Monday Morning Music Ministry

3-17-25

I have observed a strange thing about Heaven through the years. Rather, a strange thing about how people think about Heaven; even how Christians regard Heaven.

This world is not our home, we’re just passing through. Salvation – being accepted as a child of God – should be the object of our faith; trusting Jesus, His sacrificial gift and His resurrection from the dead. He died and rose so that we might, indeed, spend eternity with Him in Heaven.

And yet many believers think of Heaven first as a place where we might have reunions with friends and family, even pets. Catholics prepare to be welcomed by various saints. Generations have depicted Heaven as a place with all sorts of props and costumes.

The Bible, on the other hand – being a Book that ought to have some authority on the subject – never mentions pets or family reunions. No offense to Spot or Aunt Mabel. Rather, it is a place of “joy unspeakable and full of glory.” It seems ironic that with the promise of spending eternity in paradise, we nevertheless think in limited, everyday human contexts. Partly because the Bible tells me so, I await a Heaven where all we will want to do is praise the Lord God around the Throne forever.

If indeed we will recognize people in Heaven (and you might have guessed by now that my bigger concern is that Jesus recognizes me), of course I wonder. Martyrs, “heroes of faith,” the Apostles… I will want to see – as my earthly curiosity prompts my imagination now. “Loved ones,” sure. We love them! Will we be aware of those we prayed for… those who yearned for salvation here on earth; who fought the appeals of the Gospel; who sincerely wrestled with their faith. We can hope so.

We surely do not know these things now. In fact we cannot know now: we can be assured of our own salvation – if we believe in our hearts that Jesus is the Son of God; that he died for our sins; and that the Lord raised Him from the dead; Scripture says that’s all! – but we can not be sure of anyone else’s position regarding Heaven.

I have been reading lately about Oscar Wilde, the Irish playwright, author, and aphorist. He has come down to us in history as a brilliant wit and clever parodist, notable for works like The Portrait of Dorian Gray and The Importance of Being Earnest. He famously also is known as an outrageous iconoclast who flaunted his homosexuality in the midst of Victorian London; who was a pedophile; and who was sentenced to two years at hard labor for his morals offenses.

What is rather less known or discussed in these secular days of ours is that Wilde accepted his guilt and sought not to excuse it, but grew to understand Christ as Someone who likewise shared suffering. Jesus became real to Wilde as a Savior whose endurance of persecution and rejection enabled himself to deal with his sins and yet find hope. He never railed against his treatment – beyond bad food in jail and ugly wallpaper in his last flat – and realized that worldly punishment was his lot.

Wilde’s last two books, The Ballad of Reading Gaol and de Profundis, are deeply spiritual books of introspection and discussions of faith. Remarkable, provocative books with no trademark sarcasms or epigrams. Before he died Wilde requested and received Baptism in his lonely hotel room in Paris. (The one with the ugly wallpaper.)

This man, who for a while was so reviled that, reportedly, no male child was born in England for decades who was given the name “Oscar,” so gross were his sins and moral offenses… could he have “gained” Heaven? Would we see him, if seeing our Heavenly brethren will be possible, among the throng around the Throne? Well, we have the “travel guide” and roadmaps, so to speak, in the Bible; the assurances of Jesus Himself and testimonies in Scripture – yes. Yes.

Call them “deathbed confessions,” or “battlefield conversions,” but… Yes. Think of the worst person who comes to mind. Hitler, you say? If he had given his heart to Christ in his last days – he did marry in his last hours; he had tithed to the church until his last month – yes, he would be accepted, even welcomed, into Heaven. Think of the “best” person who comes to mind. Mother Teresa, you say? If she had done all the thousands of charitable acts for which she was celebrated all her life, yet if even in her last moments she rejected Christ as her Savior – no, she would not be welcomed into Heaven.

Are such things fair? Again… our human values eclipse the Godly truths, the lessons of the Gospel, the priorities of Christianity. Rather than argue against what we might consider “unfairness” – “I have spent my whole life believing Christ, and a dirty sinner can sweep into heaven just like I can?” – we should rejoice that a soul has come to Christ. That is the real priority: our hands might not be as bloody, nor our robes quite as unclean, as the next guy, but we all need the Grace of God. And – if we think good deeds, whether a handful or thousands, will punch our tickets to Heaven… we are sadly deceived.

