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Excerpt from Take Me To The River Al Green with Davin Seay
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Take Me To The River
Al Green with Davin Seay
Harper Entertainment, Nashville, 2000
"Alone among the greatest vocalists and songwriters in American
music, Al Green has fused these opposing concepts into an intense and
original sound that transcends the divide between the sacred and the
profane. With an extraordinary appeal that has continued
unabated since the mid-seventies, this quintessential soul man remains
one of the most enduring, electrifying, and enigmatic artists of our
era-a man who has walked the tightrope between the devil's music and
God's calling.
"Now
Al Green's tale is told for the first time in Take Me to the River, his
inspiring, unsparing, and ultimately transforming
autobiography. From a sharecropper's shack in Jacknash,
Arkansas, to the absolute pinnacle of show business success, it
chronicles the career of this gifted singer in rich and
never-before-revealed detail.
"But Take Me to the River is more than a standard issue rags-to-riches
saga. The epic spiritual struggle for the heart and soul of
Al Green is brought to life with all the urgency and immediacy of his
music. A story of repentance, redemption, and renewal, the
life of Al Green is a moving account of one man's journey to personal,
creative, and spiritual wholeness."
From Chapter 29:
We came to the
crossroads…in the late summer of '73 in a hotel room with the
Matterhorn rising up outside the window. No, I wasn't in
Switzerland. It was Disneyland and the spotlights that lit
the fake snow on the ride shone into my room with a pale and ghostly
light. I was feeling a little ghostly myself, as a matter of
fact. Earlier that day, I'd met Laura at the airport in San
Francisco, where I had a matinee scheduled at the Cow
Palace. I hadn't seen her for a few weeks and, since we
weren't on the same bill anymore, the only way we could grab any time
together was when she was off the road, back home in Detroit, and I
could send for her to spend a day or two with me while I was
touring. For some reason, I felt a special need just then to
see her, talk with her, and let her gentle presence soothe my mind, and
she must have heard the urgency in my voice because she caught the next
plane out, even though she'd just come off a heavy schedule herself.
We spent the afternoon hidden away in the hotel room until it was time
for the show and rode out together in the limo. After the
concert, we headed straight back to the airport. I was
booked to play another date that same evening at Disneyland and had
about three hours to get to the gig. It was all a blind
rush, but, back then, everything was a blind rush until you actually
got there and then, more often than not, they'd keep you cooling your
heels backstage for no good reason. Whoever came up with the
expression "Hurry up and wait" surely spent time on a concert tour.
It must have been about one o'clock in the morning before we finally
got checked into the hotel the Disney promoters had reserved for
us. I made sure Laura had her own room whenever we were
together because it was important, to both of us, that folks on the
tour understood that we weren't just in the middle of some hot and
heavy love affair and that they should respect and honor her as much as
I did.
We kissed
good night and, after taking a shower to wash the stage sweat
away. I got ready for some well-deserved sack
time. I remember as I passed into sleep feeling strangely
serene and at peace with myself and the world. In the midst
of all the craziness that surrounded my life, I had Laura in the room
right next door to mind and my father and brother just down the
hall. It was a little like having a home on the road.
I couldn't have been asleep more than a hour or two when I was suddenly
awakened by the sound of shouting. I sat bolt upright in
bed, frightened that some crazy fan had broken into the
room. The shouting continued and as I listened, I realized
that the voice wasn't threatening so much as excited and happy, as if
someone had just walked into a surprise party with all his oldest and
dearest and friends in attendance. There was something oddly
familiar about the voice, as well. Where had I heard it
before?
It was then
that I realized that the voice was my own! And while the
words I shouted were of no earthly tongue, I immediately recognized
what they meant. I was praising God, rejoicing in the great
and glorious gift of salvation through His son, Jesus Christ, and
lifting my voice to heaven with the language of angels to proclaim His
majesty on high.
People who have had such an experience, when the power of God and the
presence of the Holy Spirit fall so heavily that the drip like sweet
honey from the rock with the very oil of gladness, will tell you that
their memories of the moment are always from the outside, looking
in. And the same was true for me. There I was,
rejoicing at the very top of my lungs, and yet at the same time, I
could watch myself, hear myself, and wonder to myself. Now,
what is this fool shouting about? Doesn't he know folks are
trying to sleep? But as much as I understood that if I kept
up all the hollering for too much longer I was sure to get arrested or
worse, there was nothing in either earthly or spiritual realms that
could have shut my mouth. A different spirit had taken
charge, even while it left me free to watch and marvel at how the power
of God can move a man with a sovereign touch. I believe to
this day that two different events were coming to pass in that hotel
room at the very same time. First, a man was being quickened
and called to a new life in Jesus. Second, that same man was
allowed to be witness of his own salvation, that forever he could speak
of the power of the Holy Spirit from firsthand
experience. God didn't take away my mind. He gave
me a new one, even as He left my senses free to marvel at the
transformation.
