The sound of deep sobbing startled me. I looked across at my wife, her shoulders heaving up and down; face buried in her hands. What on earth had brought this on? Just moments before the onslaught of her convulsions we had been happily chatting about our plan for the week. What was this seemingly disastrous news she had uncovered on her phone? Word of some unthinkable mishap to one of our kids or grandkids? Like Job, sometimes I live in dread of receiving that kind of news.
We were driving from Minneapolis to Rochester Minnesota, for a visit to the Mayo Clinic, for what has become a regular occurrence in our lives. Six years ago, Leslie (my wife) wound up in hospital for ten days with an acute attack of pancreatitis. It had never bothered her before, but over the next few years, she suffered several more attacks, although not quite as severe. Looking for an answer to the problem led her to the Mayo, and over the last couple of years they have been gradually working at opening up a blocked duct. This has meant multiple trips every few months to Minnesota. We fly into Minneapolis on a late evening flight, and drive to Rochester the next day, stay for three days and return back via Minneapolis again to Oregon. I joke that never in my life did I even want to see the Mall of America, but now, not only have I seen it, but even kind of know my way around it! It is a small sacrifice to pay however for my wife’s health.
We were no more than ten minutes into our drive to Rochester, when I asked Leslie what time her first appointment was. “I think it is at eleven but let me check. You know it is a funny thing they usually text a confirmation to me a day or two before, but I haven’t received anything.”
Cue the sound of sobbing. “What’s wrong, what’s wrong,” I asked, bracing myself for the dire tidings. It took some moments for Leslie’s sobs to subside enough for her to get the words out. “I have got the wrong day.” “The wrong day? What it’s Tuesday not Monday?” “No, it is on Monday but it’s Monday next week!” Part of me wanted to laugh in relief, but that didn’t seem like the right thing to do, besides I am not exactly one to talk when it comes to getting dates muddled up. I have been known more than once to get my dates wrong. But what was strange is that while if it was my mistake then no would be at all surprised, but Leslie is meticulous about times and dates.
“How could I have done this?” I reminded her about the stress of the last month as she gone through her dad’s health crisis and his death.
“It will be fine, let’s stop and get some lunch and look at our options.” I would be lying if I told you I didn’t feel just a touch of vindication.
We stopped at a Panera, got our order and sat down. “Look at the bright side, at least we are in the right place, we don’t have any commitments for the next week, it’s just the wrong time!” We briefly looked at flying home and coming back again, but apart from the prohibitive cost it would be an enormous waste of time. “I don’t want to stay in Rochester for a week, how about we go somewhere else. But where?” We started to scroll through the maps on our phones. On our previous trip here we had driven around Wisconsin and down to Chicago. It was also early March so heading anywhere north probably wasn’t a great plan. How about we go south? Two places on our retirement “bucket list” to visit are Memphis and Nashville. We could drive south and see them. Could we do that in a week? Siri reckoned we could. If we left now, (it was around 3:00pm) we could get to St Louis by 11:00pm, then the next day we could get to Memphis, spend a couple of days there, go on to Nashville for three days, and then return a different way to Rochester. Our proposed route would take us through eleven states covering just over 2,000 miles. So, on the spur of the moment we started driving south, which in the post COVID world is called pivoting, although I really dislike the term. What at first realisation looked like a bit of a disaster now looked like and a wonderful opportunity. Funny how things can change.
We drove down through Minnesota, Iowa, into Missouri, and made it to St Louis pretty much at the time Siri predicted. The next morning our first stop was to admire the Gateway Arch, commemorating the “gateway to the west,” although in actual fact Independence was most pioneers launching point. Timing for them was of the utmost importance; leave too late, you run the risk of not making your destination before winter arrives. Leave too soon, and there won’t be enough grazing for the livestock.
Mississippi St Louis
We continued our drive down through Arkansas and into Tennessee and Memphis. My first impression of the town was it looked like it had seen better times. Many buildings appeared to be abandoned and falling into disrepair. Our hotel was only a couple of blocks from the Loraine, the hotel where Dr Martin Luther King Jr was assassinated on the 4th of April 1968. As the evening set in we walked down to have a look; the time was close to when the shot was fired. I stood looking at balcony of room 306, picturing the scene from all those years ago. When Dr King visited Memphis he nearly always stayed in the Loraine, and when he did it was always room 306. Prophetically the night before Dr King addressed a crowd at Mason Temple, where at the end of his speech he said;
“Well, I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn’t matter with me now. Because I’ve been to the mountaintop. And I don’t mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. And I’m happy, tonight. I’m not worried about anything. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.”[i]
Dr Martin Luther King Jr
It is a remarkable speech, because within twenty-four hours he was shot dead on the hotel balcony age 39. Wrong time wrong place?
Loraine Hotel Memphis
The following morning found us visiting Sun Records recording studio. It was here back in 1954 the owner, Sam Phillips, was on the lookout for someone with a different kind of sound, and he was particularly looking for someone who could bridge the racial divide in southern music. A young man had been using his studio for a little while, who Phillips thought, might have potential if he could find the right song and musicians to pair with him. One night in June, Phillips arranged for a couple of musicians to do a session with the lad, but it didn’t go well. They were taking a break when Elvis started singing “That’s all right Mama.” Suddenly they were all paying attention, and the rest as they say is history. They were in the right place at the right time.
We visited Graceland in Mississippi, Elvis Presley’s home the next afternoon, and it has been preserved just as it was when he died on the 16th of August 1977. Elvis had the best of everything his fame and fortune could buy at the time, and yet I felt the weight of sadness throughout the house. The tour tries to paint Graceland as a sanctuary of cherished memories, and yet when I think of the lives which inhabited this place, they hardly seem like memories to cherish. Elvis was addicted to prescription drugs, possibly through no fault of his own, but they played a role in his death aged 42. His grandson died from suicide aged 27, and his daughter Lisa Marie died aged 54. Their graves greet you at the conclusion of the tour in the meditation garden. Still the right time and place?