“All of Heaven [yes, there is the Heavenly host] rejoices when one sinner is saved.” We are being watched; we are encouraged by the Holy Spirit; and one day in the mysterious way God operates Heaven, we too will rejoice and welcome sinners as they join the happy throng praising Christ forever. This is what Heaven means to me.

+ + +

Click: This Is Just What Heaven Means to Me

6-3-24

… OK, don’t rush to your concordance, or a God-Goes-Google if such a thing exists. I am not quoting chapter or even verse. But I believe I am citing the gist of what I honestly believe must be on His mind, sometimes. Or – stick with me – the essence of a lot of the Gospel message.

The Lord would not be so rude, but we know that His Son Jesus occasionally lost His temper.

It is bad enough that we, His children, tend to sin and rebel. But, for Christ’s sake (I am being literal) – when He promises the Truth, gives us the Truth, proves the Truth, and by His Holy Spirit guides us to all Truth… why do we sometimes act in ignorance of the Truth?

Many Christians, “baby” believers and longtime believers both, often begin their prayers by telling God how undeserving they are. In what they believe is humility, they confess their unworthiness. They paint a picture of approaching God nervously, conscious of their shortcomings. In their dirty robes, timidly approaching the Throne of a Holy God…

I suggest that God hardly sees you at all when you pray like that. In the first place, people who pray in that attitude are not humble at all, but stupid. Well-meaning, perhaps, but mistaken. In fact, it insults God rather than honors Him. The Bible tells us that when we have Jesus – when we are “covered in the Blood” of His sacrifice on the cross; when the Holy Spirit lives in our hearts – He does not see us first, but sees Jesus! He sees the Blood! He recognizes the Holy Ghost, which He sent as part of Godhead to, yes, dwell within us! And then there we are, children of the Living God.

Do you think that the Creator of the Universe, having spoken trillions of galaxies into existence, brought you into this world, knew your name since conception and counts the hairs on your head; that He desires that you commune with Him in worship, and grieves when you choose to sin; and Who, as a Holy God, cannot abide sin, yet – even before you repented – became flesh and dwelt among us… and was willing to have His incarnate Son suffer and die, taking our punishment on Himself… and then took the form of the Holy Spirit to live in our hearts… do you really think that God would like to see you groveling before Him? Acting as if we are not the “apples of His eye,” the joy of His creation???

Scripture tells us that when we have been saved and confess our sins, God tosses our transgressions, sins, and unworthiness into the “Sea of Forgetfulness.” Those dirty rags are now robes of white. God could remember all that makes us “unworthy” but He promises not to.

… so why do we want to keep reminding Him?

Get up on your feet… “boldly approach the Throne of Grace”… and let us act like we know who we are! Do we still fight the tendency to sin? Of course – but now we have the power, and the right, to approach God, confess, and be refreshed and forgiven. Even angels cannot savor that! God looks at us, but sees His Son.

I loved the way the old evangelist R W Schambach used to refer to the Savior – “My elder Brother, Jesus!” Another reminder (read your Bible!) that we do not need intercessors to approach that Throne of Glory – not a Mary, not a Saint, not our dead relatives. YOU are worthy!

Stand up… look at those beautiful robes you are wearing, and run to the presence of Almighty God! I’m sure you will understand, if our Heavenly Father would hear you talkin’ like you used to, He shouts a loving “Shut up, My child… and come to Me!”

+ + +

Click: Who Am I

The Happy Goodman Family was one of the great groups in Gospel music. Their talents, varied styles, and heartfelt messages through music – sermons in song, really – have touched uncountable people since the late 1940s. Brothers Howard, Rusty, and Sam, and Howard’s wife Vestal were icons; and Rusty’s daughter Tanya continues the tradition today.

Rusty was the group’s songwriter, and in fact some of his music has transcended Gospel shows and hit records, and found their way into many hymnals. But Howard, the front man for the family band, wrote one that summed up his life, the Goodman Family’s journey. And mine too.

Can you identify, at the end of the day in still, small moments, with the confessions and testimony Howard shared?

I don’t regret a mile I’ve traveled for the Lord,
I don’t regret the times I’ve trusted in His Word.
I’ve seen the years go by, many days without a song,
But I don’t regret a mile I’ve traveled for the Lord.

I’ve dreamed many a dream that’s never come true;
I’ve seen them vanish at dawn.
But enough of my dreams have come true
To make me keep dreaming on.

I’ve prayed many a prayer that seemed no answer would come,
Though I’d waited so patient and long;
But enough answers have come to my prayers
To make me keep praying on.

I’ve sown many a seed that’s fallen by the wayside
For the birds to feed upon.
But I’ve held enough golden sheaves in my hands
To make me keep sowing on.

I’ve trusted many a friend that’s failed me
And left me to weep alone.
But enough of my friends have been true-blue
To make me keep trusting on.

I’ve drained a cup of disappointment and pain,
And gone many a day without song.
But I’ve sipped enough nectar from the roses of life
To make me want to live on.

I don’t regret a mile I’ve traveled for the Lord,
I don’t regret the times I’ve trusted in His Word.
I’ve seen the years go by, many days without a song,
But I don’t regret a mile I’ve traveled for the Lord.

The italics here are mine.

I pray that they are yours, too.

+ + +

Click Video Clip: I Don’t Regret a Mile

10-12-20
There is a bit in an old Laurel and Hardy comedy where the boys are caught in a situation, Ollie impersonating a rich guy and Stan his servant. “Call me a cab,” Ollie commands, thinking of a way they can escape.

“What?” asks the typically bewildered Stan.

“Call. Me. A. Cab,” Ollie patiently orders.

Stan says, “All right. You’re a cab!”

Fast-forward 90 years or so to this election season. In fact to many aspects of life today, and politics, and in the church. Labels have become virtually meaningless. They have not become obsolete, because everybody is quick to proudly adopt a label, or to smear someone with another label. But labels are now fungible, malleable, chameleon-like.

In the same way, statistics don’t lie; but statisticians do.

President Trump identified himself as a very stable genius, a manner of self-description people usually leave to others than themselves, and usually to posterity. Today, critics immediately challenged one, two, or all three of those words. Kamala Harris is described, by Democrat handlers, as a “moderate,” but she would have considered that an insult during the primaries. We recently were told that Antifa is not an organization but an idea… the distinction holds no difference to shop owners seeing their life-dreams torched street by street, city by city by thugs in identical costumes.
The irony is most bitter in religion of the 21st century. Joe Biden calls himself a “man of faith” (faith in what?) but bristles when priests and cardinals deny him the Eucharist because he denies Catholic Church teaching, for instance on abortion.

If the church, the Bible, Jesus’ teachings do not mean anything – if your opinion is superior to the Revealed Word – what is the point of adopting certain labels, claiming to be a Catholic? Some pastors deny the divinity Of Christ, and the Virgin Birth. Are their salaries the same as taking money under false pretenses?

We all evolve, change opinions, and learn. President Trump used to be accepting of abortion, as was I at one point; and a lot people I know. But science, experience, and conscience “spoke” to us. When politicians who also are aware of science, hear of experiences, and have consciences – when they switch “sides” or switch parties — they cannot fail to know where they fight life’s battles now: Who their new friends are. And what effects their defections will have. I refer to conservatives and Catholics who support the party of abortion-on-demand.

This is not in a vacuum; these new rules – or lack of rules – are a microcosm of life today. Heresy is as old as human nature; its first appearance was in the Garden.

“Relativism,” it is called: What’s OK for me is all that matters; There is no right and wrong; You are free to make up your own rules…

I wonder why many people today rebel against Christianity, democracy, capitalism, when the fruits of our civilization have advanced, refined, and are blessings to so many. To ignore our heritage, to decline to defend our values, and surrender to the enemies of our souls… seems like a crime in itself.

If America does not undergo a spiritual awakening, it does not deserve to continue as the Republic we inherited.

Returning here to the political context, and to shifting labels: Politicians and pollsters do not even know what they mean when they profile and predict about the “evangelical” community. Ah, the “faith-based.” Yes, “family values voters.” Some “evangelicals” have enormous differences between them.

Just as Jesus did not die for denominations or missions organizations or charities or movements or committees, but for individuals – you and me – so will the redemption of America not depend upon parties, movements, organizations.

