Sep 4, 2016
The Sweetest Songs I Know
9-5-16
I have told this story before. It is about a holiday far away from home… but very close to my heart. It happened on a Fourth of July years ago, and was duplicated virtually unchanged two months later, on the Labor Day weekend.
A number of years ago I was working on a book, a three-part biography of rock ‘n’ roll pioneer Jerry Lee Lewis; evangelist Jimmy Swaggart; and country-music superstar Mickey Gilley, all first cousins to each other. My good friend Maury Forman offered me his unused condo in Montgomery, Texas to get away for a bit of a personal research and writing one summer. Since Lewis lived in Mississippi, Swaggart in Louisiana, and Gilley in nearby Pasadena Texas, it made geographical sense.
Once settled, I took out the Yellow Pages (remember them?) to chart the location of Assembly of God churches for all the weeks ahead, intent on visiting as many as I could. East Texas was in every way new to me, and I wanted to experience everything I could.
Well, the first one I visited was in Cut and Shoot, Texas. That’s a town’s name; you can look it up. A small, white frame AG church was my first – stop that summer… and I never visited another. For one thing – coincidence? – I learned that a member of the tiny congregation was the widow of a man who had pastored the AG church in Ferriday, Louisiana, the small town FOUR HOURS AWAY where, and when, those three cousins grew up in its pews. She knew them all, and their families, and had great stories. Beyond that, the pastor of the church in Cut and Shoot, Charles Wigley, had gone to Bible College with Jerry Lee Lewis and played in a band with him, until Jerry Lee got kicked out. Some more great stories.
But there was more than that kept me there for that summer. In that white-frame church and that tiny congregation, it was, um, obvious in three minutes that I was not from East Texas. I was born in New York City. Yet I was treated like family as if they had known me three decades. A fellow named Dave Gilbert asked me if I’d like to go to his farm for the holiday where a bunch of people were just going to get together and “do some visitin’.”
I bought the biggest watermelon I could find as my contribution to the pot-luck. Well, there were dozens and dozens of folks. I couldn’t tell which was family and who were friends, because everybody acted like family. When folks from East Texas ask, “How are you?” they really mean it. There were several monstrous barbecue smokers with chimneys, all slow-cooking beef brisket. (Every region brags about its barbecue traditions, but I’ll fight anyone who doesn’t admit low-heat, slow-smoked, no sauce, East-Texas BBQ the best) There was visitin,’ surely; there were delicious side dishes; there was softball and volleyball and kids dirt-biking; and breaks for sweet tea and spontaneous singing of patriotic songs.
I sat back in a folding chair, and I thought, “This is America.”
As the sun set, the same food came out again — smoked brisket galore; all the side dishes; and desserts of all sorts. Better than the first time. Then the Gilberts cleared the porch of their house. People brought instruments out of their cars and trucks. Folks tuned their guitars; some microphones and amps were set up; chairs and blankets dotted the lawn. Dave Gilbert and his brothers, I learned, sang gospel music semi-professionally in the area. Pastor Wigley, during the summer, had opened for Gold City Quartet at a local concert, playing gospel music on the saxophone. But everyone else sang, too.
In some churches, in some parts of America, you are just expected to sing solo every once in a while. You’re not expected to – you want to. So into the evening, as the sun went down and the moon came up over those farms and fields, everyone at that picnic sang, together or solo or in duets or quartets. Spontaneously, mostly. Far into the night, exuberantly with smiles, or heartfelt with tears, singing unto the Lord.
I sat back in the folding chair, and I thought, “This is Heaven.”
I have grown sad for people who have not experienced the type of worship where singers and people who pray, do so spontaneously. From the congregation. Moving to the front. Sharing their hearts. Crying tears of joy or conviction. Loving the Lord, freely. If you have not… visit a church where this is commonplace; even witnessing it is an uplifting balm to the soul. Where there is freedom and joy in singing spontaneously.
I attach a video that very closely captures the music, and the feeling – the fellowship – of that evening. A wooden ranch house, a barbecue picnic just ended, a campfire, and singers spontaneously worshiping, joining in, clapping, and “taking choruses.” There were cameras at this Gaither get-together, but it took this city boy back to that holiday weekend, finding himself amongst a brand-new family, the greatest barbecue I ever tasted before or since… and the sweetest songs I know.
