Today’s post is the second half of a two part post that I
started yesterday.
I recently listened to S-Town, the most downloaded podcast
in the history of audio journalism. It is a seven episode journey as investigative
journalist/producer Brian Reed interviews a man from Woodstock, Alabama over
the course of three years. If you haven’t yet listened to S-Town, spoiler
alert—don’t read on. The podcast both amazed and disturbed me and caused me to
reflect on life, death, purpose, hope, and despair. My literary side is
bursting to have a “book club-esque” discussion about this podcast, similar to
the seminar discussions I used to create for my English class students. In
order to be properly prepared to write about it, I really should re-listen to
all the episodes, and I will someday soon (after I finish the next podcast
series I am listening to called Up and Vanished). But for now, my mind is
brimming with thoughts and ideas about the man the podcast is about—John B.
McLemore. This is a true story with live interviews with real people, most of
them still alive and living in Woodstock, Alabama. In fact, go on the internet
and look up the people, the town, and the news stories about the podcast and
its effect on the town.
Before I begin my analysis of the series and the people
involved, I must say that I have no idea how these people think or feel—all my
commentary is based on how they are portrayed within the realm of the podcast
and the spin the producers and editors put on them. I must also say that the
life I have lived in Southern California gives me absolutely no authority on
understanding what it must be like live in small town rural Alabama. I may say
some foolish things with no understanding of that culture as I have never been
exposed to it. So, give me grace as I attempt to put my spin on what I got out
of this podcast and the man who was the central figure in it.
S-Town revolves around John B. McLemore, a man who contacted
Brian Reed and asked Reed to do an investigative story on a mysterious small
town murder. It turns out there was no such murder, and the podcast ends up
taking a turn to focus on McLemore’s life—a man who was an eccentric genius,
who was complicated, tender, funny, compassionate, and also dark, pessimistic,
and bitter. John B as they call him in Alabama, was a horologist (someone who
studies time and creates time pieces) who lived in the outskirts of town and
cared for his elderly mother. At first he seems like a reclusive, bitter man
who has done nothing to get out of a situation he hates, but as the interviews
continue, we find him to be much more relational, compassionate and loving than
he first appears. Through a number of interviews, we find out that he has
mentored and come alongside a few younger men in the community, attempting to
teach them and help them with their difficult lives. Yet he denies any love or
true friendship in his life.
Big time spoiler alert—something happens at the beginning of
episode three that changes the course of the podcast….so don’t read on if you
aren’t there yet.
In episode three we find out that John B commits suicide and
the rest of the episodes focus on finding out what happened, who the important
people were in his life, and what kind of man he really was.
Because this is my blog and I can do what I want, I am not
going to make this an analysis of the entire podcast as tempting as that is. (I
know most of you are not English teacher types who revel in analysis,
comparison, contrast and thematic dissection). I do want to spend time a bit on
my sadness over the fact that this brilliant man chose to end his life. If you
read my blog yesterday, you know that it also centered on another show whose
central character committed suicide. That story was fiction, John B’s story is
real. I have known many people who have taken their life and it leaves those
living wondering just what we could have done, how we could have helped, what
we didn’t see. It leaves us with pain and despair.
When John B McLemore killed himself, he called at least two
people to tell them what he was doing. He also left a 52 page suicide note, a
manifesto of the depravity of life and this world. And yet, he had so many
things about his character, based on people who knew him, that showed love,
compassion, and tenderness. He built a gorgeous hedge maze on his property, he
repaired intricate antique clocks, he bailed people out of jail and talked
others out of poor choices. He gave insight into the horology community and
made dimes turn to gold. He was passionate about climate change and politics
and mathematics. He anonymously paid for people’s unpaid debts, and had long,
intimate, deep conversations with those who called him friend.
It seems that he didn’t feel that his life had a purpose, that
he had no hope in himself, or in the future. Here was a man who lived a simple
life, yet still impacted those who loved and knew him. That alone is purpose.
Here was a man who was so smart that he didn’t have the best social skills to
relate to others, yet those who knew him best felt loved by him. Here was a man
who had so much to offer, but was afraid to take relational risks because of
past hurts and present fears. Here was a man who had so many thoughts and ideas
running through his mind, that he couldn’t quiet himself and just be. He said in one interview that “if you knew
what it is like to be in my head, the thoughts running around and never
stopping.” The most disturbing episode in the podcast is the last one where we
find out some of the things he did to himself to somehow forget his pain. I
will forgo the details, but it involves tattooing and piercing and what was
described as “elevated cutting.” If you
don’t know about cutting—it is a form of self harm, where people cut themselves
physically in order to symbolically and literally “bleed out” the emotional
pain and scars they are experiencing. And the saddest part of this “elevated
cutting”—these multiple tattooes and piercings, is that he called it “his
church.” He would meet his friends in a room, they would drink whisky and
perform self harm and call it church. This disturbs me to my core.
John B McLemore was a self proclaimed atheist, and felt that
life was depraved and hopeless. I know that many people have a horrible view of
church or Christianity because of past experiences and wrongs done to them in
the name of religion. This also disturbs and saddens me to my core. Because I
know that the hope found in Christ is so much different than what warped people
who have done things in the name of God have done to others. I know that the
love of Christ is much deeper than the hurts that have been heaped on people. I
know that the grace of Christ is greater than any lie or deceit that has been
taught to people in the name of Jesus.
I don’t know what John B was taught about God when he was
younger; I don’t know how he came to his conclusions about being an atheist; I
don’t know what wrongs in the name of religion may have been committed against
him, but I do know that the God of the universe created him. The God of love
made him to be a man who could create and think and experiment, a man who knew
the intricate details of clocks, of vortexes, of refining metal, of gardening
and wood working. The God of grace made him a man who cared for others, who
gave when people were in need, a man who mentored and served.
If you look at news stories and social media, you will see
that swarms of people are flocking to Woodstock, Alabama, or “Shit town”, to
visit McLemore’s grave and pay respects. They are leaving dimes and flowers and
time pieces and records, and mementos of his life as chronicled in the podcast.
Once again, a person becomes popular, but only in his death. Did John B just
want to be noticed? Did he want someone to pay him attention? Of course he did. Because we all want that,
in our core. We want to be unconditionally loved and noticed. We want to be
secure and solid and hopeful that there really is purpose to this life. There
was purpose and hope in John B’s life. He just didn’t know it. But there were
others who did. Those who he cared for and mentored and loved in the only way
he knew how. And there was One who loved him and created him for a purpose.
There is only One who can give purpose, hope and life—Jesus.
And the true church of Jesus, the body of Christ, is not a
tattoo parlor of whisky and piercings and self harm, though I can understand
why many people would think it to be. The true church, the church Jesus
intended, is the body of Christ—the fellowship of believers.
The true church is
filled with grace and not judgment, love and not hate, hope and not fear, faith
and not hypocrisy. The true church is not about our performance or our success. It isn’t about earning our way into heaven
because of how many times we serve or how much we have given or how many
mission trips we have taken. The true church is about the gospel—the life,
death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. The true church is a body of sinful
people who love a sinless God. The true church knows that we live in a broken,
tainted world in need of a Savior. The true church knows that there is nothing
we can do to earn God’s favor because it was already done for us through Jesus.
I wish John B knew these things before he took his life.
2 comments:
wfwrwr
Thanks for a great article! I have read the same type of news here typicalstudent.org/hot/students-life/us-high-school-students-putting-laxatives-into-lemonade-turned-out-netflix-tv-series and I also found a lot of interesting information there.
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