America will be redeemed, revived, and resuscitated by citizens. Individuals. You and me.

If someone wants to know our label, we can use the one that was a perfect description when this noble project of a Constitutional Republic began – Citizen Patriots.
+ + +
Click: Who Am I

4-18-16

We should always be growing as Christians. In fact we should grow in all aspects of our lives: a dead curiosity, an atrophied sense of adventure, are mere reflections of a life winding down. We SHOULD keep growing in our life activities, but our faith MUST keep growing.

Faith is not the destination, after all. We recently shared that “faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” This verse that opens Hebrews 11 – the “Hall of Fame of Faith” – confirms that we keep hoping as we keep believing.

In the six years or so that I have been offering these blog essays, and have been carried by RealClearReligion.org, which sadly is closing up shop, I have not so much lectured, as learned. That is how ministry is supposed to work. You gain insights more than fashion them; you are blessed more than you bless; the responses from random readers, usually unknown to me, have kept me humble, and have strengthened my faith.

Humility is one of the bedrocks – one of the cornerstones – of Christianity.

To be used of God is what we must seek, fervently. There is a seduction to compose mighty messages and memorable sermons. We – the contemporary church, especially in the West – have a frequent sense of urgency to seize the moments. To gather everyone we can into church or small groups or para-church or youth ministry. To “close every deal.”

In fact that is the job of the Holy Spirit. Jesus said so. It is our job, rather, not to subvert the work of the Holy Ghost, but to plant seeds. Let the Spirit nurture and harvest.

Humility.

How often do we realize that, in our scrambling to “reach” others, that maybe God grieves that we neglect ourselves – our own souls, our own spiritual growth, our very salvation? Jesus died and rose for us… not our programs, our ministries, our notches on a spiritual belt.

Humility.

How often do we realize that for all the good we do, for all the myriad aspects of our spiritual lives, that God’s call on our lives – one Mission that is pre-eminent in His eyes – might be ONE encounter, one person, one circumstance where He has placed us?

Humility.

In that sense I have come to an increasing awareness that we all are “mere” stones. Rough-hewn, seemingly not significant, almost interchangeable, in life. But in God’s view, indispensible! Mighty, God-glorifying cathedrals are built stone upon stone upon stone. Usually rough, or seemingly indistinguishable one from another.

But after the cornerstone who is Christ, those stones, piled correctly, and high, and interlocking, ultimately make a cathedral.

But if some are defective, or arranged wrongly, or missing… the cathedral collapses. Our profiles are humble. Our roles, however, are vital. We must see ourselves in this perspective. God resists the proud, but exalts the humble. Just as importantly, however, we must see others, and all of life’s work, in this manner also.

I always reminded my children that not every student who does scales becomes a great violinist; few do. But EVERY great violinist, without exception, began by doing scales. There is a humble way to “do” life that our contemporary culture fights against. Try-it-all, taste-it-all, do-it-all is not a formula for success… nor happiness. The Bible warns against the allure of “wine, women, and song.” You know the rest of the verse: “… for tomorrow you die.”

So, fellow “stones.” In humility let realize our roles, and not exalt ourselves or our meager efforts, even on behalf of the King. Later in that chapter of Hebrews we are reminded of Abraham, who properly “looked for a city, whose builder and maker is the Lord.” In humility let us anoint our writing, our ministries, our… appointments God has arranged for us.

In humility let us rejoice in the work we can do. It’s is God’s work, after all; not our own. Some day, here or on the other side, we will look up, and look around, see what a mighty spiritual edifice we have been blessed to be part of.

And keep in your mind that Jesus said that even if the world withholds its praise of Him, “even the stones would cry out”!

+ + +

This is a valedictory of sorts to Real Clear Religion, which has seemed to many people an indispensible part of their daily fare: news, sermons, surveys, essays, so much more. Jeremy Lott and Nicholas Hahn were superb editors, and generous to share MMMM every week for years.

For those who have followed us on RCR, please continue to receive our weekly essays by Subscribing to Monday Morning Music Ministry. (See link under “Pages” at right.) May God bless all you “stones”… even pebbles, such as “who am I.”

Click: Who Am I

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.

+ + +

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