Dear Family In Christ,
The following is courtesy of my friend Joan Slonecker and the Carolyn Arends Mailing List.
Carolyn Arends Newsletter - September 24, 1997
CAROLYN'S THOUGHTS ON RICH MULLINS
Rich Mullins was my hero long before I met him. Like thousands of his fans, I treasured up certain lines of his songs the way you store away all the sunsets, prayers and late-night conversations that break through your consciousness and change you forever. Rich seemed to have more than his share of startling, profound, life-giving insights into the heart of God - more than even the usual quota for prophets, poets, or saints - and they rhymed.
Naturally, I wanted to meet him, this guy who could title a song "The Maker of Noses" and make your own nose and eyes run the first time you heard it. In 1995 I got my chance. More than my share of chances, actually. I was asked if I wanted to go on a three month tour of 65 cities with Rich and Ashley Cleveland. I said "yes".
The tour started two weeks after the release of my first record. I was green, scared and completely unknown. I have since learned that there is a certain hierarchy to almost all tours, an appropriate and respectful deference to the headliner. Typically, an opening act's sound is quieter, the lights less bright. Everyone knows and observes these unwritten rules. Everyone except Rich, apparently. Every night he wandered out on stage, usually barefoot (so he wouldn't disappoint the fans who had come to count on his shoeless-ness), to introduce me to his audience, command for me their attention, and generously ease my way into the spotlight. Every show he let me have the time of my life singing harmonies and playing guitar on all those songs of his that had made him my hero in the first place. And he seemed to have a pretty good time himself bashing away at his dulcimer when he insisted on bringing Ashley and me back out on stage during his set to let us each showcase another tune with the aid of his Ragamuffin band.
Rich didn't have much use for the "industry" code in general. He insisted upon saying what he really thought rather than what he knew people would want to hear. He refused to attempt the veneer of perfection we like to gloss over our heroes, and instead was uncomfortably frank about his frailties.
Rich was not what you'd expect in a lot of other ways, too. I had become accustomed to a vague but growing dissatisfaction in myself and among my friends with the institution of the Church. If we went, it was because we knew we should, not because we felt it was what it should be. Not Rich. He loved church. He adored the feeble, faltering praise and worship that made the rest of us cringe. He said he loved to hear men sing out of tune.
He was like that about the Bible too. While I read the Bible because of a desire for guidance and a sense of duty, Rich read it because he thought it contained the most entertaining stories in the world. Those stories made him laugh that famous Mullins laugh, sometimes they made him cry, and always they fueled the fire in his heart to know the God of Jacob and David and Elijah better.
The day I found out Rich had died I could not get the words to his song "Elijah" out of my head. I later found out that many of his friends and fans had the same lyrics spring to mind:
When I leave I wanna go out like Elijah ...
And it won't break my heart to say good-bye
I found myself having sort of an argument with him: "Sure, Rich, it's not breaking your heart to go, but what about the hearts you're leaving behind? Mine is shattered, and I know my grief cannot compare to those of your closest loved ones."
During the "Liturgy, Legacy ... Ragamuffin" days Rich was asked a lot about what kind of legacy he'd like to leave behind. I wonder if he had any idea how many lives he touched, how many hearts would be broken when he said "good-bye". Maybe he had an inkling of it. Maybe that's why he left us with "Hold Me Jesus" and about 80 other songs that will take us - if we let them - to the feet of the God of peace and comfort, the God who is probably making Rich laugh that famous Mullins laugh even as I type this.
I am only beginning to discover the extent of Rich's legacy in my own life. Sometimes when I am about to make a justifiable but none the less selfish career decision I am suddenly stopped short by the image of Rich on-stage, his hair still wet from his pre-show shower, asking his fans to please listen to my songs. Sometimes when I begin to return to the Bible or to Sunday morning services with the familiarity that breeds indifference I remember his passion for the things of God. I am undeniably better for having known him.
Rich Mullins was as human as they come. But he was what one writer has called a "living mystery" - he lived in such a way that his life would not make sense if God did not exist. May his songs and his memory be a legacy that gives us all the courage to follow his example.
- Carolyn Arends