The week we are at Music in the Mountains is a tough week to write a sermon. There just isn’t enough time or energy. So, I turned to a book my Dad gave me for Christmas, called “28 Hymns to Sing Before You Die,” (a terrible title!) written in part by one of my acquantances through my father—John Mulder and a co-author, F. Morgan Roberts. I liked that it gave some background on hymns, and then a short meditation. In looking at the Ephesians text for this morning—especially the verse “Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children, and live in love, as Christ loved us,” I decided to share some of their material on “Savior, Like a Shepherd Lead Us” which we have just sung.
We think the hymn words were written by Dorothy Ann Thrupp, since it first appears in her hymnbook called Hymns for the Young, published in 1836. Dorothy Thrupp composed many hymns and wrote religious essays, mostly for the young. She also steadfastly avoided publicity in her lifetime.
The tune was composed by William Batchelder Bradbury, who was born in Maine and died in New Jersey. He was a music machine. During the peak of his productivity he produced more than two collections of music a year and fifty-nine books during his lifetime. And he and his brother founded the Bradbury Piano Company (later part of Knabe). But his lasting fame is that he composed the tune to “Jesus Loves Me.”
There is a famous story about this hymn. On Christmas Eve 1875, Ira D Sankey, a song leader for the evangelist Dwight L Moody, was traveling on a Delaware River steamboat. Some passengers asked him to sing one of his own hymns for which he was famous like “The Ninty and Nine.” He sang instead, “Savior, Like a Shepherd Lead Us.”
When he had finished singing, one of the passengers, stepped forward and asked him an odd question. He asked if he had ever served in the Union Army. Sankey had, indeed been a member of the 12th Pennsylvania Regiment, responding in 1860 to Lincoln’s call for volunteers.
The stranger then asked an even more provocative question: whether Sankey remembered a moonlit night in 1862 when he was doing picket duty. Sankey did remember that night, but could never have suspected what he was about to hear.
The man then told Sankey how, on that bright night, he was also on duty as a sniper in the Confederate army, concealed in the shadows, with his rifle aimed at Sankey, a perfect target in the clear moonlight. Just as he was ready to pull the trigger, Sankey raised his voice and began to sing the words, “Savior, like a Shepherd lead us,” a song the sniper remembered his mother often singing to him. He could not pull the trigger and allowed the enemy soldier, Sankey, to live.
Dr. Roberts then muses, “What I didn’t know on the afternoon I first heard this story, and would realize only after many years of my journey, was the truth of the opening words of the hymn, and how ‘much we need Thy tender care.’ It is only by looking back, in my latter years, that I can begin to imagine how many bad things didn’t happen to me, and how many times I escaped dangers of which I was completely unaware.” For this, Morgan Roberts asks us to join him in praying “Lord, we thank you for what could have …but didn’t happen today.”
And that is where this sermon ended. But as I reread the words Dororthy Thrupp wrote on Friday, a story we heard this week demanded to be told as well.
We have often talked about Joseph Martin—about how glorious his music is, and how inspired a composer and lyricist we find him to be. He told us that recently he had returned to his old school for a memorial service of a beloved teacher who had been murdered. Many of her students had been asked to play in her honor, and Joseph had been asked to play a very difficult classical piece by Frederick Chopin.
There he was in the hallway leading to the backstage. He was distressed because of the loss of his teacher. He was a little nervous to be performing in front of so many colleagues and former professors. And who should he see walking toward him but the one professor he had tried to avoid. She was one of those people who always looked for a way to be nasty. And she was renown for bluntly telling people that they didn’t have what it took to complete their training. As he said, “she was baptized in pickle juice.”
“Oh, Joseph, I’m surprised to see you.”
“It’s good to be here, Professor.”
“I see you have filled out a bit” (meaning he had gained weight)
“Thank you, you are looking well too.”
“And how are you and your little Jesus songs doing?
“We’re doing just fine, thank you.”
And he walked away. But as he got backstage, he realized that he was angry. In fact, he was steamed. He kept hearing “you and your little Jesus songs” in her mocking tone of voice. And he said to himself, “I have 2000 compositions that are in print. I’ve sold over 20 millions pieces of music. I’ve conducted and played in Carnegie Hall, and all over the world. Me and my little Jesus songs!” And he got madder and madder.
And now it was his turn to go out on the stage. He sat down at the piano, still rattled. Then he closed his eyes and said a prayer. “God, help me let go of this anger. I’m here to honor my teacher. I’m here to share my gifts. Help me do this.” And he took a deep breath, and he felt this incredible peace fall over him.
And he opened his eyes, and played, not the Chopin that had been scheduled—but his arrangement of Amazing Grace, as only Joe Martin can play it.
Paul in Ephesians says, “do not make room for the devil… live in love.” Dorothy Thrupp put it this way, “Early let us seek thy favor, Early let us do thy will; Blessed Lord and only Savior, With Thy love our bosoms fill. Blessed Jesus, blessed Jesus, Thou hast loved us, love us still. Blessed Jesus, blessed Jesus, Thou has loved us, love us still.”
May we join our voices to that chorus as well.
Alleluia. Amen.
