The Way of the Wayward Son

You know the rules. Driver picks the music; shotgun shuts his cakehole.

Dean Winchester (Jensen Ackles) to his brother Sam (Jared Padalecki), as they begin their adventure, in Supernatural

Dearest Rachel –

I never got into the series; it was something you would watch as you were doing your chores or whatever it was you did at home while I was at the office working for a living. You would recap particularly compelling episodes for me on occasion, but as a rule, I decided not to get ‘into’ the show. Once it hit eight or nine seasons worth of material, I determined that I was never going to be able to catch up you and all the lore contained therein, and even if I could, I wasn’t quite sure that I really wanted to, to be honest.

But I do remember that scene, as the boys find themselves compelled to become monster/demon hunters, and pile into Dean’s Impala to seek their quarry. The older brother was quite territorial about his car, and insistent that Sam not mess with the important controls… like the music.

And who’s to question his tastes, when it starts out with ‘Carry On Wayward Son’?

It’s a fantastically iconic song, from the a cappella cold open in multi-part harmony, to the various guitar licks and keyboard tracks, to the thought-provoking lyrics that defy the upbeat nature of the music itself. I sometimes wonder if the script was deliberately written to give them an initial base of operation where they did so that Dean’s car would sport a Kansas license plate in tribute to the band that gave them this theme music. It’s the perfect start to their adventure – especially since they are carrying on (however reluctantly at first) their own father’s profession.

And so, it’s what first plays as I fire up the car to drive up to camp this weekend. And it makes me wonder… am I a wayward son here?

For all my complaints to you about Daniel, and how I don’t know what to do with him and the things he believes in, there’s no denying that he believes the things he hears with his whole heart. He claims to hear God talking to him – and while it worries me when he appears to channel Him in a falsetto voice full of what sounds like gibberish to me, it more than I’ve ever been able to claim for myself. More than once, I’ve wondered if he is the Mary to my Martha in this dynamic; attuned to the spiritual when I am focused on keeping the material together. Even if I were to claim he is, as the old expression goes ‘so heavenly minded that he’s no earthly good,’ is there any point to creating any earthly good, considering its temporary and transient nature? Does he seem wayward to me only because I’m the truly wayward one?

Likewise, when I hear my dad talking about things of God and the Spirit, I know he’s not simply uttering buzzwords; these are things that make up his heart and soul. As long as I have known him – and I can almost guarantee, decades previously – he’s wanted to be a man after God’s own heart, like King David himself, and I dare anyone to argue that he hasn’t succeeded in that as much as any man – more so, even, if you count the fact that he’s never dealt with either a Bathsheba or a Uriah in his life. He has also striven to be like Barnabas, the ‘son of encouragement,’ who lifted Saul/Paul to his place on the stage of Christian history, and stepped out of the spotlight thereafter. He can spot a need where no one else can, and address it, whereas I’m oblivious to all but my own experiences (and I try to excuse myself by insisting that my perspective is the only one I have, but that’s common throughout humanity, and it hasn’t stopped my dad, so is it really an excuse?) I know that I’m going to be hard-pressed when he’s gone to identify and address needs that he’s pointed out to me to assist with, because I won’t even notice them. As far as I can tell, I’m the wayward one here.

And yet, all I can do is to ‘carry on.’ Not out of any sense that this or that good work will improve my standing with God (what a ridiculous notion, and yet, it’s amazing how many people – and how many faiths! – seem to think that’s a possibility, as if one could jump from Navy Pier to Benton Harbor. Sure, you can get from any point A to any point B, but let’s be realistic – that’s not a way you could do that), or even that it will bring me closer to God (for all that I’ve heard that certain ‘mountaintop experiences’ will do that, I can’t claim that I’ve had any such thing happen to me – or if I have, the fact that I can’t remember any just goes to show how it didn’t truly ‘take’), but because there’s a need to fill, and it might as well be me to fill it. It’s not the most noble of motivations (although it’s considerably more so than the motive of the devil on my shoulder suggesting that I might meet women my proximate age and faith persuasion), but whatever gets the job done, right?

Even Paul himself had no beef with those who would preach the Gospel simply to garner his level of fame (not that any of them succeeded, since we know him better than any of his alleged competition). So, I’d like to think I’m doing His work, even if I am like one of the failing churches; be it Ephesus and their lost love, or Sardis going through the motions. As long as I can fill my life with something like this, something bigger than myself, then, as the song says, “Now [my] life’s no longer empty / Surely heaven waits for [me].”

So wait for me, honey, and keep an eye on me in the meantime.