Crying to the Lord: Nina Simone’s “Sinnerman”

During the season of Lent, Christians are called to the act of repentance. Like a lot of spiritual practices, repentance is approached in a variety of ways. Repentance can be inspired by a deep, paralyzing sense of sorrow over one’s sins, or it can include an act of the will. For example, it is no easy task to overcome a demon like pride, and sometimes we have to will our way past the blinding power of pride so that we can consider how hurtful our past actions and words have been. For the penitent, the accent falls on the restoration of one’s relationship with God and people.

It is fair to assume that this Lenten season some Christians will feel no need for repentance. Others will settle for the communal prayers of repentance found at church services, but of course, if our heart isn’t in it, those prayers will be arid, offered with little affect. Whether we are Christian or not, many of us are comfortable and content with our lives, and will not be able to comprehend what we should repent for. We try to do good, after all, and we work hard. If we harmed someone, or ourselves, with our thoughts, words, or actions, we can often rationalize the harm away. “Well, they deserved what they got,” is maybe our easiest reflexive response when our conscience is pricked by what we have done, or failed to do. For many, the call to repent will be received with dismissive politeness, or perhaps with scorn— “I don’t need a guilt trip”—and we will carry on with our days, content in who we are and what we are doing, living without a backward glance.

When I was a young man, I did not live with religious discipline, but I was alerted to the life of my soul and its delicate state by the culture around me. Joseph Conrad’s Lord Jim, for example, made an impression, because I wanted to be a strong, independent man whose actions would be considered virtuous, if not courageous. Conrad’s character made me painfully aware of the times in my life when I had not done the right thing. Like Lord Jim, did my past sins continue to disturb the peace of my soul now, even though I lived day to day without being aware of this millstone around my neck? A painting like Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks could also stir my soul, bringing an image to the soulful pain I felt in the knowledge that I wanted to be forever happy and content, but instead seemed to be outside of happiness more often than not, alienated, and at times, resentful.

When it came to music, the blues moved me. Jimi Hendrix’ Hey, Joe struck me deeply, because the song led me to realize what could happen when a person did not mature in mind and spirit. Joe is a passionate and prideful young man who commits murder because he caught his woman “messing around with another man.” The importance of mastering our passions is lesson number one. But there is another lesson subtly placed in the song. Joe’s pride compels him to run from his evil act, heading to Mexico where, he assures his questioner, he will be free, where no hangman will ever “put a rope around me.” What is freedom, I wondered. Surely it is not living a life running from the law in order to elude capture. My feeling is that the character of Joe realizes he is a fallen creature in need of redemption. After assuring the questioner of his freedom in Mexico, Joe quickly adds, “I got to go now,” and then says, “Goodbye, everybody,” precisely because he understands he is now a social pariah, cut off from his society, broken and looked upon with scorn.

Recently I was introduced to Nina Simone’s 1965 rendition of Sinnerman. The song emerged in the mid-twentieth century, an African American spiritual that was first recorded in 1956 by the Les Baxter Orchestra. Simone’s ten-minute version in particular makes quite an impact on the listener. In the final minutes of the song, the desperate state of the man seeking redemption in his last moments alive is animated by Simone’s frenetic blend of classical and jazz piano.

Lyrically and musically, the original Les Baxter version is worthy of a careful listen. The apocalyptic imagery is evocatively presented, with the sinner looking for a place to hide from the Lord’s wrath. First, he runs to the moon, then to the stars, and then to the sea. With these hiding places falling away around him, the sinner finally turns to the Lord for help, and here we are surprised by the Lord’s rebuttal of the sinner’s pleas because he “Prayed too late.” The only place left to turn is Satan. As the song ends, the listener is left suspended over the tale that has just been masterfully told, because Satan is happy to welcome the sinner, and invites him right in where the Lord, the moon, the stars, and the sea could not help him. Without being heavy-handed, the song moves us to consider the state of our own souls, recognizing that “on that day” could be this very day we are cruising through without a second thought. The Son of Man, and our last breath, we remember, will come like a thief in the night. Are we ready?

The Simone version has slightly altered lyrics, with the same intention and impact. The accent of Simone’s song shifts, however, from the steady, running tempo of the Les Baxter version to the tormented soul left helplessly paralyzed in grief, hoping for redemption. By the end of Simone’s song, we remember King David, rocking back and forth while grieving in a pile of ashes. As the sinner cries out in prayer, “power, power Lord,” we picture a man on his knees, arms upheld, praying and praying some more that the Lord will not reject him. “Don’t you know that I need you?” calls out the desperate man, “Oh, Lord, wait!” We know from the music that this story is a tragedy, and while we don’t want to presume to know how God will ultimately act, the sense is that there will not be any amazing grace rescuing this sinner man any time soon. The sinner waited too long.

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