It’s Still Sunday Somewhere

Sing it Morgan.

It’s a complex song, Take Me To Church, and one of the few that can make both my wife and I weep reliably, especially when sung by the great Morgan James.  It was penned by Irish Protestant weirdo, Hozier, in his parents’ Dublin area attic about his hatred of the Catholic Church’s teachings on homosexuality during the night of a bad breakup with one of his boyfriends. He believes it describes the hypocrisy of a Church regarding a natural act that he cherishes along with the irony in his perception that someone could see a natural act as evil. In his lyrics, he used the writings of brilliant atheist writer Christopher Hitchins, and others, to great effect and beauty.

Is every natural act beautiful?  Hozier thinks it must be so.  And I accept that some may be good, even if condemned by the majority.  I’m not here to judge.  But, what he may not accept is that some of us recognize Jeffrey Dahmer’s acts, like Hozier’s, as perfectly natural.  Yet they may still be grotesque and disordered. The irony we see, other than that of Hozier’s parents’ heterosexual love that provided the attic and produced the life that enabled his expression, is that God can take the ravings of a lovesick millennial and forge a beautiful lyric so universal that it can move almost anyone … if you just switch the roles.  Like Ann Barnhardt once wrote, if you take everything that the wicked old crone Ayn Rand ever said and replace the word “Self” with “Jesus,” it becomes a work of genius and beauty.

We were all born sick, young Hozier. God literally must command us to be well. When we ask for it, that is when the tears come, and the angels weep with us.

Better Hozier Lyrics:

My God has got humor
Has the last word at every funeral.
Knows everybody’s disapproval.
I should have worshipped Him sooner.

When the heavens really do speak,
He finds the most pure mouthpiece.
But the world hates them just as much.
They only know how to love their crutch.

We were born sick, I heard them say.
But this world offers no absolutes.
He says, “All I did was love you first.”
“In return you gave the very worst.”
But the thought of Heaven makes me thirst.

I was born sick,
And I hate it.
Command me to be well.
Amen, amen, amen.

Take me to church.
I will worship what is good, not the father of night.
I’ll tell you my sins and you can set them aright.
Offer me that deathless death.
Good God, let me give you my life.

Repeat chorus.

If I’m a castaway in dark times,
Your love is the sunlight.
They only know to repeat lies.
You want “love, not sacrifice.”

They’ll drain the whole sea,
to get something shiny.
Your love is meaty like the main course.
Yet they stay on their high horse.
What’s that in their stable?
Nothing for God’s starving faithful.
But your food is tasty,
And you give plenty.
For this is hungry work.

Take me to church… (repeat chorus x2)

No food but the body and blood of the King,
When the ritual begins.
There is no sweeter innocence,
When He takes away our blame.
In the madness and the mystery,
Of that holy scene.
Only then am I human.
Only then am I clean.

Take me to church… (repeat chorus x2)
Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen.

About GruntOfMonteCristo

Fearless and Devout Catholic Christian First, Loving Husband and Father Second, Pissed-Off Patriot Third, Rocket Engineer Dork Last.
This entry was posted in Music. Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to It’s Still Sunday Somewhere

  1. Adrienne says:

    She’s got quite the jazz type voice. Here’s a blog I think you’d like, but knowing you, you probably already know about it. It’s John C. Wright, an atheist turned Catholic, but he writes all sorts of stuff. I spent a bunch of time there yesterday.

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