Song of the Rising Son

It all started with an A-minor chord.

My left hand knew the chords, my right hand knew the finger-pick pattern … even though the song had gone un-sung for decades.  My fingers followed well-worn paths they had learned many years earlier when Maryjean taught me a few simple chords. 

A-minor, C, D, F
A-minor, C, E
A-minor, C, D, F
A-minor, E, A-minor

There is a house in New Orleans,
They call the rising sun,
It's been the ruin of many a poor girl,
And God, I know, I'm one.

As a young teen listening to my older sister strum her heart's rhythms aloud, I envied the courage of her unhidden feelings.  How bold of her to give voice to things that I assumed had to stay private. 

I especially recall another song Maryjean sang that felt like it was telling my own story.

I learned the truth at seventeen
That love was meant for beauty queens
And high school girls with clear-skinned smiles,
Who married young and then retired.

This song by Janis Ian captured so well the common feelings of teen years.  Misfits, not belonging, not being good enough … and often with no one to share life's burdens with.  Though the song is about an awkward teen girl, I felt a kindred spirit nonetheless.  But I kept my own awkwardness silently inside, pretending confidence while desperately longing to be seen and liked and celebrated. 

Where did I learn to hide my heart and keep my own songs so silent?  A few classic scenes from my childhood tell the gist of the story.  For one painful season in my elementary school years, my seat-mate was my large trombone case.  As awkward as those rides felt, it wasn’t as bad as when I tried to play it in front of others.  My awkward band days lasted just one semester. 

Or another time I mustered up the musical courage to try out for a school talent show by singing a favorite John Denver song a capella.  What was I thinking?!  I hoped my pre-adolescent voice would be good enough to be chosen.  It wasn't.  I wasn't.

Country roads, take me home,
To the place, I belong,
West Virginia
Mountain Mama, take me home …
Country roads.

Take me home indeed.  Away from this shame and embarrassment.  To a place where I can un-sing that song.  Country roads.  Home.  Silence.

And so from then on my fledgling songs went unsung, and the guitar I didn't have played its tune only silently in my own house of the rising sun.  My silent voice was in steady harmony with the necessary stillness and quiet of my childhood home.  During those years Mom was chronically sick, and she often needed the house to be as quiet and dark as possible – and free of inconvenient emotions and stresses.   While Mom tried hard to love us and to maintain a home of order and noble values, her medical burdens and emotional struggles throughout my childhood were ruthless enemies she had to constantly battle.  I suppose you could say that my voice was a casualty of that war.

Meanwhile, Dad worked hard to help our large family make ends meet.  Though his life's burdens were great, including growing up in the 1929 depression, fighting in an overseas war, and working in construction while raising eight kids, Dad never talked about emotions or struggles.  He just lived life and persevered.  And while us eight kids learned Mom & Dad's solid values, sense of justice, and strong work ethic, we also learned their silence.

This wasn't much about music.  It was about my heart not having a voice of any sort.  As the literal and emotional silence I learned continued throughout my childhood, my young heart began to believe some core lies, and I made some quiet vows to myself in response.

You are awkward, Matt, and you are not important.  Don't be inconvenient.  Keep your voice to yourself.  Don't share your feelings with anyone.  Blend in.  Follow the great examples of your seven older siblings.  Do your homework, play sports, have part-time jobs, save money for college.  Be quietly excellent.  And in all this, Matt, you're going to have to mostly go it alone.

These are the things I subconsciously told myself over and over.  I believed them, and in some ways I did quite well in life … at least on the outside.  These same lies and vows still echo and pattern much of how I live to this day.  On the outside I do all I can to maintain a good image at every turn and act like I have it all together.  But on the inside, my chronic struggles persist.  When I let them stay bottled up inside they take a toll and cause all sorts of heart damage.  Fortunately, I've gotten help from a few trusted people in my life, including of course my big sister Maryjean.  And God has taught me a lot about the importance of openness and authenticity.  With these as my guide over the past twenty years, new voices of truth have risen up within me and started to push back on those vows and lies of old.

