Some Favorite Things about Ireland

Happy St. Patrick’s Day! Here are some of my favorite things from the Emerald Isle –

St. Patrick. I have often written about the famous missionary himself, so I won’t go into that story again, but suffice it to say, he is someone worth remembering. He was probably born in England in the late 300s, then kidnapped by pirates as a teenager and taken to Ireland as a slave. He later escaped, went back to his homeland and became a priest – then had a vision of an Irishman begging him to come back to that island and bring them the gospel. In one generation, Ireland was transformed from a coarse, pagan land, into a Christian seat of education and learning. If you want to know more, I highly recommend How the Irish Saved Civilization by Thomas Cahill.

The hymn, “Be Thou My Vision.” During Patrick’s life, on Easter Sunday around the year 433, a Druid king ordered celebration of a pagan holiday instead of the Christian holy day and declared it illegal for anyone to light a fire for any other purpose. Patrick, in defiance of the king and at the risk of his own life, climbed the highest hill and ignited a huge bonfire, to celebrate Jesus as “the Light of the World,” and God’s light shining in dark places. Years later, an unknown composer wrote a beautiful, haunting melody in memory of the event and named it for the place where it happened – Slane Hill.

Legend says that an Irish poet from the sixth century, St. Dallán Forgaill, wrote a lyric that borrowed phrases from another poem often attributed to Patrick known as “The Breastplate.” Forgaill’s poem was forgotten until 1905, when a 25-year-old university student, Mary Byrne, discovered it and translated it into English for the first time. Then in 1912, an Irish woman named Eleanor Hull set the words to music, using the old melody “Slane,” which by then had become a familiar Irish folk tune. It was first published in 1919 and has been appreciated by worshippers ever since – from the opening lyric, “Be Thou my vision, O Lord of my heart,” to its references to God as “High King of Heaven.”

Celtic music. Speaking of that hymn, one of the things I love about Ireland is traditional folk music. The acoustic sound is one of the foundations of a lot of old-school country music, Bluegrass, and what is today often called “Americana” music. The style uses a fiddle, an Irish “tin whistle,” flute, mandolin, banjo, Uilleann pipes, and often, an accordion or concertina. The guitar and Irish harp are also often used – and since much of it is made to accompany traditional folk dances, a frame drum, a bodhran, is also included. The tunes are often simple melodies with beautiful harmonies, and can range in mood from rollicking, toe-tapping, fun times, to sad and mournful – but always straight to the heart. And by the way – it’s pronounced “KEL-tic,” with a hard “K” sound. The SELL-tics are a basketball team in Boston.

Guinness Beer. Okay, I’m not a big fan of beer, and those of you who don’t drink alcohol at all are welcome to skip this part, but: Guinness Stout has been a famous part of Ireland since 1759, when Arthur Guinness signed a 9,000-year lease on the St. James Gate property in Dublin. Mr. Guinness was a good and generous man who took excellent care of his employees, establishing schools and medical clinics for his workers, providing housing at a reasonable cost, and many other benefits – even organizing Sunday trips to the country by train so his workers could have some time out of the city. Beyond that, back in the day, Dublin’s drinking water was often polluted, causing all kinds of disease, so drinking Guinness was considered a healthier option. Its alcohol level is obviously MUCH lower than Irish whiskey, so it actually reduced drunkenness. I especially enjoy a pint during cold weather, with its nutty, yeasty flavor – the taste always reminds me of the smell of fresh-baked bread. And I love to cook with it too, especially using it as an ingredient in beef stew and roast beef.

The Quiet Man. Okay, this is technically an Irish American movie, but it was filmed in Ireland and is a treat to watch. It’s also my very favorite John Wayne film, co-starring Irish actress Maureen O’Hara and Barry Fitzgerald. It was a passion project for director John Ford, who was himself Irish American, and who worked for over ten years to bring it to the screen. I love it! And the proprieties at all times, if you please…

So, wear your green and celebrate – on March 17, we can all be Irish. Sláinte andErin go Braugh!

Together

It was a big job.

Jerusalem was a big city, rebuilding its walls was a big task, and Nehemiah was facing some big challenges. And there were times when he wondered if his dream would ever be finished.

It wasn’t as if no one had tried. The walls had been torn down about 120 years earlier, when the Babylonian King Nebuchadnezzar had destroyed the city. But the Babylonians had themselves been overthrown, and one of the first things that the new Persian king had done was give permission for work to begin on rebuilding the Temple in Jerusalem. Ezra, a highly respected priest, headed up that project until its completion.

But Ezra’s efforts failed after that. Old family feuds surfaced again. Political enemies created dissension. Turf wars over who should do what paralyzed their efforts. The people were overwhelmed by the enormity of the task. And so the walls of Jerusalem remained in ruins, symbolic of the shame that continued to grip the once-proud city.

And this wasn’t just a matter of bragging rights or civic pride. A city’s entire well-being depended on a well-built wall. Without a stable wall, bandits could raid the city and harass its inhabitants. Without a patrolled wall, thieves would loot and plunder at will. Without a secure wall, enemy warlords could even kidnap citizens and hold them for ransom. So for nearly 120 years, with no wall, Jerusalem remained a city without security, without peace, without hope.

Nehemiah was far removed from that despair. He enjoyed both personal and professional fulfillment in Susa, the capital city of the empire, far removed from the trouble in Jerusalem. Yes, he was a Jew, but he had worked his way up to become a trusted adviser to the king, with the honored title of cupbearer. What happened in Jerusalem wasn’t really his problem. Or was it?

When some emissaries from Jerusalem arrived in Susa, Nehemiah asked about how things were back in his homeland, and that’s when he got a troubling report: even though many had returned to Jerusalem a generation earlier, the city walls were still in ruins, the city gates, scorched and worthless.

So Nehemiah began to pray. And he began to have a daring dream of a plan. It was risky – as in, if it didn’t work, not only would he be dismissed from the king’s service, but he would probably be executed. But trusting the future to God, he suggested his plan to the king, who prompted agreed. Nehemiah was made governor and given great resources from the royal treasury to make his dream a reality.

When he arrived in Jerusalem, he rode around the perimeter of the city, surveying it and assessing what needed to be done. And somehow along the way, he came up with an idea. Nobody really knows what gave him the idea, but it was brilliant. Besides needing the wall rebuilt, the people of Jerusalem also needed their hope and confidence rebuilt. So, thought Nehemiah, why not get them involved in the work?

So here was the plan: he put all the families of Jerusalem to work, rebuilding the section of the city wall closest to their home. You work on your section; other people will work on theirs. That was it. He made sure that everyone knew that each family had a stake in this project, and each individual had a part to play. He made it a matter of honor to work diligently on your section, joining up with your neighbor, knowing that together you would be able to accomplish something great.

For his part, Nehemiah himself went around encouraging and keeping up everyone’s spirits. When would-be enemies conspired to attack, he stationed guards and watchmen at strategic locations, with a promise that if anyone came under attack, everyone would come to help. When economic issues threatened to halt the work, he called in the rich landowners who were exploiting their neighbors and challenged them to do the right thing, and they did.

Everyone worked together. Everyone had something to contribute. They prayed. A lot. They all worked hard. Neighbors became friends as they labored side by side. Old grievances were forgotten for the sake of a greater cause. Nobody much cared who got the credit as long as the job got done.

For 120 years, the walls of Jerusalem had been in ruins. 120 years. But under Nehemiah’s leadership, working together, the people of Jerusalem rebuilt them in just 52 days. That’s right – 52 days.

Each of us has a part to play. Each of us has a job to do. And together, we can dream. And with God’s help, what we dream together, we can do. Together.

An Evening with Lyle Lovett

Lyle Lovett is many things – a Grammy award-winning singer, a talented songwriter, and an entertaining storyteller, just to name a few. But one thing he’s not, and that’s easy to pigeonhole. Is his music more country or folk? Is he more in the style of Western Swing, Bluegrass, or the Blues?

The answer is, all of the above, and much more. He’s also a genuinely nice guy who’s enjoying being a dad to five-year-old twins, along with his wife, April, at their home near Houston. He says he likes touring in Texas because he can fly home after the show and be there in the mornings when the kids get up.

The Texas singer was born in Houston and grew up in the nearby community of Klein. He graduated from Texas A&M in 1980, where he received his BA in both German and Journalism. He played and sang in many of the clubs around the College Station area and performed at the Kerrville Folk Festival in the early 80s. Contacts that he made there eventually led to a record contract.

His music is hard to categorize, but that’s a reflection of a lot of Texas music in general. The highest award in the music industry is the Grammy, and he’s won four of them – one for “Best Male Vocal Performance,” and one for “Best Country Album.” He’s also in demand as a singing partner – he collaborated with Randy Newman on “You’ve Got a Friend in Me” (the theme song from Pixar’s Toy Story) and has also won a Grammy for a recording he did with Western Swing band Asleep at the Wheel, and another for a version of the classic Willie Nelson song, “Funny How Time Slips Away,” recorded with pop singer Al Green.

