Chris and I just took a visit to the historic city of Savannah. The artist I’ve most and longest admired was in concert there, so Chris kindly made the trip happen. She was my first mentor from afar. She never preached a sermon or taught a Bible study that I could follow with a study guide, but at a very early age, I memorized every published word of her ardent and authentic journey. Even in the toughest of times, her devoted heart splayed honestly on each album. It taught me more than a hundred sermons I don’t remember. The truth that I learned to sing etched itself deep into the folds of my young brain. I can still quote that “Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.” I held onto the truth that “we’re just here to learn to love Him, and we’ll be home in just a little while.” I learned that when you feel a cold wind about to come and when muddy waves wash over, it’s going to be alright because God gives us what we need. The first song I ever sang in a church was an echo of her prayer to have my Father’s eyes. I walked around with my Walkman and rewound until all those songs were sung into the fabric of my soul.
In this ancient city, Chris and I mused about what it would be like to live in different centuries. Some things would have been easier and some harder. My mind considered pleasant things like the clothing, the way they talked, and the slower pace, but then awkwardly circled around the unpleasant things too. It landed on a thought I’ve been meditating on ever since. It’s a thing that most period dramas and historical fiction don’t emphasize. I owe so much to the spiritually awakened that have gone before me. I truly stand on their shoulders. My eyes are opened, in large part, because Jesus lovers before me had opened eyes. I know the intimacy of a personal relationship with Jesus because they paved the way. I read the Scriptures because reformers, all the way back to the disciples, kept forging a path even when religion built roadblocks.
History has repeatedly tried to stop the Gospel, and Jesus followers have always continued to go. The world can say what it wants about Christians, but history knows that they are tenacious. How can one who has known the love of God not be. They are tenacious because their Father God was tenacious first. Today I am indelibly thankful for the singers, writers, preachers, and teachers advancing the Gospel; those who persevered to give me a greater vantage point. Those that have held their post in each century. I’m thankful for the history of it. I’m thankful that they kept moving forward when others criticized or thought them too radical. I pray for the same courage and foresight.
I am also thankful that I was born for such a time as this. I pray that my legacy won’t be that I just made it home but that I took some people with me.