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Click: The Sweetest Song I Know
I absolutely agree with you Rick. Is your book done on these three?
Cyndy, hi. I recently have started working on it again. Am in touch with relatives and friends of the three, particularly Jerry Lee’s talented sister Linda Gail.
Oh, Rick, you’ve done it again–made me homesick for some Gospel singing with our circle of friends! The piano at the end of this can’t rival our dear friends gathered on the mountain! 🙂
I loved the stories and the praise . . . and I think I’ll get my kids to join in tomorrow after our meal and swim!
This is the America I love . . . and yes, a bit of heaven on earth!
This.is.amazing! I love it because I have experienced it many times. And I love it because it is a deep heart longing now, again, as I think about the things I want to make sure my grandchildren experience.
I had no way of knowing, when we’d regularly be invited to Aunt Rosie’s house for a big family dinner and “sing,” that those were not just routine family get-togethers, but impartations of something divine. We’d start with the simplest of meals with some beef on the grill, but to this day I tell my grown children that if their plate includes an ear of fresh picked sweet corn and thick slabs of salted, vine-ripened tomatoes direct from the backyard garden, and if it’s finished off with a large piece of juicy watermelon, well then, everything else is just the extras. It’s still my favorite meal and the reason I decided I’d learn to garden just like my Aunt Rosie.
But it was as the meal settled and the tables were cleared and cousins galore were chasing each other through the greenest grass, we’d see the guitars come out. And the singing began. And even as we children would come and go, sing or play, we knew somehow, we were joining a chorus unseen. There would be hands raised, laughter, tears streaming, spontaneous worship, and song after song. Deep love was expressed among the generations to a Savior from a family that had really needed One, faces aglow until the all the light of the setting sun had long since passed.
Oh this post has put words to a longing for certain! We raised our children singing together (friends included), extended times of worship and love in the living room or on the back deck. But time speeds by. Life gets busy with work and ministry and really good things, but you suddenly realize, hey -how long has it been since we just settled in to sing to the Lord, all of us, our five grown children and their spouses and now 11 grandbebes? Too long. I want my grandchildren to experience family and heaven in exactly this way!
My memories at Aunt Rosie’s happened in Des Moines. It wasn’t actually heaven, just Iowa. 🙂 But it felt like heaven.
Thank you for writing this awesome post. Totally stirred my heart. Obviously!
J
PS We’d certainly have sung, with great gusto, “It’s Different Now,” by that other cousin to those three, David Beatty. (I’m a Pentecostal preacher’s daughter, CofG) 🙂
Oh, Rick. What a refreshing few moments of glory. Yes … the America I love and a touch of heaven! Reminded me of the AG Summer Camp Meetings I loved so much. Thanks for sharing!
Jeanie: I love it, really, when responses are more eloquent, more visceral, than my essay! Becky Spencer’s response elsewhere on this post refers to get-togethers we have — 20, 30, 40 people — at the writer’s conferences on the last night. Same thing: Around the piano, singing, sharing, praying, asking for prayers, offering thanks, singing old favorites and sharing new songs. Testimony. Tears of joy and sadness and weariness… God washing our eyes. THANK YOU for this, and sharing special moments of your life.
By the way, I knew David Beatty too, and interviewed him for my book. He kindly autographed his record album. Very nice man.
Hi Rick,
As you know I grew up in the Church of Christ where no instruments accompanied the harmony of the hymns. Nearly every social gathering ended up with at least some folks gathered for a time of hymn-sing, the young learning parts from the seasoned brothers and sisters.
Recently, I came across a Christian radio station that has a portion of their programming dedicated to many hymns of my youth sung in sweet harmony. You can even send away for their hymnbook and, for a spell on Friday evenings, the announcer tells you which hymn number to turn to join in from your living room.
It’s balm to my soul here in Southern California where many a sad story oppresses the moral values of the Gospel. If you make it out this way be sure to tune in to 910 on your AM dial!