Multi-faceted musician Lyle Lovett recently performed at the Paramount Theatre in Abilene.

He has been to Abilene twice in the last month, playing both times at the historic Paramount Theatre, with an amazing four-piece backup band he calls the “Acoustic Group.” All of these guys are world-class musicians and session artists – a piano player and keyboardist, a fiddle player, a guitar and mandolin player, and a bass guitarist. A lot of his songs showcase the guys from the band taking turns doing instrumental solos – what’s known in Bluegrass and other musical forms as a “breakdown.” And let me tell you, these guys could really play! Whether it was the strong Blues riff of “My Baby Don’t Tolerate,” or the upbeat Western Swing, “That’s Right – You’re Not from Texas,” the concert featured a wide cross-section of musical styles. The show lasted a little over two hours, then they came back out and played an encore for another half hour.

My friend Loren Cole met Lyle a few years ago and they have kept in touch, and so Loren was able to get us tickets and backstage passes to visit with the singer for a few minutes after the show. And even though we were standing in a cold wind, in the alley behind the Paramount, after a long show, he was gracious and friendly, and seemed to really enjoy the visit and conversation.

I enjoyed hearing many of his best-known tunes – songs like “She’s No Lady” and “If I Had a Boat.” During the encore, he did a personal favorite of mine – a song written by Michael Martin Murphy that mentions Haskell and Abilene, called “West Texas Highway.” He also told a great story about getting to meet and work with the cowboy singer.

But I think my favorite part was when he told a sweet story about his family’s cemetery in East Texas and going to visit there during workdays. He told about being a kid and playing with his cousins while the men mowed and trimmed the trees and hauled off the branches around the cemetery. And as the ladies fixed a huge covered-dish dinner, he and the other kids would be jumping and sliding into a muddy branch of the San Jacinto River. He talked about the continuity of family and knowing that these were your people, and the generations continuing. Then he sang “12th of June,” a gorgeous song about the birth of his twins. As the lush harmonies unfolded – vocals pretty enough to make you cry – he got to the last verse:

So to my father and my mother
And to our fathers long before
There are those who walk above us
Who’ll remember that we were
They will remember that we were

And to these beautiful two children
And to my sweet and tender wife
I will love you three forever
Though I fly beyond this life
Though I fly beyond this life

By the branch at San Jacinto
Play for me a happy tune
Know of all the days I loved
I loved best the 12th of June

A Drink at Joel’s Place: An Appreciation

I’ve recently been re-reading a book written in the 60s that I first read in college in the 70s, and that has had an impact on me ever since. It’s a short little book and a quick read, but one that leaves you with a lot to consider. (And here’s a tip of my hat to Dr. Mark Berrier, my professor at Dallas Christian College, who shared the book with me.) It’s called A Drink at Joel’s Place, and it was written by Dr. Jess Moody, a native of Paducah, and later Muleshoe, Texas, and graduate of Baylor and Southern Baptist Theological Seminary. He later received his doctorate from Campbell College in Kentucky and became the founder and first president of Palm Beach Atlantic College in Florida. He wrote a total of seven books before his death in 2018 at the age of 93.

In this book, Dr. Moody makes a startling assertion – there are many qualities that a neighborhood bar has that a local church needs. Someone who is willing to listen without passing judgment, for example. Bartenders do it all the time. Pastors usually feel the need to teach or correct, and there is certainly a place for that when the time is right, but many times, people just need someone who is willing to LISTEN to them without condemnation or rebuke.

Another thing is enjoyment – or as Moody calls it, “Pure, old-fashioned fun.” He points out the many exaggerations that Jesus makes in the Sermon on the Mount and elsewhere – lines that would have drawn genuine laughter from his original audience. He talks about how the early church was able to make fun of death, because, as he says, “all heaven had broken loose through Jesus’ victory on the cross.” He adds, “One wave after another of joyous Christian laughter washed upon the shores of time and finally caved in the Roman house of sand.” Sad to say, real joy isn’t found in very many churches today.

Genuine fellowship is another quality he lists: the idea that you are part of a community that matters, and that your congregation is a place where love lives, and where acceptance is the rule of the day. Another is anonymity and the opportunity to be left alone, if desired. If a bartender detects that someone doesn’t want to talk, that wish is granted. Many times, churches fail to recognize that newcomers just need some quiet time. The congregation tries to bury new folks with programs and activities, but busy-ness is no substitute for godliness.

