Death of A Ragamuffin

My all-time favorite artist, Rich Mullins, died 20 years ago this month. I love music and have quite an eclectic taste in music. But he was no ordinary artist, his song writing was sincere devotion to the God that he loved, that he wrestled with, that he pointed us all to. I quickly became a fan of not only his songwriting but his unique communication style and boldness. I just loved his heart. The years before he died he gave up much of his earnings to live on an Indian reservation, teaching the kids music. He played the hammered dulcimer, along with guitar, and piano and there was just something special about his songs. As I got full into fan-mode with him I began looking forward to his monthly editorial columns in a music publication I would get just for his articles. He would tell of stories from his childhood, growing up on a farm in Indiana. Being a sensitive creative type with a Dad that was hoping for just a good masculine farm worker. Stories written from his unique perspective on life that made him Rich Mullins.

I got to see him first in concert on My Brother's Keeper tour. He came out barefoot in a pair of ripped up jeans and a plain white t-shirt. There were no fancy lights, no fog machines, no glitz or glamour, but what we got was even better, a man that was not afraid to ruffle feathers of the contemporary church, to tell of the hypocrisy of religion, and lean us into the purest devotion to the reckless, raging fury that he called the love of God. I don't know which I enjoyed more, the performance of his songs or his commentary between songs. Both were meaningful and inspiring. He left us on the last song caught up in focused devotion to that God he loved so much, that he inspired me to love that much....with hands raised and eyes closed, leaving the attention where it was due which, he knew, was not on him.

I continued to be a big fan. One day, almost 20 years ago, I was on vacation in Colorado on a drive to see Pike's Peak and listening to the radio in the rental car. They played one of his songs then said at the end: "by the late great Rich Mullins". The air escaped from my lungs in a gasp, my mind was racing to grasp the news that my favorite artist had died. The next song they played was "Hold Me Jesus". The tears flowed as I thought of the words to the song he had penned, realizing he was being held by Jesus at that very moment. 

I got a little obsessive after his death, reading everything I could find, listening to all the tributes and even making a scrapbook of all his articles from the magazines. I joined an online forum where many of his fans all grieved and shared our favorite things about his music and life. It was so hard to believe there would be no more of his music, this amazing song writer.

I turned my mom and sister into fans of his and less than a year from his death, my mom also died. I had beautiful memories of playing his songs for my mom, one in particular was playing her "The Love of God" and seeing the tears stream down her face. She had hard things to deal with and his music resonated to her like it did with me. So at her funeral one of the songs we chose was Awesome God.

After that I could not listen to his music for awhile because it reminded me too much of my mom. I went years not listening to it. Then in due time, it called me back. His music is such a huge part of my life. The rawness and realness of his faith, his devotion to knowing he was loved by the creator of the universe, to spite his failings.  I introduced my kids to his music and read them his biography, and other books that were inspiring to him like The Ragamuffin Gospel, a book that calls to the "bedraggled, beat-up and burnt-out". It's a meditation on grace and mercy because "He shall rescue the poor man when he cries out, and the afflicted when he has no one to help him. He shall have pity for the ragamuffins, the lives of the poor he shall save." (Psalm 72:12-13)

I'm a self-proclaimed ragamuffin. I have that on my Facebook banner because it describes me well. I take up the cross of my wounded self each day, battle fatigue, loneliness, failure, depression, rejection, and the sting of discovering untrustworthiness, but travel that same ragamuffin road which Rich walked on. He was not perfect and never claimed to be, but he allowed God to move into his insufficiency, and for that I will be eternally grateful.

Here are some of my favorite Rich moments and a tribute video I made of my mom with his music: