Monday Morning Music Ministry

8-21-23

The pictures and videos of the devastating fire in Hawaii, in the city of Lahaina on the island of Maui – much less the bare news and statistics – are nightmarish. Arising spontaneously; whipped by bizarre winds; approximately 3000 structures destroyed almost instantly; many people literally incinerated. Death tolls of more than a hundred folks are sure to rise, as many hundreds are unaccounted.

We tend to use words like “unprecedented” when we hear of such disasters, yet we sadly and too easily can recall other natural disasters like Pompeii 2000 years ago, or the Galveston Hurricane of 1900, when upwards of 8000 people died.

When the news of the fires broke, I called a friend in Seattle. He has a home on Maui, about two miles from the fires, as I learned. He has been reassured that his home was safe, yet he wept as the memories of familiar and favorite neighborhoods – and, of course, possibly many friends and neighbors – might be among the horrific losses.

Our minds might go back to another legendary fire, the Chicago Fire of 1871. Debates still rage, virtually as heated and wild as the flames themselves: Was the fire’s origin of “man-made” causes? How responsible were poor city planning or faulty responses in Chicago… or in Lahaina? Or are such disasters (for instance, in great forested lands) inevitable and cyclical? My webmaster, who is formatting this message, recently was on a car trip half a continent away from a burst pipe in his basement. Family heirlooms and uncountable photos were ruined. That sort of a flood can be as personally tragic as the 1889 Johnstown Flood.

My friend with the house on Maui shed real tears for the disaster in “paradise,” despite his own property being spared. And yet – I am not naming him to protect his privacy – his tears of compassion were being shed despite the immediacy of his current situations. He is dealing with two very serious medical problems; and his wife is very sick, too, at the moment.

How quickly beautiful oases of serenity and security, like Lahaina or suburban Seattle, can become virtual “valleys of the shadow of death…”

A prosperous Chicagoan in 1871 had lost properties and much of his wealth in the legendary fire. Horatio Spafford was further devastated by the Wall Street Panic and Depression of 1873. With meager resources he decided to have his family – his wife and four daughters – live for a spell, frugally, in England. Attending to final arrangements, Spafford sent his wife and daughters ahead, intending to join them soon afterward.

But a cable arrived from England with news that their liner had collided, mid-Atlantic, with a Scottish freighter. His four daughters were among those who drowned; more than 300 souls in all. Even in an ocean there are “valleys of shadows of death.”

As Spafford sailed for England to join his wife who survived, the captain of his vessel slowed the ship at one point and announced to passengers that, as close as he could reckon, they were at the approximate spot where that “famous, recent maritime disaster and loss of life occurred.” Can you imagine the anguish of experiencing fire and flood (so to speak), so personal, and even floating on ocean waters where his dead daughters might have been below?

Spafford, a devout Christian and supporter of the noted Chicago evangelist Dwight L Moody, reacted in a way that only the Holy Spirit could embrace and give strength – anyway, I am not sure I could have had the spiritual courage… to write a poem in reaction. That poem became the words of one of the great hymns of the church: “It Is Well With My Soul.”

When peace like a river attendeth my way, When sorrows like sea billows roll, Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, “It is well, it is well, with my soul.”

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, Let this blest assurance control – That Christ has regarded my helpless estate, And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

My sin – oh, the bliss of this glorious thought! – My sin, not in part but the whole, Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more! Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, o my soul!

It is well (it is well) With my soul (with my soul); It is well, it is well with my soul!

It would seem to take superhuman faith to compose such words at that moment. In fact – whether with this background or not; the Hawaiian wildfires on the news, or not – it takes great faith to read these words, sing that hymn, and believe that truth.

Because whatever befalls the believer, it is well with our souls if they are in Jesus. Even in the worst circumstances… health or status… self or family… things of the moment, things of the future… even loss of jobs, of homes, of friends, of lovers… “let goods and kindred go,” in the words of Luther’s “A Mighty Fortress”… God is yet the Captain of our ship, our souls.

Impossible to accept, believe, embrace? That’s what faith is.

• Sometimes friends are revealed as inconstant; and we realize that in a situation, we had hope in a person, instead of faith in God.
• Or we pray and plan, and yet the programs fail; and we realize that we sought direction from everyone and everywhere except the One who orders our steps.
• We know what we want; and then we are reminded that God knows what we need.

There are mysteries in the Ways of God. I do not believe He sends disasters or disease, even to “teach lessons.” He is not a child abuser. Yet there is sin in the world, and our sins have corrupted the beautiful world He created, and sometimes obscure our vision of the beautiful life He promises.