One final feature that bars have that churches could use – they deliver what they promise. So should the church. How long would a bar stay in business if all they sold was warm milk? As Dr. Moody points out, the early church found success on the Day of Pentecost when Peter stood up in Acts 2 and announced to the stunned crowd, “This is that which was spoken by the prophet Joel,” referring to the outpouring of God’s Holy Spirit, and the accompanying signs and new life.

Joel’s Place – get it?

In other chapters, he goes on to point out the need for genuine community in the church – not a fake, feel-good, phony substitute, but a true demonstration of the power of love. As he says, “We will win the world when we realize that fellowship, not evangelism, must be our primary emphasis.” Jesus was willing – even eager! – to reach out to the rejected and to minister to the marginalized. Or, as one speaker I heard recently expressed it, “Jesus calls us to follow his example, and reach out to the least, the last, and the lost.” Another chapter talks about the need to pursue and promote real and true peace – not just the absence of conflict but restored relationships and genuine, meaningful interactions with others. I enjoy this book because he is blunt when he needs to be, but also visionary when appropriate. As he says in one place, too many churches “have been dusting the furniture while the house is on fire.”

It’s fair to say that I don’t agree with every word in this book, but even then, I appreciate his point of view and the way he makes me think. Towards the end, he has a chapter about qualities that a good minister should have, and he says that anyone who shows “a lack of Christian love and New Testament fellowship has no business preaching about Jesus.” Good stuff.

Drink deep.

Another Sequel: The Movies x5

I was visiting recently with Preston and Sarah Cox, owners of The Grand Theatre in Stamford. I confessed my love of classic movies, and we talked over some ideas for showing more classic Hollywood films, in addition to the new, first-run pictures featured at The Grand. In fact, one of the movies I’m about to mention was just shown there, as part of their Valentine special feature.

It comes as no surprise to the regular readers of these musings that I love old movies. When I’m with other fans of classic film, I enjoy the game of naming a movie category, and then engaging in discussion about our five favorites of that type. Best Jimmy Stewart picture. Best courtroom drama. Favorite musical. Who was the better actress – Betty Grable or Rita Hayworth?

Our category for this week is “Chick Flicks,” and I will admit it now: I like a lot of these movies, because they tell an interesting story. I like a good story! On the other hand, I’m not a fan of films that just feature two hours of special effects and blowing stuff up but forget to bring the story. This term “Chick Flick” has been around for a long time but didn’t come into widespread usage until the 1990s. Although the meaning has changed from its origin designation, it now is used to refer to a movie that has one or more strong female leads and is geared primarily towards a female audience. They are often, but not always, romantic comedies – “rom coms.” The term is somewhat pejorative: movies with a strong male lead are just “movies,” but movies with a strong woman are often dismissed as just a “chick flick.” But there have been some really great movies made in this category, and here are five of my favorites, listed in order of their release dates.

Steel Magnolias (1989) – In some ways, this movie was the original Chick Flick, and is still my favorite. The cast is amazing: Sally Field, Olivia Dukakis, Shirley MacLaine, Dolly Parton, Julia Roberts, and Daryl Hannah star as a group of friends who meet, visit, gossip, and share life at a neighborhood beauty salon. “I’m not crazy, M’Lynn – I’ve just been in a very bad mood for 40 years!”

Here’s the cast of the “chick flick,” Steel Magnolias.
The movie gives us a great look at the power of relationships to help us get through the challenges and changes of life.

Pretty Woman (1990) – Another Julia Roberts gem; also starring Richard Gere and directed by Garry Marshall. CAUTION FOR SUBJECT MATTER. This is a retelling of the Pygmalion – My Fair Lady story, showing the power of love to transform someone’s life. Don’t miss Hector Elizondo as the hotel manager.

Titanic (1997) – Stars Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio, with a very strong supporting cast. It was directed by James Cameron, who may have his faults as a director, but he does know how to tell a story visually. A rich heiress meets and falls in love with a kind but poor artist about the doomed ocean liner. Also with a strong musical score, including the main title theme by Celine Dion. STRONG CAUTION.

My Big Fat Greek Wedding (2002) – Nia Vardalos and John Corbett lead a great cast. She portrays a young Greek-American woman who falls in love with a non-Greek man, then has to persuade her family to accept him and learn to love him as she has. This is a terrific movie about what family really means, and accepting people as they are – and maybe learn and grow along the way. Opa!

