The Wichita Lineman, Words, Music, and the Guitar I Haven't Touched

The Rabbit Hole Held Some Treasures

A few days ago, I fell into the rabbit hole—where a music video turns into a stock market video turns into a health food hack, then somehow circles back to a YouTube clip of Glen Campbell singing The Wichita Lineman.

Oh boy. I love that song.

Bob Dylan called it the greatest song ever written. I can’t argue.

I’ve always loved Glen Campbell. He might be the only celebrity I ever met as a boy. Seeing him again—a little stoic, restrained, great hair—something in me stirred. His voice, the technique of his guitar work, and the lyrics by Jimmy Webb.

Perfect combination.

The Lyrics are Incredible

The song is a simple story. A lineman—working alone on the highway, checking the wires, keeping people connected. Webb said he wrote the lyrics after seeing an arresting scene: the vast expanses of the prairie fields in Oklahoma, a utility truck pulled off to the side of an endless road and high atop a telephone pole, perched like a bird, a utility worker speaking on his handset.

Webb’s imagination caught the scene. He’s working. But he’s lonely. He misses someone unnamed. But we all know her. She is our lover, our wife, the voice we miss when we are out of town doing the work we are called and paid to do.

I hear you singing in the wire…
I can hear you through the whine…

It gets me every time. He imagines her voice in the line. You can hear the hum of the wire in the music itself. Webb somehow captured not just the sound of solitude, but the feel of it.

Dee-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee. Just like an old telegraph. (Before my day.)

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The song is short, but there are no wasted words. Just two stanzas. But this line is one of the most packed lines I’ve ever heard. You have to think about it, though.

I need you more than want you…and I want you for all time.

I don’t know that I’ve ever heard a lyric that says so much with so little. Bob Dylan called the phrase one of the most exquisite romantic couplets in the history of song!!

It moves past desire to devotion;
it’s the language of marriage and promise.
It’s about an enduring covenant.
It’s about deep love.
It’s what we all long to give and to receive.

And then the last line drifts on:

And the Wichita Lineman… is still on the line.

He’s still there. Holding on. Doing his work. Waiting. Listening. Hoping to connect with her. But being far away.

There’s the irony in the song: he works night and day to connect people, and the one person he longs to connect with is back home.

Is she waiting?
Wondering?
Wandering?
Is she waiting for him?
Makes me wonder.

The Music is Sublime

Musically, the song is deceptively complex. I read about the song as I fell further into the rabbit hole. While it sounds simple—like something you could strum by a fire—it’s built with jazz harmonies, major 7ths, suspended chords, and, according to one writer, the unresolved music phrases that echo wide-open spaces. (I didn’t know what he was talking about, really.)

Johnny Cash once said, “Good songs are three chords and the truth.” This one has eight of them. And I know them all. Or I used to.

The Guitar

Watching that video, something else stirred in me. I haven’t picked up my guitar in over a year other than to sing Happy Birthday over the phone to family members. It’s a tradition. And every time I take it out, Fran reminds. me how much she loves it when I play.

I should play my guitar more.

It used to be second nature. In my teens, it was practically part of my body. I had a little group—more like a singing team—and I wrote dozens of songs about my faith. I even cut a .45 and thought I was so cool.

The guitar wasn’t just an instrument—it was my identity, and a calling.

But when I planted a church forty years ago, the guitar went quiet. I couldn’t play and preach. I put it down and somehow never entirely picked it back up. My fingers are soft now. The calluses are gone.

And yet… the guitars still hang on the wall in my study. They are watching me. I wonder what it would mean for me to pick them back up again. They are all waiting. Are they instruments? Or only ornaments.

Lyricist Yip Harburg wrote the words to the other best song in the world, Somewhere Over the Rainbow. He once said something that might be the best quote in the world. He said:

“Words make you think a thought.
Music makes you feel a feeling.
But a song makes you feel a thought.”

That’s what happened to me. That’s what a great song does. It reaches through time, across distance, and makes you feel what you once thought—or maybe what you always believed.

So maybe I’ll pick up the guitar again. Even if my fingers stumble and the chords feel foreign. Because some songs are still in there.

I turned 70 a month ago and realized that I am a man who has worked all of his life doing the things he loved—the things that God called me to do. But I have let all my hobbies lay fallow.

Can I pick up the guitar again? (I used to be good!). I’ll let you know.

Grace and peace,

David Roseberry ☩
The Anglican

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The Anglican is the Substack newsletter for LeaderWorks, where I share insights, encouragement, and practical tools for clergy and lay Christians. I’m also an author of over a dozen books available on Amazon.

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