God’s love does not depend upon our understanding of it. Even receiving it does not depend on our total understanding of it! As His ways are mysterious, His love is profoundly without limit. We trust and obey; there’s no other way. And – even in the face of circumstances seemingly to the contrary – it will be well with your soul.

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Click: It Is Well With My Soul

4-27-20

Plandemic. That is not a typo.

I believe this current crisis, across the entire earth, touching health and finances and well-being and emotions is not random. I believe it has been planned.

We hear of “Acts of God” on the news and in insurance policies. To me, acts of God are not hurricanes, earthquakes, tornadoes, nor epidemics.

Acts of God are love. And beautiful days. And happy families. And babies’ smiles. Generosity; charity; forgiveness; gratitude; joy.

These current hard times have us confused and worried. Soon, these emotions might turn into widespread bitterness, suspicion, anger. Maybe not soon, but… eventually. We do not know, now, how long this all will last. People read this message all over the world, and if there still is a world, might read these words ‘way into the future. Now, we see through a glass darkly, because that is as far as our eyes can discern today.

So I say that I am persuaded that this pandemic was planned. Readers who are not Christians might share my own immediate suspicions that China charted a war but without bullets or bombs. Lab-made or natural virus, it is plausible that the worldwide spread was not an accident. Our instincts tell us that, like children caught in the jelly jar, Communist China’s myriad stories, versions, corrections, cover-ups, disappearances, suppression of news, falsified statistics, denials of reliable assistance, arrogance toward truth-seekers… prove them as culpable as gunmen in a bank heist or drivers of getaway cars. If they act guilty, they likely are guilty.

Readers who are Christians may see this view as irrelevant. But I invite skeptics to consider the other evidence of “planning.”

I am persuaded that there is a God; there is a heaven and there is a hell; there is a Savior, Jesus, through whom we are reconciled to the Father. When humankind chose to sin and to rebel against God, yet He sent His Son to bear the penalty for our sins.

As part of our rebellion, for some reason people – even His chosen, those who know Christ – often think that sickness and sorrow are sent by God; and that events like epidemics and death are, oh well, just part of life; not part of Satan’s evil intentions.

Believers and skeptics alike still have to deal with the details, fine-print, and reality of such a worldview. But our 100 per cent understanding of the world and its woes would not change anything in the world. Including the dizzying array of theories and “solutions.” Especially we must deal with things like this awful, stark reality before us.

How do we deal with things? For personal security, a current view is that we engage in social-distancing. OK, having chosen the professions of writer, historian, and cartoonist, my own decisions have put me closer to the “hermit” mode of daily life. I am a little primed, but believe me, I realize this is not for everyone.

First (among many perspectives) we must realize that, at the moment, it might be said that more disruption and misery has been caused by fear than by the virus itself.

I recommend to you not to surrender your spirit to this bizarre solo life of isolation. Rather, realize that as Christians – which I hope all readers are, or will be while there is time to deal with the Truth of the Gospel – we all actually are pilgrims and strangers in this world, already.

We are called to “be apart.” To be “in the world, but not of the world.” This world is not our home! And “I don’t want to get adjusted to this world.” “Be not transformed to this world.” We’re headed for the Promised Land!

I have used quotation marks here because I quote Bible verses and song lyrics – sermons in song, poetic and life-saving advice.

So you may follow the news and the advice about the virus. That is good! You might be curious about whether we are under attack by forces of flesh and blood. But be aware of the real enemy. Through boredom and annoyances and inconvenience, discern the enemy of your soul. Be aware – this is a war, whether we like it or not. Trust God, not headlines.

Spiritual terrorism is being waged against us. You might perceive sniper-fire. But Kamikaze attacks are what we face.

Oh, what a weeping and wailing,
As the lost were told of their fate;
They cried for the rocks and the mountains.
They prayed, but their prayer was too late.

The soul that had put off salvation,
“Not tonight; I’ll get saved by and by,
No time now to think of religion!”
At last, they had found time to die.

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On Easter, Lily Isaacs and her children Sonya, Becky, and Ben were quarantined, but recorded a message and song in the little chapel at Sonya’s home.

Click: I Have Decided… It Is Well

8-7-17

The sweetest things you will ever hear from Christians might be “prayer reports,” testimonies, shared experiences of answered prayer – sometimes accounts of miracles, breakthroughs, heavenly surprises. Even (in a phrase you hear a lot these days) that something has been a “God thing.”

I am not here to question whether God answers prayers. He has answered prayers that I have lifted with an anguished heart; the same with family members and friends. We have witnessed miracles.

