Jesus Was A Cross Maker

My friend Asaf introduced me to the music of Judee Sill back on my old podcast. You can still hear it— no one else has, so we may as well start somewhere.

Anyway, I have random songs of hers in my playlists, and her compositions are lovely despite the tragic arc of her short life: she was a bit of a bandit and a heartbreaker herself, although she may have leaned more toward the heartbroken. Certainly her heart was in tatters when she wrote this song  for her lover, JD Souther, who wrote many fine songs for his friends The Eagles. Inspired by the book “The Last Temptation of Christ” (later made into a controversial movie by Martin Scorsese) she felt the song was her way of forgiving Souther for their breakup; her rationale was that if Jesus made crosses as a carpenter for the Romans (which is neither a verifiable fact nor a wholesale invention) then surely no one is beyond redemption, and even bad people have good characteristics. 

That is the accepted meaning of the song, and for Judee Sill it was a gambit and a lifesaver— she felt it was her best work and that it kept her from killing herself in her despair over Souther. There is a definite thread of gospel-like fervor in the music and the words. She wanted to believe, even if her actions spoke otherwise.

In the wake of my brother AJ’s passing, this song (as they say these days) hits different. The sweet silver angels of the opening and the recurring passages symbolize AJ, looking down on us from the heavens. It is my prayer that they fly down low to me, to help me process this pain.

I think about the night before he died, which was the last time I saw him alive. We were having a conversation, and even though I was trying to talk some sense into him in regards to his family life, he didn’t want to go there. He made it clear that he wanted to talk to me about us. And that meant a pleasant conversation and positive vibes. When we were alone he did hint that he had some things to work on and that he was sorry for upsetting anyone. In my mind this is the first verse: I hear his song and even though he is no stranger to me I trust his song, and it charms me and causes me to reflect.

Judee sings about turning around and the stranger is gone. I wasn’t even in town 24 hours before he died. It still doesn’t seem real to me. But it was real, it did happen. I was there when the sheriff told us. I was the one who had to call my brothers and tell them the news. 

The chorus is a mix of feelings about AJ. To many, he was a badass— a bandit and a heartbreaker. But Jesus was a cross maker, Judee adds… he was the creator of his eventual demise.

That’s the part that hits really different. 

AJ loved that bike, so much that I’m certain if he ever talked about the way he wanted to die, it would be while riding. So how tragic is it that he went out the way he would’ve wanted to? Well, for the ones he left behind, it is beyond expression. The fact that I am discussing this at all shows that it has not left my mind and soul, and might never go away.

The second verse describes a heroic man who chases away the devil with a gun by his side. That sounds like AJ. He was a good kid, but he was also fiercely protective of his friends and family. He fought the good fight, as they say. The song continues, “He kept his door open wide”— for me that means that he didn’t judge people and was a friend to those who had no friends. The effect he had on those around him was remarkable, which makes his loss so much harder to face.

The third verse describes a storm and some sort of trouble finding one’s way in the midst of it. The paths are not easy to navigate. This is all of us who mourn him, dealing with his loss. There is not only sadness but anger and regret and guilt. It seems so senseless and yet there is a strange symmetry to his death, a bizarre design behind it that is too deliberate to ascribe to chance. We accept it but we don’t want to accept it— couldn’t we have had a little bit more time with him before he had to go?

The sorrowful answer is no, because AJ was a bandit and a heartbreaker, and Jesus was a cross maker. He was larger than life, and he made the bed that he lies on for the rest of time, and I don’t know how he would’ve felt about that but I do know how I feel— I miss him and cry for him constantly, as do my siblings, and I know it hurts ten thousand times more for my mother and father, and my sister-in-law and her children, one of whom was born after the fact and will never know his angelic heroic devil-bashing pistol-packin’ dad.

AJ didn’t mean for us to be the last hearts he ever broke, but that seems to be the way it turned out. And so this song is no longer about its author and creator. I’ve now transformed it into something that resonates with me as a tribute to my brother. Some may find this song blasphemous or disrespectful, but I think the reason why it has moved me the way it has  is because there was pain and melancholy involved in its origin, and that is easy to transpose over so many works written in similar veins. Judee’s story may be removed from AJ’s, but they are both written in the same ink, in the same universal language of tragedy that spreads across the board all over the world.

It’s a pretty tune, with haunting arrangements and a spectacular vocal performance from a woman who put it all on the line for love. I find myself getting the words mixed up however— I sometimes say “rebel” or “gambler” instead of “bandit” and “life taker” or “carpenter” instead of “heartbreaker”… easy mistakes with rhyming words, but in my subconscious mind there is significance with this. I am still trying to make sense of it all, and now I’ve added another song to the repertoire of melodies that keep gnawing at me when I’m driving, or when I’m going to sleep, or sometimes when I’m wide awake and daydreaming of better times.

Sweet silver angel, please come down flying low to me…