a car accident."

I put my head down in my hands and felt absolutely numb for a moment or two.  Then I took a deep shuddering breath in and sobs started leaking out.  The more I tried to suppress them the stronger they got.  My parents just sat in silence and let me cry.  It seemed strange that I was feeling such strong and overpowering emotions about someone I'd never really known personally.  It wasn't until that moment that I realized what his life and legacy had meant to me in college and subsequent decisions that had led me down the spiritual path I am now walking.

We were both lost and lonely, looking for something beyond ourselves, wanting to be found by love and in communion with the source of that love.  It brings to mind his song "What Susan Said":

And we both feel lost
But I remember what Susan said
How love is found in the things we've given up
More than in the things that we have kept
And ain't it funny what people say
And ain't it funny what people write
And ain't it funny how it hits you so hard
In the middle of the night
And if your home is just another place where you're a stranger
And far away is just somewhere you've never been
I hope that you'll remember, I was your friend