I am one hundred per cent certain that God answers prayers. Let the skeptics be in no doubt. God promises that He will do so, and He delivers. Many times the Bible cites it in great specificity, for instance that “The fervent prayer of a righteous person avails much.” God does not lie. He cannot.

But His children – you and me – are flawed. Even after we are saved, we make mistakes and suffer from misunderstandings. Naturally! Not even the angels know all, and certainly cannot answer prayers. Poor things, they can praise, but cannot pray. That is among the attributes that make us different from angels, and special in God’s eyes.

No matter how favored, we are not little Gods. We must be “imitators of Christ” the best we can; we must seek guidance, which is one reason the Holy Spirit was sent to Earth when Jesus ascended; and we must pray. “At all times and in all places.”

Too many Christians – well-meaning, mostly, bless our hearts – believe that prayers will be answered according to our desires. Yes, yes… according to His will; but we misinterpret being “in His will.” There are preachers who teach that it is God’s will to answer our prayers as we pray them, and imply that our faith is weak when “answers don’t come.”

There are pastors who quote (as a promise of God) “mountain, be thou removed,” but have caused no earthquakes or tremors themselves. Or precious few metaphorical mountains, by the way.

There are leaders who pray among their audiences for healing, yet they wear glasses and have progressively slower steps, themselves, in their lives.

But. God answers prayer. All the time.

Except for prayers offered as insincere shows, or with unworthy knowledge of the gospel, God hears our prayers, and answers them. God promises that He will, and He delivers, as a wise man once said (whoops, that was me, a little bit earlier).

My point, though, is deadly serious, because we frequently rob ourselves of blessings. I am trying to encourage faith, not cast doubt.

God is not an errand boy, and prayer is not a magic wand.

Try to think of all the prayers you have prayed for things you want… not things you need.

If we truly trust God, in all His wisdom and love, why are we dissatisfied (even quietly, too often, discouraged) when “nothing seems to have changed?

God is a sovereign God, who loves us. Can we not understand that sometimes the answer is “No”? Sometimes His reply is “Not now.” Sometimes He says “That will be bad for you, trust Me.” Sometimes He tries to remind us that His ways are not our ways. Sometimes – He knows – our faith needs to be strengthened, and sometimes that comes through trials, further prayer, and even chastisement. (The Bible says that God exercises that only on those whom He loves. Take heart.)

How often do circumstances like a job or a relationship or finances seem “right” to desire? And our prayers about them can be summed up like: “This is clear to me, God – can’t you see it?” I have a suspicion He is seldom moved by a recitation of our deeds; and maybe less so by a list of promises we make… if the prayer is answered the way we want.

I know it is hard to operate on these truths. I have scars on my soul from the times I have come to this understanding only slowly and often kicking. However, true faith – a stronger, healthier faith – can come from dealing worthily with what we used to call unanswered prayer. All together now: “What we USED TO CALL unanswered prayer.”

Our faith will grow when we pray believing. Believing that God hears our prayers. Believing that God answers our prayers, always. And believing that in His loving care it is HIS answer, not ours, that will be our path forward.

As hard as it seems, we must learn to praise God when it is clear that OUR script was not followed by Him… but that He is the Master, the “Author Of All Creation.”

Listen, I know that prayer is a mystery. The Bible keeps us on our toes, right? Should we pray for something once, trusting? Should we pray without ceasing? Do we accept His will, but stay ready to be startled by an “answer” when we least expect it?

Yes, yes, and yes. But that is when prayer is a conversation, not a message to be left on God’s answering machine. Keep talking… and keep listening.
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In 1887 at a Dwight L Moody revival, a man stepped forward and said that he did not quite understand the gospel message, but he decided to trust God and obey God. One of the musicians, Daniel Towner, took those words and sent them to hymnodist John H Sammis. The man’s name has been lost to history – yet his transparent honesty and declaration has touched more souls since then, than have many preachers, because of the song that resulted.

Click: Trust and Obey

10-20-14

I want to tell you about two remarkable women.

Fanny Crosby’s name is known by some people today, but her great number of gospel songs fill the hymnbooks of many denominations, and the airwaves even today, sung in every musical style you can think of. She lived almost 95 years (1820-1915) and was a prominent poet and librettist until about the age of 45. Then she began writing lyrics for hymns. Before she died she wrote almost 9000 hymns, many of them, as I said, familiar today.

These and many other works were accomplished despite the fact that Fanny Crosby was blind. Little Frances had an eye infection as a baby in Brewster NY, was mistreated with medicines, and thereafter had no sight. It was a handicap she endured without complaint, testifying that if she had “normal” sight she “might not have so good an education or have so great an influence, and certainly not so fine a memory.” She further testified that “when I get to heaven, the first face that shall ever gladden my sight will be that of my Savior.”