The Notebook (2004) – (This is the movie that appeared at the Grand last weekend.) James Garner shines in one of my all-time favorite films of his. Gena Rowlands, Ryan Gosling, and Rachel McAdams also star. If you enjoy movies that tell their story through extended flashback sequences, you’ll love this picture – it bounces between a modern-day nursing home and a story about two young people set during World War II. SOME CAUTION.

Some others – Sleepless in Seattle, A League of Their Own, Fried Green Tomatoes, The Princess Diaries, Moonstruck, Something’s Gotta Give, and Thelma and Louise. What would be your pics? Drop me a note at haskellstarnews@gmail.com and let me know what you think. And until then, please save me some popcorn.

The Real Story of Valentine’s Day

With Valentine’s Day approaching next week, I wanted to write about the true story of who St. Valentine was and why we associate him with honoring our sweethearts. The problem is, while there are many legends and myths about the origins of this observance, there is very little reliable history about exactly who the real person was or how he came to be associated with honoring that special someone in our lives.

The best evidence seems to be that “Valentine” was a fairly common name in ancient Roman times, shared by at least three different saints with a connection to February 14. The name “Valentine” comes from the Latin valens, meaning “worthy, strong, powerful” – it’s also the root for our word, “valiant.” For our purposes, Saint Valentine was a clergyman, perhaps a priest or a bishop, from the central Italian town of Terni, around the year 270. He was arrested for his faith – it was still illegal in those days to be a Christian – and brought before a judge named Asterius.

Valentinus (the Latin version of his name) was discussing faith with the judge, who challenged him to prove his faith by performing a miracle: restoring the sight of the judge’s young, blind daughter. The priest prayed for the girl and laid his hands on her eyes, and the child could see. Humbled by this act of God, Judge Asterius asked for instructions for what to do next. Valentinus ordered the judge to destroy all the idols in his home, fast for three days, and be baptized. Church history says that the judge freed all the Christian inmates in his custody, then he, his family, and 44 adult members of his household were baptized.

Later, Valentinus was arrested again for his continuing work in ministry, and this time, he was brought before Emperor Claudius II. The emperor liked the old priest and wanted to set him free, until the priest tried to convince him to become a Christian. Valentinus was sentenced to death. Legend says that just before his death, the old priest sent a note to the judge’s daughter – the one healed of her blindness – and he signed it, “from your Valentine.”

A different story goes that the emperor had decided that married soldiers didn’t fight as well as single men, and so he issued an order forbidding young men of military age to be married. But, according to this legend, the priest Valentine kept secretly performing marriage ceremonies, even though it was against the law. He was executed for this on February 14, 270, and in so doing, became remembered as the patron saint of young lovers.

Other accounts suggest a totally different origin for the day. A pagan Roman festival known as “Lupercalia” occurred sometime from February 13–15, involving a matchmaking lottery and a wild night of drunken celebrations. This history says that at some point in the fifth century, Pope Gelasius I established the Feast of St. Valentine’s Day to “Christianize” this festival.

Whatever its origins, it remained a minor festival of the church until the time of the English poet Geoffrey Chaucer in the 14^th century. (I remember reading through Chaucer’s most famous work, The Canterbury Tales, in a high school English class. Thanks, Mr. Wernig.) Anyway, sometime around the 1370s or 1380s, he wrote a poem called “Parliament of Fowls,” with the line, “For this was on Saint Valentine’s Day, when every bird comes there to choose his mate.” The name stuck, and within a generation, people were writing little poems and notes to their love interests, and these communications became known as “valentines.”

Anyway, fast forward to the 1860s, and candymaker Cadbury’s began selling boxes of heart-shaped chocolates. Hershey’s Kisses came out in 1907, and Hallmark Valentine’s Day cards debuted in 1913. And according to the National Retail Federation, US consumers spent a record $19.7 billion in 2016, in what is believed to be the highest total ever for the holiday.

However you choose to celebrate the day – flowers, chocolates, a pretty card, enjoying a nice meal eating out somewhere – here’s wishing you and your special someone a very happy and loving day.

“From your valentine.”

The House Where I Grew Up

As I mentioned in a recent article, we always had a lot of music, especially country music, in the house when my brothers and I were growing up in Orange County. Well, that house was severely damaged last week by a string of tornadoes that ripped through Southeast Texas. As of this writing, it’s too early to tell if it can be repaired and rebuilt or not. The house across the road, which I knew as my grandpa’s house – now owned by my brother Jim and his wife, Christy – that house was destroyed by the same twister. It held together well enough to save their lives when the storms hit. They were sheltering in an interior closet and emerged without a scratch, but much of the house was destroyed.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the house where I grew up. It was built especially for our family, and we moved into it when I was a baby. In the years that followed, I would gain three brothers. As our family grew, my parents took in the garage, added a back porch and another garage, and made other improvements, eventually adding central heat and air and another bathroom. But it was still the house where I grew up.

