Imagine being an already disillusioned eleven year old hearing
this song for the first time. The melody
is calming after the rush of Locomotive Breath.
The song pegged exactly how I felt about school, God, and life. No one was willing to hear my thoughts at
this time in my life.
The stanza about being compared to one’s father really sank
deep into my lonely and enraged spirit. Thought my encounters with my father had been few they had already
damaged me in ways that still hurt almost fifty years later.
As the calmness gives way the same truths said in more harsh
tones I remember the anger rising in me.
I remember being told when I was very little “You cannot get angry, you
will hurt someone.” Who said it does not
matter. That it stuck does. As the anger welled up in my spirit I automatically
pushed it back down. I remember deciding
that “they” had everything wrong.
It was not until some time later that I realized that Ian
was more correct than my angry heart realized.
I was rejecting God with the rejection of my elders, the hypocrisy, and
the pain. I would come to the place
where I realized that God is very real.
It is the constructs built around him that are often false. I think that the statement “He’s not the
kind you have to wind up on Sunday” may be the ultimate statement of God’s sovereignty.
Again we do not see God as he intends to be seen. We see him in the trappings of religion and
in keeping with Ian’s cover words, have made him in our image. This was the last song on the album in
1971. The time through the album left me
with a determination never to be the things others said I should be in any
way. I failed at this later. I was on a path to destruction when the last
note of this song played. You may not
blame Ian Anderson or the era. It was
all up to me.
Wind Up – Ian Anderson
When I was young and
they packed me off to school
And taught me how not
to play the game,
I didn't mind if they
groomed me for success,
Or if they said that I
was just a fool.
So I left there in the
morning
With their God tucked
underneath my arm --
Their half-assed
smiles and the book of rules.
So I asked this God a
question
And by way of firm
reply,
He said -- I'm not the
kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
So to my old
headmaster (and to anyone who cares):
Before I'm through I'd
like to say my prayers --
I don't believe you:
You had the whole damn
thing all wrong --
He's not the kind you
have to wind up on Sundays.
Well you can excommunicate
me on my way to Sunday school
And have all the
bishops harmonize these lines --
How do you dare tell
me that I'm my father's son,
When that was just an
accident of birth.
I'd rather look around
me -- compose a better song
'Cause that's the
honest measure of my worth.
In your pomp and all
your glory you're a poorer man than me,
As you lick the boots
of death born out of fear.
When I was young and
they packed me off to school
And taught me how not
to play the game,
I didn't mind if they
groomed me for success,
Or if they said that I
was just a fool.
So I left there in the
morning
With their God under
my arm --
Their half-assed
smiles and the book of rules.
Well you can
excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school
And have all the
bishops harmonize these lines --
When I was young and
they packed me off to school
And taught me how not
to play the game,
I didn't mind if they
groomed me for success,
Or if they said that I
was just a fool.
So to my old
headmaster (and to anyone who cares):
Before I'm through I'd
like to say my prayers –
Well you can
excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school
And have all the
bishops harmonize these lines --
I don't believe you:
You had the whole damn
thing all wrong --
He's not the kind you
have to wind up on Sundays.
Wishing you joy in the journey,
Aramis Thorn
Mat 13:52 So Jesus said to them, "That is why every writer
who has become a disciple of Christ’s rule of the universe is like a home
owner. He liberally hands out new and old things from his great treasure
store."
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