Suddenly the shouting and celebration stopped and I heard a voice, calm
and clear coming from inside me, but rattling the walls like a
ten-point earthquake all the same. "Are you ashamed of Me?"
was the question it asked and the words pierced me like a
knife. I might have been ashamed of myself, for all the
years I had let the love of God languish as I pursued my own lusts and
desires. But ashamed of Jesus? Ashamed of the
Lamb of God, the Alpha and the Omega, sitting at the right hand of the
Father in glory and majesty. Never!
I began shouting out praises in tongues once again and, jumping out of
bed, ran into the bathroom. The part of my mind that was
still tethered to the world was starting to panic. If I
didn't shut myself up pretty soon, there was sure to be an embarrassing
scene, and then what would I tell the police: I'm sorry, Officer, but I
can't seem to contain the abundant grace of God within this mortal
frame of flesh and blood. I wondered how that would look on
the arrest report.
I couldn't think of another thing to do but grab an armful of towels
off the rack and bury my face in them. I remember biting at
the cotton nap, trying to muffle myself when I suddenly heard that
voice again, asking one more time, "Are you ashamed of Me?"
"Lord, no!" I shouted into the towels and threw them of myself, as if I
was holding a fistful of poisonous snakes. "No!" I screamed
again as I heard a pounding from the door connecting Laura's room to
mine own.
"Al!" she
was saying from the other side. "Are you all
right? What's going on in there?"
I rushed back into the room and flung the door open. "I am
not ashamed of the Lord Jesus Christ!" I yelled into her wide-eyed
face. "I am not ashamed of His Gospel!"
"Al," she said, a look of fear clouding her big brown
eyes. "What's happened to you? Should I call a
doctor?"
For an
answer, I grabbed her and half-dragged, half-pulled her with me out the
hotel door and into the hallway. A little ways down the
corridor another door opened and I could see Haywood Anderson, my chief
security guard, rush into the hall, ready to take on whoever was
assaulting his boss.
But no one could have overcome my attacker that night. Jesus
Himself had laid in wait for me and picked that moment from out of all
eternity to reveal Himself in all His glory and
splendor. Whatever it was that I knew of God and His love up
until that moment-all the sermons I'd heard preached and all the gospel
songs I'd sung and all the times I'd seen folks weeping and wailing as
they made their way to lay down their lives at the altar of Mother
Bates's revival tent-all that faded into insignificance. I
was in the middle of a personal encounter, one on one with my Creator
and now, at last, I understood what all the words and all the songs and
all the tears had really meant.
As Haywood rushed up to me, he was joined by my brother Bill, who, as I
recall, was still dressed in just his underwear. Other
guests had started to poke their heads out to see what all the
commotion was, but I didn't care. In fact, I wanted them all
to know exactly what was going on. "I am not ashamed!" I
shouted again and started hammering on my dad's door.
When he opened up, a robe around his shoulders and his eyes like
saucers, I thrust out my hands right under his nose. "Look,
Daddy!" I cried, wiggling my fingers at him. "Look at my
hands!" I pointed down at my feet. "And my feet,
Daddy," I said as tears began to drop from my eyes.
"What is it, son?" my daddy asked. "What's wrong with your
hands and feet?"
"Can't you see?" I answered, the tears nearly blinding me
now. "They're brand-new! All of me…is brand-new!"
Daddy turned to Laura with a terrified look. "What are we
going to do?" he said. "What's wrong with him?"
But Laura just smiled and in that sublime moment I knew that she
understood. "Nothing to do," she said
softly. "Al's in God's hands now." She put her
arm around me. "Come on, honey," she said. "Let's
go back in the room and let these good folks get some
sleep." She waved down the hall. "It's fine," she
said to the bewildered guests. "Everything is just
fine." And, along with Haywood, Bill, and Daddy, she led me
back into my suite.
It took me the rest of that early morning to come back to myself,
weeping and praying and holding on to my friends and family like a lost
child found safe again. We all sang songs I remember, the
old gospel gems I'd grown up with, and one by one those around me
offered up their thanksgivings for so great a salvation of so great a
sinner. And when dawn finally broke over the Disneyland
Matterhorn, the freeway began to fill up with morning traffic and all
along the boulevard, the shops and stores and little souvenir stands
that sold Mickey watches and hats with Goofy ears began to open up, and
I passed into a deep and untroubled sleep. My head was
cradled in Laura's arms. My daddy held my
hand. And my Savior dwelt within, never to leave me nor
forsake me (292-7). |
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Date Submitted:
2001-07-17 00:00:00
Review by The Spiritual Traveler |
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