It was damaged by Hurricane Rita in 2004: repaired and rebuilt. Mom had a stroke there in 2010. After she passed, it was where dad continued to live. It was where I moved back to live with him in 2017 – then Hurricane Harvey flooded us out. Dad stayed in a nursing home while the house was again rebuilt. After we moved him back home in 2018, it was where he died in his sleep. Our youngest brother, David – himself a pastor for a large church in Spring, Texas – he and his wife Gina now own the house. They were using it for church retreats and family get-aways, and planning to retire there in a few years.

Now the roof is gone, down to the ceiling joists. Portions of two external walls were damaged by the force of the storm. There’s pink insulation and bits of the metal roof, hanging from the trees around the house – that is, in the trees that are still standing. A lot of the trees around the house were stripped clean of most of their branches, down to the main trunks. And depending on what the engineers say, the house may now be structurally unsalvageable and have to be torn down.

So, as I say, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and remembering. And what I’ve decided is this: the house may be gone, but the foundation for life remains.

Our parents gave us a home where hard work and discipline mattered, but so did the times of having fun. The house was out in the country. Every other house we could see belonged to a member of our extended family. It was a house where we would do our homework after school, and then go outside to play. We hosted get-togethers for the kids from our church youth group and for the grown-ups, too, if they wanted to come along. Hayrides and bonfires in the fall, fishing trips to the bayou in the spring. Watching daddy’s cattle grazing in the pasture in the summer and walking through the piney woods to cut a Christmas tree in December. Playing baseball or football with my brothers in the front yard and feeding the chickens in the area behind the backyard.

And then there was the time when we were hosting a Cub Scout meeting and mom, the Den Mother, lit a candle and set it on a wooden buffet table (which we called the “green thing”). While we were outside, the base of the candle somehow managed to get hot enough to catch the top of the table on fire. We came inside at just in time to safely put it out. That table has been repainted, sanded, and refinished many times, but the burned place is still visible.

Do you know the old song by Jimmie Davis, “Suppertime”? I can remember many times when we would be outside and hear mom holler, “Boys! Wash up! Suppertime!” If you never got to hear something like that, I feel sorry for you.

I remember family devotions that we would have in the evenings, right before bed. Mom would read us a Bible story, then she or my dad, or sometimes one of us older boys, would pray. And when death touched our family – a grandparent, or a beloved aunt or uncle – we cried out to God and held each other and dealt with it together. Our faith was truly a big part of the foundation of our home.

But most of all, there was love. You knew that you were part of the family and that you belonged. Whether you were having a good day, or not so good, under that roof was someone who cared, someone to whom you mattered. And triumphs were made sweeter and sorrows more bearable because we went through them together. I remember coming home from college, walking in the front door, getting a hug from mom, and feeling – finally! – that I was home.

The house may be gone. The memories remain and the foundation endures.

“His Word My Hope Secures”

Do you have a favorite hymn? Hymns may not be as popular as they once were – there’s been some wonderful new worship music written in the last 25 years or so – but the old familiar standards are still very popular. “How Great Thou Art,” “Holy, Holy, Holy,” “It is Well,” “Blessed Assurance,” and other old favorites are always in the “Top Ten” of the most loved church songs.

And, of course, “Amazing Grace.” How that hymn came into being and who wrote it, as well as how it has been transmitted down to us, make for a fascinating story.

The song was written by the former captain of a slave ship, John Newton. He was born in London on July 24, 1725, the son of a ship’s captain and a Puritan mother. Unfortunately, his mother died when John was only seven years old. His father, who was gone much of the time, remarried, and left John in the care of a stepmother who pretty much let him do whatever he wanted to do. When he was eleven, he went to sea with his father. Later, he was pressed into duty aboard a British warship as a junior midshipman. He deserted, was captured, publicly flogged, and demoted from officer to a common seaman.

John Newton (1725-1807) was a former slave ship captain, and later, a minister in the Church of England and a prolific songwriter of many hymns, including “Amazing Grace.”

Later he became a servant to the captain of a slave ship and was engaged in the “Triangular Trade.” This was the common practice of cargo ships that would sail from England to West Africa, carrying manufactured goods. They would offload those items and take aboard freshly captured slaves, then sail to America. There, they would sell the slaves and load up with sugar, rum, and spices, for the trip back to England, where the whole process would start over. By his own admission, John was a very rough customer – his language was known to be so vulgar and coarse that even the other sailors were embarrassed. Eventually he became captain of his own vessel.