The turning point began when I hit a confusing patch at age thirty-eight in 2001, and left a "big" job without a clear plan for moving forward.  I headed north from Boston for a personal retreat at a friend's vacation condo in the rolling mountains of New Hampshire.  I went there in hopes of hearing from God and sorting things out and coming up with a plan for my life's next chapter.  But God had something different in mind.  He was beginning to draw me out of my silence.  He had begun to weave some painful hardships into my story that year, and along with those he was starting to show me how to turn to him and be more real.  One unexpected way he taught me was through a new song … which was actually an old song.

For some reason as I packed for my retreat I brought along a guitar I had bought back when I was in my twenties.  The dust that covered it told much of the story of my fledgling inability to strum a pleasant tune.  But my heart was full and I sensed that it might somehow be helpful to have it with me. 

I spent those retreat days fasting (something I had never tried before that), reading the book of Isaiah in my bible, writing in a journal and talking to God a lot.  Somewhere along the way I got the sense that I was supposed to write a song.  A crazy thought given the deep roots of my heart's silence, and my awkwardness with my guitar.  But my left hand knew a few chords, and my right hand knew a finger-pick pattern.

A-minor, C, D, F …

Years of silence had taught me not to play or sing … or let others see my heart much.  But deep in my heart's memory I could still hear the sound of Maryjean strumming and singing, and the curious combination of pain in her voice and joy in her heart somehow gave me hope.

There is a is house in New Orleans,
They call the Rising Sun,
It's been the ruin of many a poor girl,
And God, I know, I'm one.

In 1964 a young band called The Animals tried rewriting a folk song from the 1920's, changing it from an edgy tale about a brothel to a “cleaner” tale about a gambler.  Its gritty story and catchy tune helped it become the band's first #1 hit single.  A decade or so later, in the mid-70’s, my fingers learned to play it on Maryjean's guitar.  And some 25 years after that, as my heart was finally beginning to find its voice, I grabbed my guitar and took my own turn at rewriting that same song.  Its melody became the backdrop as I took my first shaky steps toward being more real and telling my own story as a fledgling son of God.

The Way of the Risen Son

There was a boy in Judea,
His Father named him John.
He prophesied the Savior –
Comes now the Rising Sun.

There was a boy in Galilee,
They called him Joseph’s son.
He’d be the hope of many men,
And Lord, I know, I’m one.

He walked the earth to show us how
To live the life he’d made.
To show us how to love again,
And then our debts he paid.

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There was a boy named Matty Dorn,
Appeared pure and happy,
But his heart was lost – few friends had he,
Would he ever be set free?

For I had sinned and fallen short –
Was separated from my God,
Only Christ could bring me home again
His death has set me free.

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There is a time called “Jubilee”
When all will be set free.
When all our debts are satisfied
By the one at Calvary.

There was a man on Calvary –
God’s One and Only Son,
He climbed that hill to die for me,
And thus Sin’s rule was done.

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Now fathers teach your children
To be just like He has been.
Guard your hearts and give your lives
To the One at Calvary.

There is a God – he’s Jesus Christ,
He is the Risen Son,
… He’s been the hope of many men,
And Lord I know I’m one.

… He is the hope of many men,
And Oh, Thank God, I’m one.

… He is the hope of many men,
And friend I pray you’re one.

It has been twenty-one years since I wrote this song.  I still play and sing it once in a while when I am sitting and talking with God in the early morning quiet.  He doesn't seem to mind my mild tone deafness or the notes I miss.  Though simple and kind of borrowed, it is a song of hope and triumph that represents a big turning point in my story.  Voices and hearts may be silent for seasons, but God has a way of teaching our hearts to sing nonetheless.  He patiently draws out our voices of pain and joy.  He shares his own heart's cries with us.  And he shows us the way back home to him. 

He is indeed the hope of many men.  And he often brings along a fellow struggler with a courageous voice that helps us find our own voice. Thanks, Maryjean, for teaching me that A-minor chord … and so much more.

[scroll down for author’s reflections and some questions to ponder]