Author: Al
Posted: 2007-09-07 14:59:36
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Lyrics – Roman In The Kitchen
Roman in the kitchen told me that true love it waits, but of all the rules he lives by that's the one that he hates – Cold War Kids
When it comes to music I am an arbitrary and eclectic whore. I like almost every form of music from classical to pop trash. The term “my favorite band” has almost no meaning for me, as I gleefully swap and switch the group in that position based upon what I am listening to at the moment. I am unashamed to announce that I will scream like a schoolgirl at the upcoming White Stripes concert here in Boise this month. Nik and I got our tickets the day that they went on sale.
I tracked down a few songs from their opener, a band I had never heard of before, and was very surprised. I was and am still so surprised that I might now be more excited to see the opener than the headliner.
With their newfound place of honor as my band-of-the-minute, Cold War Kids gets the first treatment in this series on lyrics that I find profound.
Before the hate mail comes a rolling in, let me just say that I do in fact know that what passes for profound with me is often what passes for mind numbingly obvious for the average half-brain. As much as I want to be Chesterton reincarnate, poetry largely escapes me. Nonetheless, this is my sandbox and I get to make whatever hideous sand castle I want in it. So there.
When I like a song for its lyrics, I often just enjoy the imagery that it gives. This line certainly passes that test. I see monachus in cucullo sitting at my kitchen table dishing out wisdom from antiquity. I would, of course, have to get a kitchen table to complete this vision, but that is a minor matter after bringing a Cistercian monk into my house with the sole charge of advising a protestant over lunch each day. This monk should also come from the early middle ages and speak impeccable English (my Latin is terrible).
You see, for me the Roman in the kitchen can only mean a Roman Catholic. Of those, I hold the highest esteem for Chesterton and any arbitrary monk or abbot. Chesterton couldn't be in the kitchen giving me advice because we'd be too busy getting fantastically sloshed. I've said it many times, but it is worth repeating that G.K. is my ideal drinking buddy. I almost cry knowing that we'll never share a pint. Back to the Roman. I would be just as happy with a great like Benedict, or an unknown but erudite initiate. They just have to wear the stereotypical brown robe and hood. Why? If I had an answer to that then I might also know why my self-image is of me in a robe and fez hat.
Beautiful imagery does not, of itself, make a thing profound. It just grabs our attention so that we can see something that might have else wise gone unnoticed. So let's talk about my Roman's message in this particular passage.
We all know that true love waits, and that fact galls at all of us. It is true on every level. It is the citrus that makes love all the sweeter. Let me explain.
I met Nik on the Internet as an adolescent. We talked for years before we met in person. What's more, is the way we met was a chance meeting that I can only site as divine intervention. Today we mourn our lost childhood together. I desperately wish that we could have been there for each other during our trials. I know though, that if my impetuous wish were granted it may well kill one of the most special things in the world. Our love. I suppose that this is how we touch something like the Creator must feel about Creation. Pain is such a large part of how we come into our relationship with him. If he were not willing to wait for it to run its course would our existence be so meaningful? No, love is patient. This is why.
With children, the example is even more crystal clear. You have your babies and they love you almost immediately. At least, that's how it seems to the outside observer. In truth, they are more like cats for a few years. They throw whatever affection at you is required to make you meet their needs. You protect and care for them, thus they feel an instinctive loyalty for you. That isn't true love. You know it deep down, and it keeps you from truly loving them as well. Oh, your instincts do a fine job of covering for it, but the knowledge that you are being used sours the experience just a little.
Then one day you cut the apron strings on some negligibly important responsibility that you've had until now and you can practically see the neurons firing in their little brains. You watch as in a heartbeat they piece together the startling fact that they are going to have to grow up and you won't do everything forever, or even anything for long. It's probably a little traumatic for them, but at the end comes one more startling fact. They truly love you. They love you not because you do anything for them. They love you for the only reason that true love can exist. They love you because.
That last sentence is not a typo. I can forgive you thinking that it is though. Everyone knows I rarely give a cursory reexamination to these columns, so they are fraught with typos and errors of all shape and size. This idea that I am trying to convey is one most people refuse to acknowledge. You cannot truly love a thing for a reason. If you do, either the reason (and your love) will go away, or you will pervert the thing beyond all recognition to preserve your reason in it. You have to truly love a thing just because. Therein lies the second way that we touch the Love of God through our interaction with others. He does not love us for anything found in ourselves.
There are two terrible possibilities that must be confronted. Children almost always truly love their parents before their parents truly love them. Secondly, but more terribly, It is the parents who, more often than not, completely fail when confronted by this opportunity. Mostly this manifests as the selfish desire to preserve the child at the exact moment where they gave the most love. The roles are now reversed (or at least made one way) and the parent loves the child only for the fleeting feeling given in that moment. We've all seen it. Hell, most of us have lived it. This is why we are always mommy's little baby. The highest of the virtues is always the worst vice when twisted.
Why do we really hate waiting for love? It is so painful to wait alone. We wait for the love of our soul mate. We wait for the love of our children. Saddest of all, we wait feel the love of the Eternal. He waits for us to love him too.
When you think about it, the whole of Creation shouts this truth to us. There is no love without pain. We hate it. We want to live in some ill conceived fantasy world where it wasn't true. Where the Fall did not happen. Where, somehow, the innocence of our pre-fall nature is worth more than salvation through Christ. That way, God doesn't have to suffer, we don't have to suffer, and everyone wins. Unfortunately, that's like wishing for a stone to be more valuable than a baby. The only way to get your wish is to so completely warp the definition of a baby as to make it undesirable.
At least that's what the Roman in the kitchen told me. |
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