He became a Christian in 1748, after one particularly violent storm in the North Atlantic when it looked as if the ship would be lost with all hands. They managed to survive, and John became a believer. He continued in the slave trade for a while, but later, he became convinced that it was evil and morally reprehensible; how could he, as a believer in God and a follower of Jesus, be part of a system that treated others, also created in the Image of God, in such a brutal and inhuman fashion? He was ordained as a minister in the Church of England, and eventually became good friends with a young Member of Parliament, William Wilberforce. The two men began working together to abolish the slave trade.

Newton had always been a prolific writer, so with the help of a friend, William Cowper, they began writing new hymns for use in their congregation. They averaged writing a song every week, and so it was, for the first service of the new year 1773, 250 years ago this month, Newton published these words:

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now I’m found,
Was blind but now I see.

‘Twas Grace that taught my heart to fear,
And Grace, my fears relieved!
How precious did that Grace appear,
The hour I first believed.

Through many dangers, toils, and snares,
I have already come.
‘Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far,
And Grace will lead me home.

The Lord has promised good to me,
His word my hope secures.
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.

Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease,
I shall possess within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.

The earth shall soon dissolve like snow,
The sun forbear to shine;
But God who call’d me here below,
Will be forever mine.

Originally there was no specific tune for the song. That was not unusual; in those days, it was common for lyrics to be written to a particular meter, and any one of several different tunes that fit that meter could be used. But a generation later, the words came to this country and became popular in Virginia, Georgia, and elsewhere in the South. No one is completely sure when, but it is believed that churches began using a popular melody that had originally been from a song sung by slaves. This is the tune that we still sing today. Also in the early 1800s, the song picked up several new verses, including these familiar lines:

When we've been there ten thousand years,
   Bright shining as the sun,
We've no less days to sing God's praise,
   Than when we'd first begun.

Newton lived long enough to see his friend Wilberforce get a bill passed in Parliament on May 1, 1807, that was the first step towards outlawing the slave trade in England. John Newton died just a few months later. If the familiar melody that we know was indeed originally from a tune used by slaves, it is truly a demonstration of God’s grace, that the words written by a former slave trader should be combined with a melody from enslaved people, to become the hymn that we still know and love.

Today, John Newton is recognized for the enduring hymn that he gave us, and for one other piece of wisdom. Very late in his life, he remarked, “My memory is fading, but two things I remember very clearly: I was a great sinner, and Christ is a great Savior.”

Rediscovering an Old Friend

As far back as I can remember, music has been a big part of my life. In our home, when I was growing up, my mom always had either the radio or the record player going, and we listened to a lot of music of all kinds. Gospel (especially Southern Gospel), Country, Big Band, Western Swing – Jim Reeves, Ray Price, The Florida Boys, The Blackwood Brothers, the Happy Goodman Family, The Glenn Miller Band, Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys. Mom had been a trumpet player and high school drum major in her younger days, and she developed a love of many different kinds of music that she maintained her whole life. In addition, she had a strong alto voice and for many years sang in a ladies’ quartet at church. I can still remember sitting next to her in church and hearing her as she sang the harmony on hymns and the old-time camp meeting songs.

My dad’s musical tastes were somewhat simpler. As far as he was concerned, there were only two kinds of music – country, and western. George Jones was one of his favorites – the “Possum” was a native of our corner of SE Texas – but dad also loved Merle Haggard, Ray Price, Johnny Cash, Roy Clark, Jimmy Dean. Dad had picked a guitar in his younger days, and always greatly enjoyed times when my brothers would get out their acoustic guitars and other instruments and lead out in a jam session around the living room, or around a campfire.

Like mom, I also listened to a lot of various kinds of music. When I was riding with friends in their cars, we would listen to the Beatles and other famous bands. I had one friend who was really into this Blues-Rock garage band from the Houston area that was just getting started – their first paying gig was the Junior-Senior Prom at a neighboring high school. A little group known as “Z.Z. Top.” But I listened to a lot of Chicago and the Doobie Brothers. Also like mom, I also liked classical music, and listened to a lot of Bach, Mozart, and Beethoven. And like dad, I enjoyed several different country artists, especially Glen Campbell. But one of my favorites was Tom T. Hall.

Tom T. Hall (1936-2021) was a Hall of Fame Country music singer, songwriter, guitar player. He was known as “The Storyteller.”

