This past winter, Sharon and I were blessed to spend a week in the Sunshine State, where some friends took us to the Barbara B. Mann Performing Arts Hall on the campus of Florida SouthWestern State College to see The Simon and Garfunkel Story. With a small backup group and huge projected images behind them, the two stand ins replicated the look and sound in convincing fashion. It was a joy to hear and see.

During my college years, I bought four vinyl albums of their work, and I discovered that I could still sing along with several songs on each of the four, e.g., The Sound of Silence, Richard Cory, and I Am a Rock (Sound of Silence, 1966); Scarborough Fair and Homeward Bound (Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme, 1966); Mrs. Robinson, At the Zoo, A Hazy Shade of Winter, Old Friends, and America (Bookends, 1968); and Bridge Over Troubled Water, Cecilia, and The Boxer (Bridge Over Troubled Water, 1970). (No, I didn’t sing out loud [much] during the concert. I knew it wasn’t karaoke, and there were people all around me who preferred uninterrupted access to the deliverances of the on-stage performers.)

Paul and Art had a rocky relationship, with some breaking ups and comings back together, and the show focused on their joint efforts. Still, I’ve enjoyed Simon-alone music, buying more vinyl in grad school—Mother and Child Reunion plus Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard (Paul Simon, 1972)—and a CD in the 1990s, Graceland, with, yes, Graceland as well as Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes and You Can Me Al. (If you’ve never seen the video for this last one, the one where Paul and Chevy Chase lip synch and horse around with trumpet, saxophone, guitar, conga, and penny whistle to a simple dance step, then check it out on YouTube. This was the sort of thing we enjoyed when MTV was MTV.)

You can’t say that their oeuvre was warmly Evangelical, but it often had the ring of truth, whether romantic, wistful, or gritty. It was often whimsical, the sort of thing you came to expect from “Rhymin’ Simon,” who could do wonders with words. And the music was often sweet (but not syrupy) and always catchy—palatable, even when the story was grim (as with Richard Cory).

Yes, the words could be tacky, as with this bit from Cecelia:

Making love in the afternoon with Ceclilia

Up in my bedroom (making love)

I got up to wash my face

When I come back to bed

Someone’s taken my place.

And this from The Boxer:  

Asking only workman's wages


I come looking for a job


But I get no offers


Just a come-on from the whores on Seventh Avenue


I do declare there were times when I was so lonesome


I took some comfort there

And there may be a metaphorical hint of heretical universalism in Graceland:

Maybe I've a reason to believe


We all will be received


In Graceland

Yes, the recounting and musings of lost people, of which Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel are two (a fact made clear in Paul Simon: The Life, which I heard on book CD).

But, by common grace, they brought forth a lot of elevating verse:

When you're weary


Feeling small


When tears are in your eyes


I'll dry them all
I'm on your side


Oh, when times get rough


And friends just can't be found

Like a bridge over troubled water


I will lay me down


Like a bridge over troubled water


I will lay me down

And they could even capture the occasional longing of an old denominational worker too long and too often on the road:

Homeward bound


I wish I was


Homeward bound


Home where my thought's escapin'


Home where my music's playin'


Home where my love lies waitin'


Silently for me

Through the years, I’ve taught some “Christ and Culture” courses, with H. Richard Niebuhr’s help. From the liberal Union Theological Seminary of all places, he penned the 1951 book of that name, providing us a rubric for sorting out how believers have connected with or disconnected from the world. He speaks of “Christ against culture” (Anabaptists and Fundamentalists); “Christ of culture” (Unitarians); “Christ above culture” (Catholics); “Christ and culture in paradox” (Lutherans); and “Christ the transformer of culture” (Reformed and post-millennial groups). Turns out, these are not all mutually exclusive, but rather, as he calls them, motifs that manifest themselves as believers deal with whatever society produces, whether hydroelectric dams, national holidays, symphonic music, Twitter tweets, suburbs, or COVID. 

I partake of all five: I don’t drink (“against”); am glad the Chicago El displays verses from Song of Solomon alongside those of Carl Sandburg during poetry month (“Of”); appreciate the White House Christmas tree lighting (“Above”); bike across Iowa on RAGBRAI with a witnessing seminary team during the Sunday morning service hour (“paradox”); and applaud the impact of the 1979, anti-abortion video, The Silent Scream (“Transformer”). 

As for Simon and Garfunkel, I find a lot to appreciate in their work, and that’s not as common as one would wish. Generally speaking, you don’t expect perfection, or anything near it. Indeed, as Sturgeon’s Law (a corollary of Murphy’s Law) puts it, “90% of everything is crud.” (link). Well, that’s not a reliable metaphysical principle, but in the world of entertainment, it has a ring of truth. So when you can find a much higher proportion of quality across the span of someone’s performances, you don’t sneeze at it. And, in the case of Simon and Garfunkel, you can even savor and celebrate it.

In The Sound of Silence, they sing mournfully, “Hello darkness, my old friend, I’ve come to talk with you again.” Christians ask, “Hello, culture. My old friend?” In this case, I was happy to answer “Yes.”