"That was spiritual: they wanted to die with their boots on." They, of course, refers those to gritty cowboys in clichéd western movies – the unwitting inspirations for a landmark hippie generation "gotta-find-a-friend-in-Jesus" song: Spirit in the Sky. Never mind that the one-hit-wonder songwriter Norman Greenbaum is an orthodox Jew, Boston College dropout: "I had to use Christianity because I had to use something; I wanted to die with my boots on [too]." Rodger that!
Randomness aside, Spirit in the Sky achieved the archetypal status precious few other songs ever did: it captured the American self-understanding of an entire epoch: from like, '69 to '99. That larger-than-life, finger-snapping, rhythmic swag created by Norm's howling fuzz-box-effected guitar encapsulated the entire post-Woodstock worldview: don't take me too seriously, but I'm goin' places. No wonder it makes Vietnam footage look good. It injects deep purpose into walking or driving sequences (The Longest Yard), but it was simply created for movie scenes soaked in irony (Full Metal Jacket opener, Guardians of the Galaxy trailer, Apollo XIII orbit sequence, Remember the Titans dorm fight, The Sandlot 2 rocket launch). In sum: it pairs with wearing shades like a fine wine.
The Hollywood notoriety garnered from a single song that took Greenbaum fifteen minutes to write made him enough money to retire from the Santa Rosa hamburger joint - forever. Something about that fairytale also resonates with the American dream, considering practically his only other songs to make rank on the Billboard Hot 100 bore the titles of: The Eggplant That Ate Chicago (#52 in 1966) and Canned Ham (#46 in 1970). Like they say, quit while you're ahead.
"When I die and they lay me to rest, gonna go to the place that's the best" - is such an undeniably upbeat chorus line. Regardless of what Greenbaum was smoking at the time of the songwriting, the truth is that Western civilization has been fueled by a Christian eschatology - the freedom from being chained down by fate: there's something that tastes like grace out there, coupled with a hazy sense that redemption can happen. In a song that couldn't be further from making dogmatic statements, there's a wink and a nod (and maybe an eye roll) to the ideas that made the world go round.
Prophecy is speaking God's Word to these people, right here, right now. That was the sole job of the Old Testament prophet. The variable was on the side of the prophet: whether he even knew he was doing the prophet thing, and if he did, whether he was committed to doing it right, or would try to jump ship. The bottom line is, all the stuff God created bears his imprint, and on a good day it will leap up, grab us by the lapels and tell us about him. At a basic level, all creatures can be prophetic.
Where does that leave ol' Norman? Somewhere between the ignorant prophet (Caiaphas) and the unwilling prophet (Johah). But wanting to die with one's boots on is at least a faint shout out to man's transcendent dignity, and hence, spirituality. If people so easily and unwittingly ooze the prophetic word, what would happen if we were willing?
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