She was a teacher of blind students at an institution in New York City – where her secretary, transcribing her dictated poems, was a teenaged future president, Grover Cleveland – and a published poet, a librettist for opera-style stage cantatas, author of patriotic works during the Civil War, and an evangelist. She shared the gospel message from street corners to rescue missions to crusade meetings.

Fanny Crosby wrote words for her hymns, and seldom the music. Dozens of prominent and amateur composers provided the music to her miraculously simple but profound verses. In fact many of her poems were published under assumed names, so hymnbooks could maintain the appearance of variety. She and her husband, a blind organist, shared evangelistic work.

She never received more than five dollars for a song, and routinely much less; sometimes nothing. While her songsheets sold millions, she invariably lived in poverty. She was befriended by many, including Ira Sankey, the “music man” in D. L. Moody crusades in the US and England; but whatever money she made through her long career she did not tithe – she usually gave away half, sometimes all, of income receipts, to churches or missions. In New York City she served at the Bowery Mission, and lived in extreme poverty in places like the Tenderloin District or Hell’s Kitchen.

If you don’t know Fanny Crosby’s name, you might know her hymns including “Blessed Assurance,” “Pass Me Not, O Gentle Savior,” “Safe in the Arms of God,” “Near the Cross,” “Jesus is Calling,” and “He Hideth My Soul.” She is buried in a humble cemetery outside Bridgeport CT, her modest gravestone telling the world: “Aunt Fanny: She hath done what she could.”

When I met Cliff Barrows of the Billy Graham Crusades, he told me how the words of Fanny Crosby had touched his life, sometimes with the impact of Bible verses themselves. That day I had with me an old copy of Fanny’s autobiography, “Memories of Eighty Years,” and I presented it to him. A jewel-encrusted heirloom would not have meant more to him; it was impressive to see evidence of how, indeed, he had been touched by Fanny Crosby in his life.

Fanny never considered her affliction a handicap, and she did not complain about her poverty. She wanted to write hymns; and, in countless humble missions and fetid soup kitchens, she wanted to share Jesus with “her boys.” Her work lives on, beyond the people she met, in the hymns that still affect listeners today.

The other woman we visit today was Fanny’s contemporary and, like her, a poet, evangelist, missions worker, when these activities were uncommon, in churches and in general society, for women. She also suffered physical affliction, and wrote the words to at least one hymn of great fame and comfort to generations of people. Katherine Hankey, 1834-1911, was born in London and did all her work in England except for a period as a young woman, as an evangelist in “darkest Africa.”

Katherine’s father was a prosperous banker, so she never endured the privations of a Fanny Crosby. Yet she caught the evangelistic zeal – despite her staid Anglican roots – and preached on street corners of poor urban neighborhoods, in factories, and at docks. While only in her thirties she contracted a disease that had doctors confine her to bed, not merely her house.

Her greatest regret over this news of a life-threatening illness was that she could not preach, share the Word, and talk about the love of Jesus to “her boys.” She determined, if she had to find an alternative, to write what was on her heart. From a very long poem grew the verses that embodied her zeal to “tell the old, old story.”

Two women in two cities, two different societies – different from each other; different from today, especially regarding the role of women – both challenged by horrible afflictions, but overcoming them. Gloriously.

Their biographies are lessons for us all, not only contemporary women, young or old. They are inspirations to what we may do as fighters in the arenas of life, as warriors wielding the gentle weapons of God’s love and mercy.

Two women speak, and sing, to us over the many years. One, blind, wrote, “Tell Me the Story of Jesus.” The other, weak and bedridden, wrote, “I Love To Tell the Story.”

Two women’s stories are… one story. The story of Jesus and His love.

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The separate but equal testimonies of two remarkable women live on through two powerful and beloved gospel songs. As musical sermons they have touched the lives of millions since they were written in quiet and humble circumstances by two servants of God.

Click: Tell Me the Story of Jesus – I Love To Tell the Story

4-22-13

George Beverly Shea, who provided the theme music, in a real way, to the faith of several generations of Christians, died on Tuesday, April 16, 2013.

He lived to the age 104. One hundred and four was the a number that had many people talking when they heard of Bev Shea’s passing. Yet other numbers are more significant. Two hundred million is the approximate number of people before whom he performed his hymns, live, through the years. Sixty-five is how many years ago he joined Billy Graham’s ministry. Seventy is the number of albums he recorded. Ten is the number of Grammy nominations he received.