After Graceland we drove east through Tennessee to Nashville, a far busier, brighter, shinier city than Memphis. We arrived in the early evening, dropped our stuff in the room and went out to find some music. I had in my mind an idea of what the Nashville music scene should be like. Small honky-tonks filled with artists, playing their own music trying to get noticed by someone influential in the music business to make it. All they needed was the right time and place. The first venue we tried on Broadway was Kid Rock’s honky-tonk which features five floors and four stages. We hit the ground floor and were greeted with a space packed with “country bros” clutching their bottles of lite beer. Interspersed in the bros were several groups of hen parties. The band on stage was playing all the songs you would expect any decent cover band to play anywhere. A massive wave of disappointment swept over me; we had driven all the way from Minneapolis for this? It reminded me of Vegas which, I have to say, is one of my least favourite places on earth. We went into a couple larger venues and it was pretty much the same, so we retired for the night, I for my part was very underwhelmed.
The next morning, we did a walking tour; we like to do these tours wherever we go, and we met Paul our guide at ten. It turned out we were the only ones on the tour which was great. I told Paul of my disillusionment from the previous evening, to which he responded, “you were in the wrong place, but I am going to show where to go.” It turned out Paul was a musician as well as a history teacher, the perfect combination, and his knowledge and passion for both subjects were infections and our two hours flew past as he immersed us in the past and present of Nashville. He too had a dislike for the “bros” and “hens” as they weren’t in Nashville to appreciate the music.
The following two evening we set out not just at the right time, but to the right places, and saw a fine blues band at Bourbon Street Blues and Boogie bar, jazz at Skull’s Rainbow Room, and country at Bootleggers Inn.
Printers Alley Nashville
As we immersed ourselves in the history of modern music, be it blues, soul, rock, or country, what became very apparent is no matter the genre they can all be traced back to one time and place; Southern Gospel music. All of our most popular music has its roots in the story of Jesus, and especially the culmination of His story. When Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey the crowd was going wild, their expectation of Him was high. They had been waiting patiently, and, not so patiently for years for this moment to arrive, and now it was here. This was the right time and the right place for the Messiah to act, to seize control, and usher in His kingdom, kick out the occupiers, and restore Israel to her former glory.
But a week it all looked very different; it absolutely had not been the right time or place for Jesus to be. Although Jesus predicted exactly what was going to happen to Him, His followers were stunned when, one of them, Judas, betrayed Him and led His adversaries in the middle of the night to the garden where Jesus hung out. He identified Him with a kiss, whereupon Jesus was arrested, dragged before an illegitimate court, where the predetermined verdict and sentence was pronounced. They wanted no king but Caesar, at least that’s what they told Pontius Pilate later having brought Jesus to him to carry out their sentence.
Jesus’ lacerated body was nailed to a cross, He hung in humiliation, and looked to all the world as someone who had disastrously miss judged both time and place. If only He hadn’t come to Jerusalem, if only He had stayed away at this time, then things might have been different, and He could have lived to fight another day. Six hour later under anguished skies, His last breath slipped out as He declared “it is finished.” His body was taken down and placed in a sealed tomb. There was even a guard placed outside the door. No one was getting in, and He, certainly wasn’t coming out.
Following the Sabbath, in the serenity of early morning, the silhouettes of several women could be made out as they picked their way towards Jesus’ tomb. Their mission was to finish the burial preparations, but much of their discussion centred around how they were to gain access. They needn’t have worried. As the tomb came into view, the stone was no longer an obstruction, neither was there a soldier to apprehend them. What on earth could have happened? Cautiously they approached and peered in. It was empty bar the neatly folded linen cloth. Their attention switched to a couple of dazzling figures who asked them “why are you looking for the living among the dead. He’s not here, He has been raised just as He told you.” They stumbled out trying to digest the news. Could it be true? What would it mean if Jesus is actually alive?
Over the next few weeks over five hundred people on many different occasions encountered the living Jesus. Our notion of the right time and place were shredded that day. Many of us fear the inevitable day when time catches up. We can only outrun the river of life for so long; at some point the final droplet will pass will flow out no matter what route we take, or how fast we drive. I doubt any of us has that time or place marked on our calendars. For many it comes too soon in a place they weren’t expecting, for others too late, but come it will regardless of our planning. Not even Jesus eluded death, neither did He try, because contrary to appearances the time and place of His death had been planned from before the beginning of the world. Why? So, we can plan on living! Yes, we have the certainty of death, but through faith in who Jesus is and what He has done we can have the certainty of life. We can plan on being alive because Jesus is alive! There is no mistaking that.
Another recording artist who got his start at Sun Records was Johnny Cash, who, not long before his death on the 12th of September 2003 recorded “Ain’t no grave.”
There ain’t no grave can hold my body down
There ain’t no grave can hold my body down
When I hear that trumpet sound I’m gonna rise right out of the ground
Ain’t no grave can hold my body down
Well, look way down the river, what do you think I see?
I see a band of angels and they’re coming after me
Ain’t no grave can hold my body down
There ain’t no grave can hold my body down[ii]
He too planned on being alive because of Jesus. What’s your plan?
{$NOTE_LABEL}https://www.afscme.org/about/history/mlk/mountaintop#:~:text=Dr.-,Martin%20Luther%20King%2C%20Jr.,day%20before%20he%20was%20assassinated.
{$NOTE_LABEL} johnny cash ain’t no grave lyric
