The Long and Winding Road of Love, Faith, Hope

Reflections on the Beatles classic.

Two weeks ago, my youngest son got baptized. It was a wonderful day of celebration in my and my wife's heart. By the time the afternoon rolled around, I sat outside with a cup of tea and began to contemplate my son’s future—of the twists and turns, highs and lows, victories and defeats my wonderful boy is going to have in his life.

I began to think even those days of twists and turns when he will walk on when I am no longer here to be with him.

One of my favorite songs—and my favorite Beatles song—is The Long And Winding Road. Written by Paul McCartney at the end of the absolute whirlwind of The Beatles, as he no doubt saw his friendships dwindle and the band he worked so hard to make into a success begin to fade away, McCartney penned a brilliantly melancholic piece that so poignantly expresses the mix of sadness and joy of life; the longing we all feel for that something we can never quite seem to reach.

The song has always encapsulated emotionally for me what it means to walk with friends, family, my wife—and with God.

The long and winding road

That leads to your door

Will never disappear

I've seen that road before

It always leads me here

Lead me to your door

Structurally, the song is a bit circular—ending at the beginning musically, in a way; leading you again to the same door from the beginning. It’s definitely one of McCartney’s more artistic pieces, simply done but with all the careful surprises and subtleties that made the Beatles so good at what they do.

The long and winding road. It's such a true reflection of life. We go from door to door, place to place, but there are those doors we always come back to again—the doors we so often walk away from in our journey; and then, after being on the long and winding road, we find ourselves back there again.

I think of this when I get into bed every night next to my wife. Every day, no matter what kind of day it was, it ends the same. When I was younger, some friends would lament this reality of getting older. “Wouldn’t it be so boring, getting into bed with the same woman every night?” they would say. “What’s the point of getting married and settling down to that?”

The truth, as we get older, is that this is far better than getting into a bed with a stranger every night. There are doors that lead to home and doors that lead only to lonely hotel rooms. Only one tends to lead to long-lasting joy, and it’s home.

The elusive God

Thinking of my son’s baptism, I reflect on how not only life but a relationship with God is actually well described as a “long and winding road”. That’s just how it is. It’s never clean and simple and obvious and straightforward. There are always questions within questions. There are these moments of joy, excitement, and clarity—and then, suddenly, moments of silence and just, well, nothing. The life of faith is not an app you can turn on when you need it and always find the button to do the thing you want. It’s not scientific and it’s not sanitized. It’s not an encyclopedia full of reliable facts. Just when you think you know how it all works, it turns out you don’t have a clue. And then you realize: I’ve got to keep walking this same road?

There are no pat answers when it comes to God. He remains close and yet always elusive.

Or perhaps it is I who remains elusive.

The long and winding road of faith is not the broad, easy way of religion. Paved and smooth with guarantees. Plenty of signs along the way telling you where to go, what to do. What to think. Who to be.

Sanitized and sterilized.

The mess of love

Love is not a simple thing. In fact, love requires suffering. If you do not suffer, have you truly loved? If there was no suffering in our world, would love even be real? It’s easy to love when nothing is required. It’s not even love then, is it?

So long as love is real, life will have joy as well as darkness. For love is a long and winding road, not a straight path to all the answers. In fact, answers are never truly enough on the road of love. What we need is presence. We want to know we are not on the journey alone.

It's the love we share with our children, with our spouses, with our parents and family, with our friends, that will ultimately describe our life when we come to the final door.

Many times I've been alone,

And many times I've cried.

Anyway, you'll never know

The many times I've tried

And still they lead me back

To the long and winding road...

Lead me to your door.

When this song (and the Beatles album Let It Be) went to producer Phil Spector to polish up, he added several orchestral and choral overdubs which the Beatles hated. (Spector had been given no direction as to what they wanted, however, and the criticism was probably unfair.)

McCartney apparently wanted a more stripped-back version of this song, which we can hear on a remastered version in 2013.

I prefer Spector’s version, to be honest. Maybe it’s because I grew up with it. But the choral additions certainly ramp up the emotions, giving it a more holy feel. It adds to the existential nature of the song; to its touching tones. It’s part of what I think makes me also think of God in it.

I now think of both my sons. Their lives will no doubt be like my own: a long and winding road with joys and sadness; times of loneliness and times of great fulfilling. Bittersweet, and still we go on.

There will then come the day when I will leave my sons on the long and winding road, but I will wait for them—and for all those I loved—at the door. That same old door on that same old road.

The door called ‘home’.

There I will wait with the King of Kings.