Tom T. Hall was born in 1936 in a place called Tick Ridge, Kentucky, and grew up playing “hillbilly” music (as it was then known). He was worked as a part-time musician, served a tour in the Army in the late 50s and worked as a DJ and radio announcer before moving to Nashville in 1964, with a job as a songwriter. He wrote songs for many other artists before having a monster hit in 1968, with the song “Harper Valley PTA,” released by Jeannie C. Riley. Somewhere along the way, he picked up the nickname of “The Storyteller.”

My introduction to his music came through my Uncle Rusty, who sang Hall’s song, “The Ballad of Forty Dollars.” I thought it was a pretty good story, and I started paying more attention to Hall’s music when it would come on the radio. Another favorite from those days was “The Monkey Who Became President.” The coach who was my driver’s ed instructor was a country music fan, and I remember listening to that song when it was my turn behind the wheel.

Another favorite was the classic, “Old Dogs and Children and Watermelon Wine.” It’s a true story about an actual conversation he had with a man in a hotel bar one night in Miami – honest storytelling at its best. His songs ranged from the funny (“Faster Horses”) to the sweet (“I Love”) to the bittersweet (“Homecoming”), with everything in between.

I stopped listening to his music at some point – I don’t know why. I was probably in college at the time and decided I was too “cool” to listen to country anymore, or something stupid like that. By that point in my life, I was really into The Eagles and Linda Ronstadt, and a picker from Kentucky who sang simple ballads just didn’t seem to fit. But then, as sometimes happens in our lives, something occurs that will re-expose us to things we used to enjoy, and we may find that we still like them.

Recently, I was watching the HBO series, The Newsroom by Aaron Sorkin, with Kathy and our friend, Loren, and one of the characters was listening to Hall’s song, “That’s How I Got to Memphis.” Honestly, I didn’t know the song, so I went on iTunes (something we didn’t have back in my younger days!) and found it. While I was there, I rediscovered and downloaded a bunch of his stuff, which I have been listening ever since. It’s still good, and I’ll give him the last word:

That night I dreamed in peaceful sleep of shady summertime,
  Of old dogs and children and watermelon wine.

Remembering Dr. King

Next Monday, we will observe the national holiday honoring Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Personally, I have long been an admirer of Dr. King – he consistently stood for justice, for peace, and for non-violence. He believed in the Kingdom of God, and he believed that Christians, regardless of color, ought to do all they can to create outposts and colonies of God’s Kingdom here on earth – to create what he called “beloved community.”

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

When I was in graduate school, I did a project on Dr. King’s rhetorical skills, looking at the way he was able to take traditional black preaching styles – with the use of Biblical storytelling, rhythmic phrasing, and uplifting hopefulness – and combine that with the best of white preaching styles, with its rhetorical structure and its use of logic and Aristotelian reasoning. The result was preaching which communicated to both white and black audiences. In the process, I read just about everything that Dr. King ever said or wrote. Here are a few of my favorite quotes from him.

History will have to record that the greatest tragedy of this period of social transition was not the strident clamor of the bad people, but the appalling silence of the good people.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. 

Was not Jesus an extremist for love: “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.” Was not Amos an extremist for justice: “Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream”? Was not Martin Luther an extremist: “Here I stand; I can do no other, so help me God.”? And Abraham Lincoln: “This nation cannot survive half slave and half free.” So the question is not whether we will be extremists, but what kind of extremists we will be. Will we be extremists for hate or love? Will we be extremists for the preservation of injustice or for the extension of justice? … Perhaps the South, the nation and the world are in dire need of creative extremists.

The moral arc of the universe is long, but it bends towards justice.

With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. 

Nothing in all the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity.

Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly. I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be. This is the interrelated structure of reality.

I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right, temporarily defeated, is stronger than evil triumphant.

Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase.

Love is the only force capable of transforming an enemy into a friend.

Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.

The time is always right to do right.

But the end is reconciliation; the end is redemption; the end is the creation of the beloved community. It is this type of spirit and this type of love that can transform opposers into friends. The type of love that I stress here is not eros, a sort of esthetic or romantic love; not philia, a sort of reciprocal love between personal friends; but it is agape which is understanding goodwill for all men. It is an overflowing love which seeks nothing in return. It is the love of God working in the lives of men. This is the love that may well be the salvation of our civilization.

Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars.

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that. Hate multiplies hate, violence multiplies violence, and toughness multiplies toughness in a descending spiral of destruction.

Life’s most persistent and urgent question is, “What are you doing for others?”