Patsy Cline

 

While viewing the crowds on March 10th, 1963, a pallbearer in Patsy Cline’s funeral commented, “It’s like a religion to them.” The ceremony fell nothing short of precedents set by the processions and services that followed the deaths of Jimmie Rodgers and Hank Williams in decades prior.

There is irony in this statement, as many—if not most—of those attending surely considered themselves part of conventional religious systems as well, namely Protestant Christianity. There is something worth teasing out in the observations above. Why do country music followers, past and present, identify so strongly with this pop-cultural movement to the point that it may be likened to a religiosity?

First and foremost, let me say that neither is thoroughly bad nor good. Both religion and country music fill needs and both are corrupt. This phenomenon, though, does shed light on a church that leaves its parishioners wanting. Most of us long to know that our eternal destiny is secure, but we also long for much more as disappointment and sorrow confront daily life. Unfortunately, many Christian institutions offer little commentary on such matters that actually connect with the subject to substantial effect.

Music however, and for my purposes country music, explicates the drama and sorrow of daily life. Sin and tragedy are not couched in soft language or only indirectly addressed. To be sure, emerging Christian circles emphasize a “raw” and direct approach to sin issues (i.e. Every Man’s Battle is very explicit in its confrontation with male masturbation), but the self does not long to simply identify sin and engage a battle. The self longs to be understood and know it is not alone.

Country musicians offer themselves and their experiences. Country rarely preaches and it almost never offers solutions. There is a time and a place for such things, but this is not music’s prerogative. Instead, it offers empathy and understanding. It says, “Yes, I have known the pain of betraying a loved one and felt the sting of regret thereafter. I have known death, and I realize that the thought of someone entering heaven doesn’t provide the comfort you long for. Etc.” Music engages our deepest senses—those inexplicable senses within us that some might liken to a “soul”—and our selves become loyal, maybe even addicted to the emotional stimulation it offers.

Finally, country music makes us believe we know the artist much more than a sermon connects us to the preacher. Musicians become our friends while pastors remain our teachers. War veterans often talk about fighting not for country or president or military leadership foremost, but for the fellow grunt next to them. The finest country musicians are those who convince the listener that they are right next to them in life’s gutters. When one falls then, the ceremony reflects the religious devotion of our very selves.

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After reading the above paragraphs, a friend asked if I am trying to say that we need both the friend and the teacher. He also asked if I am “suggesting a critique of the church—that we shouldn’t have to rely on secular, cultural constituencies that form around music,” such as those related to country music and described above. The answers to these questions are not clear, and I do not try to make them so. One thing is certain—I do not want to do away with any of these institutions or roles relating to either country music or religion, namely Protestant Christianity. These are simply the questions and observations I want to keep at the forefront of my mind.