Somebody Save Me

My son is a lover of music. He (annoyingly easily) learned guitar and piano as a teenager, but as a young adult his tastes have migrated more toward the electronic, and towards genres that his dad doesn’t necessarily share his appreciation for (EDM, hip-hop, even, somewhat bewilderingly and incongruously, jazz!). I often scratch my head and protect my ears from what loudly drifts up from the basement. Thus has it ever been with fathers and sons, I suppose.

At any rate, on the drive home from church on Sunday my son threw on a song by Jelly Roll and Eminem called Somebody Save Me. I hadn’t heard it before. Neither Eminem nor Jelly Roll would be well-represented in my music library. But the song was reasonably catchy. And given that I start thinking about what I might say in the jail on Monday about twenty minutes after I finish my Sunday sermon, I couldn’t help but be struck by the lyrics.

The song is essentially an expression of regret from a father to his adult kids. For not being there for them. For allowing addiction to steal important years away from the relationship. For what they had to witness. For lacking the courage or resolve to be the kind of father they needed. Interspersed between three remorse-soaked verses by Eminem is the more melodic chorus from Jelly Roll:

Somebody save me, me from myself
I’ve spent so long livin’ in hell…

It wasn’t at all hard for me to imagine a song like this connecting with the guys out at the jail. Like so many of the guys I see on Mondays, both artists have had their own battles with addiction. Jelly Roll has done time in prison. And given that many of the guys at the jail are younger than me, I could imagine this song might also fit their musical tastes a bit better than mine. I asked my son if he could throw the song on a USB drive (no Wi-Fi in jail, obviously). I printed off a bunch of copies of the lyrics and marched into Monday.

It probably goes without saying that you never really know what you’re going to get in the context of a prison chapel. You could get twenty guys, you could get one. They could be boisterous and chatty or subdued. They could be engaged or uninterested. They could fall asleep. There could be conflict or personality clashes. There could be numerous wild conversational rabbit trails that you have to corral. You make your plan and you pray for the best.

I played the song. It was deathly silent for a few seconds after it was done. Then a sniffle from one guy in the corner. “This song literally describes a conversation I had with my girlfriend this morning,” he said. “I’m starting to see how my actions affect her more, how I need to be better for her and for the kids.” There were tears in his eyes. Nods around the circle.

We opened our tattered chapel bibles to page 1567 (some of the guys have no idea about chapters or verses and just say, “Give me the page number”). Romans 7:14-25. We read the words of Paul, another guy who was frustrated by the chasm between the man he wanted to be and the man he actually was, by a belligerent sinful nature forever waging war against his best intentions. Romans 7 is essentially a longer version of Jelly Roll’s chorus: “Somebody save me, me from myself.”

Towards the end of Romans 7, Paul’s description of the human struggle reaches its miserable climax:

What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death?

We flip ahead to page 1692 (1 Timothy 1):

Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the worst. But for that very reason I was shown mercy so that in me, the worst of sinners, Christ Jesus might display his immense patience as an example for those who would believe in him and receive eternal life.

There’s a young indigenous guy to my immediate right. He’s restless, shifting around in his chair a lot. His hair is wild, his face is pockmarked with bruises. His eyes are bloodshot, and his teeth are barely hanging on. He asks if he can say something.  “Of course,” I say, beckoning him to continue. “You know, I think it’s pretty awesome that Jesus comes for sinners. You know, not for the people that got it all figured out or, you know, the religious people (he grins at me a little; no offense, none taken, etc.), but you know for people like me, for the sinners.” He looks down at this point. I think the state of his teeth genuinely makes it hard for him to speak. But he repeats those last three words: “For the sinners.”

I let the silence linger for a minute. I’m slowly getting over my allergy to silences, my need to interpret every little utterance, to manage the message. Sometimes it’s best for me to just stay out of the way and let God do his thing. After a while, I ask if there are any other last thoughts.

“Yeah,” one guy says. “Do you have any candy today?” Grins gradually appear all around the beautiful circle of sinners.

Somebody save me, me from myself. The good news, of course, is that Somebody does and Somebody has. The immensely patient one. The one who delights to show mercy. The source of eternal life. The friend of sinners.

Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord (Romans 7:25).