And “countless” is the number of people who profoundly were touched by Bev Shea’s sincere renditions; and countless the number of souls he ushered into Heaven through his music ministry.

So 104, by itself, is not a significant number. A form of an old joke addresses the chronological milepost: “Just reach 103, and be very careful!” But the 16th-century French essayist Michel de Montaigne wrote: “The value of life is not in the length of days, but in the use we make of them; a man may live long yet very little.”

Bev Shea’s career is a testament to a life of value, lived yielded to the Holy Spirit. His part in the story of the three men who were the core of hundreds of crusades – more than 60 years of friendship with each other, and friendship with Jesus – is remarkable. Those men were Bev Shea, singer; Cliff Barrows, musical director and host; and Billy Graham.

Many great preachers and evangelists have surrounded themselves with music and musicians, knowing that between heartfelt hymns and catchy gospel songs, there was “bait” enough to attract people not yet secure in their faith. Martin Luther had Johannes Walther… and J. S. Bach, 200 years later. Dwight L Moody had Ira Sankey, and Fanny Crosby’s hymns. Billy Sunday had Homer Rodeheaver. Billy Graham himself admitted he never would have had a successful ministry without Bev Shea’s singing. Graham’s own singing talents were charitably described by Bev as sustaining the “malady of no melody.”

Many advertisements and handbills for early crusades read, “BEV SHEA SINGS… Billy Graham will preach.” Indeed, it seemed the cart approached the horse when the unknown fledgling preacher Billy Graham knocked on the door of Bev Shea’s office at WMBI, Moody Bible Radio in Chicago, and asked the famous singer to join him. Bev accepted, reminding more than a few people of Jesus calling a diverse group of Disciples.

For all of Billy Graham’s powerful sermons and tremendous influence, one cannot envision one of his crusades without music, without Bev Shea. The associations are many: the altar-call hymn, “Just As I Am”; the inspiring “This Is My Father’s World”; the sermon-in-song “The Ninety and Nine.” Bev himself was responsible for the tune to “I’d Rather Have Jesus’; and he wrote words and music to “The Wonder of It All.” The music at an early crusade in Los Angeles was responsible for the conversion of cowboy star Stuart Hamblin… whose own gospel songs “Until Then” and “It Is No Secret (What God Can Do)” subsequently became crusade favorites.

One of Bev Shea’s signature songs is regarded as the world’s favorite hymn, after “Amazing Grace” — “How Great Thou Art.” Today, many people think it is a centuries-old standard, but it was only in the 1950s, at a Billy Graham Crusade in New York’s Madison Square Garden, that Bev Shea first sang it in the form we know today. Audience reaction demanded multiple encores on successive days, and an extended booking for the nightly crusades. The hymn had originated as a poem and an unrelated folk tune in Sweden and had traveled to Christian communities in Germany, Russia, the Ukraine, England, Canada, and the United States… until, with Bev Shea’s variations and powerful performance, it caught fire.

The astonishing appeal of Bev Shea is due only in part to his velvet-toned bass-baritone. It is more than his straightforward presentation of classic hymns, which, sung by any other voice in the 21st century, might have seemed anachronistic. It is not even fully explained by his courtly presence, so manifest on platform and in private, whether with a few personal friends or multitudes of fans.

I believe Bev Shea’s appeal, ultimately, was his lack of guile, using a word the Bible warns against. “No shadow of turning.” He simply introduced Christ. Technically speaking, Cliff Barrows introduced Bev Shea, Bev Shea introduced Billy Graham, and Billy Graham introduced Jesus Christ, all yielded to the Holy Spirit’s direction, according to their respective God-given talents.

That explains his life. To explain his death, I cite my friend Jim Watkins, who recalled the gospel song written by Bev Shea, and referred to that lifetime of friendly partnership with the crusade team: “George Beverly Shea, Billy Graham’s featured soloist for 60 years, is now realizing the full extent of his famous song, ‘I’d Rather Have Jesus.’” It was time, and Heaven is sounding sweeter right about now.

Well sung, thou good and faithful servant.

Cliff Barrows, Rick Marschall, Joni Eareckson Tada, George Beverly Shea, Joni’s mom Lindy

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I got to know Bev Shea when working on a proposed PBS documentary on gospel music, for producer Don Stillman. Days spent at the Cove with him and Cliff Barrows, Billy Graham staff, even Joni Eareckson Tada, were precious. At the crusades, Bev Shea sang and seldom spoke. When he did introduce a song, however, he spoke from his heart, as this vid from a performance, probably early 1960s, attests. A portion of his testimony. And his classic song…

Click: I’d Rather Have Jesus