Well, we're doin' mighty fine, I do suppose
In our streak of lighting cars and fancy clothes
But just so we're reminded of the ones who are held back
Up front, there ought to be a man in black

Johnny Cash
"Man in Black"

I've never had much use for the self-righteous, folks who try and foist their particular brand of religion (or whatever) on the masses. People who point and accuse.

I know, I know, it makes for great theater. I went to a number of revivals as a kid, and the energy of the preachers was always something to behold. But once they opened their mouths and just about everything but the word of God came out, I kinda tuned out. There may be passion, but nonetheless the act is kinda stale.

There's just no use for denouncing people in the name of the Lord. There's no use in using something like religion to urge something as ugly as war. In my book, the only use for religion is as a personal creed. Period.

I don't have access to everything Johnny Cash ever said or wrote, but his songs are tales of sin and of longing for redemption. A lifelong evangelist, Cash didn't walk around castigating sinners. Instead, he walked among them and proudly announced that he, too, had done plenty of bad things.

In truth, Johnny Cash wasn't as bad as his songs and his legend make him out to be. He was a life-long speed freak, but he only did one night in jail. He never killed anyone. Still, he went out and sang his songs of murder and betrayal and, eventually, forgiveness and redemption.

His final four albums, produced by Rick Rubin, are intensely personal recordings. Many of the songs are just him and a guitar, but even those with a full band give Cash's voice plenty of room. While he wrote two or three songs for each album, he also appropriated plenty from others. And so we can hear Cash singing songs made popular by the likes of Soundgarden, Danzig and Nine Inch Nails. These songs worked for Cash because they are painful cries of alienation and pain.

Despite his success and fame, it seems to me that Johnny Cash always thought of himself as an outsider. I read an account of a music executive (whose name I can't recall) who auditioned Cash after Columbia Records dropped the singer back in 1985. This executive said that Cash's hands were so shaky from the speed that he couldn't play a single song all the way through. The executive also said that he was embarrassed for Cash. After all, Johnny Cash had proven himself a thousand times over. And yet, there he was, failing at an audition for some kid.

I can't imagine the humility it took for Cash to do the rounds of Music Row after thirty years of stardom. He was certainly rich, and he still sold enough albums to keep good money coming in. He could have just packed it in and retired to his cabin. But he didn't. He crawled on his knees, desperate for anyone to give him a chance. He got that chance with Mercury, though those albums are hard-to-find these days (not for long, I'd guess). Then, in early 1994, he and Rick Rubin sat down and put together American Recordings, the first of their four albums. Four albums that are a proper legacy for one of the great performers of our time.

Whenever I think of Cash, I can't help but think of that fifty-something man, hepped up on whatever, stumbling from label to label, peddling his wares. A pious, self-righteous man would never do such a thing. And a pious, self-righteous man would never, could never have made those last albums.

Johnny Cash was a judgmental man, as judgmental as anyone. But instead of publicly judging others, he privately judged himself. And every time, he came up short. He was humble enough to call himself a sinner, and every performance was, in part, a public cry for redemption. He didn't stand up in front of a congregation and castigate the wayward. Rather, he waded into the wayward masses and proclaimed himself one of them.

He'd be the last one to say so, but in fact Johnny Cash was a lot more Christ-like than just about any preacher you can imagine. In the end, it's not important how perfect a person you are. The question is what you do about your imperfections. Rather than unleash his demons to denounce others, Johnny Cash preferred to use those imperfections to show us that the broken can be made whole. In these days of three strikes laws and an increasing reliance on the death penalty, such a message of hope is as timely as ever.

I don't want no aggravation
When my train has left the station
If you're there or not, I may not even know
Have a round and remember
Things we did that weren't so tender
Let the train blow the whistle when I go

Johnny Cash
"Let the Train Blow the Whistle"

Jon Worley is quite happy that his son Max dances gleefully whenever Johnny Cash comes on the stereo.