by
                                                                                                     Jim Eaton

I suppose I'm always looking for new songs to add to the soundtrack rotation that loops in my mind on a given day. Lately it's been stuff that gives a wink to Appalachia and a nod to the singer/songwriters of the coffeehouse scene. Some folks don't seem particularly fond of  blending shades of country twang with hues of literate college rock, but the paradox pulls me up short of thinking too much. I suppose there is just something about couching the earnestness of a would-be prophet in a tune that tugs on emotions likely to incite a knee slappin' Yeeeehhaaaa!
    Don't get me wrong. Serious and intense "gits er' done", but crackin' open a can o' hilbilly stomp is likely to draw a grin while easing the tension between our stifling self-awareness and our often lacking God-consciousness. My good friend Aaron Shust writes,
                                                   
                                                                                     I am not skilled to understand
                                                                             what God has willed, what God has planned
                                                                          
In his confession, it seems he's reminding us all of our incapacity to grasp the often mind-boggling will and way of our Creator. Jesus reminded us foxes have holes and birds have nests but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.The beauty that inspires the artist to try capturing his most heartfelt halleluahs inhabits the same world as the pain that prods the prophet to cry out for justice and mercy. Aaron concludes,

                                                                                    I only know at His right hand
                                                                                    Stands one who is my Savior.

Jesus. What thought does His name inspire? He is the One by and for whom creation sings. He is also the One who subjected creation to pangs heavy enough to make her groan. At birth, His praises were sung. At death, He was utterly abandoned. In the end, beauty and pain were mysteriously wed when the One who knew no sin became sin so that we might become the righteousness of God. And that was just the beginning. It would seem that much reflection on His cross might just make a prophet drop to his knees from belly laughing, while the care-free trade their impish grins for a bucket of tears. In the words of Mark Heard,

                                                                                                 Your love
                                                                                     Never can fail to pierce me
                                                                                          Hammers and Nails
                                                                               Rythms of passion louder than Hell
                                                                                          Thunder of Heaven
                                                                                          Hammers and Nails.