ROCK OF SAGES SERIES: "Point Of Know Return" Kansas (#3)
GOLD IN THE GREATEST SONGS
For this third song in our Rock of Sages series, come back down with me to the basement of my childhood home in Oshkosh, Wisconsin, circa 1977. Imagine a space defined by a threadbare, multi-colored rug, dented wood paneling from rogue baseballs, and the midnight taunt of a black cricket whose chirp seemed to echo from the center of the earth. That basement held everything a boy could love: Rubber-band battles, comic books, lego cities, shelves of toys, and most sacred of all—Bart’s collection of 45s. They lived in a black-and-white vinyl case branded “REO Speedwagon”—a name we knew not as a band but as some kind of prehistoric vehicle. The music felt timeless, like someone whispering through the decades.
On one of those slow, humid Midwest nights—air thick with the smell of earth and popcorn and summer laundry—we’d flip through those records until we landed on one that felt like a doorway. Point of Know Return by Kansas.
We didn’t know much about who Kansas was. We hadn’t heard of "prog rock." But we knew the instant that needle dropped something was happening. No gentle fade-in. No polite introduction. Just a full-on surge: drums, bass, guitar, organ—all instruments launching as if already mid-flight. It felt like getting swept into a storm, not by chaos, but by conviction.
And then the words landed:
I heard the men saying something / The captains tell they pay you well…
And they say they need sailing men to / Show the way and leave today…
It sounded like a story. It sounded like the beginning of a myth.
We were boys, unaware of what was unraveling in the world above us. But the music told us the stakes were high. You didn’t need to fully understand to know the message was urgent. Even then, we felt the ache. The cry.
Was it you that said how long… how long?
A WORLD BREAKING OPEN
In 1977, the world we inherited was coming apart at the seams. Vietnam was over, but the silence it left was haunted. Watergate had soured the nation's trust. The sexual revolution, now mainstream, had already made the long march through family life, hollowing out what had once been called sacred. The sitcoms laughed about brokenness; our neighbors lived it. Fathers disappeared—physically or emotionally. Mothers held things together with a thread and a prayer. And the kids? We were told we were free.
We could be whoever we wanted. We could feel our way forward. Truth was flexible. Morality was personal. The culture handed us a mirror and said, “This is where your meaning comes from.”
But even in grade school, something in us protested. Not with philosophy. Not with arguments. But with a quiet, inarticulate ache. That something about the script wasn’t right. That something was missing.
It would take years before I understood what it was. But back then, down in that basement, Kansas became a voice in the wilderness. Their sound didn’t mock or moralize. It moved. It reached. It told the truth.
They say the sea turns so dark / That you know it's time, you see the sign…
That lyric haunted me.
It was more than poetic—it was prophetic. The sea doesn’t turn dark because of weather. It turns dark because of reckoning. Because you’ve wandered too far and there’s no turning back.
How long… to the point of know return?
MORE THAN MUSIC: A CALL
At the time, I didn’t know that Kansas’s members were themselves wrestling with these same questions. Steve Walsh and Kerry Livgren, two of the band’s core creative forces, were in different stages of existential unrest. Livgren, in particular, would go on to speak openly of his spiritual journey, his search for meaning beyond the noise. In 1980, he became a committed Christian. But even before then, the music bore hints of the struggle.
Point of Know Return is not a song of rebellion. It’s a song of revelation.
It's not a call to run away. It’s a call to wake up.
Your father, he said he needs you / Your mother, she said she loves you…
That part always stopped me. Because it cut through the fog of every lie a kid believes. That he’s on his own. That no one cares. That what he does doesn’t matter. But here was this voice—this music—telling a different story. Even in the midst of running, there was someone calling you back. A father needing you. A mother loving you. Brothers echoing your words.
It wasn't guilt. It was belonging. It was a reminder that even the drifting have a home.
THE FALSE FREEDOM OF EXPRESSIVE INDIVIDUALISM
Sociologists would later name the defining ideology of our time: expressive individualism. You are what you feel. You must invent yourself. Freedom is found in escaping all limits, even the so-called “limits” of gender, family, faith, or history. But we weren’t taught this in textbooks. We learned it through sitcoms, commercials, album covers. The air we breathed told us the same thing: write your own truth.
And yet—those truths rarely satisfied.
What Point of Know Return offered was something ancient and countercultural. A warning. A witness. A plea.
Not from a preacher’s pulpit—but from a prophet with a violin.
Today I found a message floating / In the sea from you to me…
You wrote that when you could see it / You cried with fear, the point was near…
That lyric. That note in the bottle. It still breaks me.
It’s someone reaching back—not to accuse, but to cry out. “I see it now.” “I wish I had known.” “The point was closer than I thought.” It’s a lament. A warning. A last grace before the ship goes down.
THE MISSION: BREAK THE SCRIPT
Most people don’t choose destruction. They just follow the script.
The child ignored becomes the adult who overperforms to be noticed. The girl who was told her voice didn’t matter becomes the woman who screams, not because she hates the world—but because she needs it to hear her. The boy never told he was enough becomes the man who either conquers or collapses.
What Kansas did was interrupt that script. Their music cracked the jar—whatever invisible glass walls we’d grown up in. It said: you don’t have to stay there. You can leave the sea before it turns too dark. You can come home.
That’s what stayed with me. That’s why this song still matters.
Because it isn’t just a song.
It’s a summons.
A VOICE STILL CALLING
Decades later, the black cricket of our youth has become the buzz of a thousand apps. The basement rug is gone. The 45s are digital. But the ache? It’s still there. Stronger. Sharper. Shrouded in hashtags and dopamine loops.
But so is the voice.
How long… to the point of know return?
It’s not a threat. It’s a mercy. A final flare on the horizon saying: you are not what happened to you. You are not what they told you. You are not the script. You are not the drift.
You are known. And needed. And loved.
You can turn around.
And when you do—if you do—don’t forget to be that voice for someone else. Because there’s a whole world of people who’ve bought the lie. And maybe all they need is one message. One friend. One unexpected record dropped in the right moment. One soul brave enough to say:
“Was it you that said… how long?”
Because if Simple Man gave us a moral compass, Point of Know Return gave us the call to use it. To live awake. To listen deeply. To return to the source—and become a voice for others on the edge of the storm.
And the question still hangs in the air, just as it did in that basement, under that REO case, through the vinyl hiss and the prayer of that violin:
Not no return… know return!
How long… until you come home?
Here’s an early version, in all it’s psychodelic glory. Enjoy!
Greg Schlueter is an author, speaker, and movement leader passionate about restoring faith, family, and culture. In addition to directing communication and marketing for the Institute of American Constitutional Thought and Leadership, he leads Image Trinity (ILoveMyFamily.us), a dynamic marriage and family movement, and offers thought-provoking commentary on his blog, GregorianRant.us. He hosts the popular radio program and podcast IGNITE Radio Live alongside his wife, fostering meaningful conversations that inspire transformation. They are blessed with seven children (one in heaven) and a growing number of grandchildren. Recent books: The Magnificent Piglets of Pigletsville, Twelve Roses, and Slaying Giants (SlayingGiants.us).
HELP US SLAY GIANTS at SlayingGiants.us, with a forward by Fr. John Riccardo—a story being called "Captivating," "Beautiful," "Powerful."
