Late one night last week I surfed through the TV channels and landed on C-Span. The program I saw has occupied my thoughts for several days since then. It was the re-broadcast of the dedication of the new Billy Graham Library in North Carolina. The ceremony had taken place under a huge tent, on a warm sunny day. Among the guests were former presidents Carter, Bush, and Clinton, several senators, congressmen and governors, as well as many ministers and business leaders. About a thousand invited guests were there, as were all of the veteran members of the Billy Graham team.
Each of the former presidents spoke of the impact of Billy Graham on their lives and upon this country and on the world. Each of the dignitaries gave honor to the life of this man and his ministry. All of that was as expected. But it seemed to me that there was a noticeable change in the atmosphere when (finally) three old white-haired men stood up. All three needed canes to help them walk. These three men had travelled together as an evangelistic team for sixty years. Cliff Barrows is eighty-four. Billy Graham is eighty-eight. George Beverly Shea is ninety-eight.
My mind suddenly travelled back in time to Legion Field in Birmingham, when this team first came to town and I was just a little boy. City officials had roped off sections marked “white only” and “colored”. Billy Graham had personally walked into the stands and pulled down the ropes! I remembered those blazing blue eyes, pure and strong and bold. I remembered the awesome choir led by Cliff Barrows, who always knew when and how to say the right thing in front of a crowd. I remembered the resonant voice of George Beverly Shea singing. I was only ten years old, but his song made such an impact on me that I memorized these words:
Could we with ink the oceans fill, and were the skies of parchment made
Were every stalk on earth a quill, and every man a scribe by trade-
To write the love of God above would drain the oceans dry
Nor could the scroll contain the whole, though stretched from sky to sky.
Oh love of God, how rich and pure, how measureless and strong!
It shall forevermore endure the saints and angels’ song.
Again I looked at the TV screen as these three elderly men hobbled to the podium. Cliff Barrows was still eloquent, but his voice trembled when he spoke. Billy Graham had difficulty walking, his hands shook, and his voice was very weak. Everybody laughed when he said it felt to him like he was attending his own funeral. You could tell that he meant it when he said that his impression of the library was that there was “too much Billy Graham”. He did not want to take any glory, which he said “should only go to Christ.” George Bev Shea had to be helped as he tried to stand, but that great singing voice is still incredibly strong at ninety-eight! How moving it was to hear him sing “How Great Thou Art!”
Then once more, I listened very attentively to what they had to say, and the way they said it. They were so different from the dignitaries and the politicians. There was an aura of peacefulness, a deep humility, and a comfortable familiarity when they sang and talked about God. To them, God was not a high and unapproachable deity, but instead seemed to be their closest friend. Since they started this ministry back in the nineteen-forties, none of them have ever become driven by ego, nor become divisive because of politics, nor had an affair with another woman or man, nor become greedy with money. None of them have cheated on their taxes or been caught in the wrong place doing the wrong thing. Not even once.
If you and I someday live into our eighties and beyond, I think that most of us will probably have more regrets than do these three men. But we can make our lives count for something. Even our failures, if we are willing, can be used as an encouragement to others who fail.
Looking at these men with their stumbling steps, their wrinkled skin, their various ailments and aches and pains, it serves as a reminder that we all are slowly dying. But I also think about the wonder and strange beauty of seeing three men who were totally consumed in doing one great work together for their entire lives. For sixty years they travelled and prayed and sang and served and preached. The methods and styles changed over the years, but the message was always the same- the story of a cross and an empty tomb, and of a love that could not be fully told even if the oceans were ink and the skies were parchment.
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