Okieinexile's Blog

By Bobby Neal Winters

My last Sunday at Saint Andrew’s Chapel, certainly for this trip, maybe forever.

Man proposes; God disposes.

I ran a little late this morning, but that’s okay, because everyone was running a little late this morning. The minister, the music.

The music this morning was provided by a man with a guitar. An acoustic guitar. 

We stood for the opening hymn:

I stand amazed in the presence

Of Jesus the Nazarene,

I knew it.  I knew it deeply.  From where did I know it?  It had been a long time since I’d heard it.

I began to be taken somewhere else. No. Somewhen else. No. Both.

I was standing by my mother in a little Baptist Church.  I say a little church.  Little, but bigger than the chapel I was in. 

Yes, I was standing by my mother, looking up at her. Listening to her.

She was not a good singer.  Not at all.

I was looking up at her because I was just a kid.  When we hit the chorus, I was totally transported:

How marvellous! How wonderful!

And my song shall ever be:

How marvellous! How wonderful!

Is my Saviour’s love for me!

My mother has been dead since January 1, 2011.  She had been suffering from dementia to the point of not knowing me for a couple of years before that.  But, in singing that hymn, I was not only standing amazed in Jesus’ presence, but in hers as well. 

There is a lesson here. It’s one I’ve noted before about the power of music, and its transcendence over time.  I can name instances where I have traveled to the past when hearing a particular song.  Frequently, astonishingly frequently, these songs are hymns.

I hope my mother knows, because getting me inside a church was not an easy thing for her to do. I hated going to church as a child. Hated it.

My mother dressed me in paisley shirts. (Forgive her. It was the 60s.)  Stuck a bowtie on my neck.  Put shiny black shoes on my feet.  When she got me to church, she was dragging those black shoes on the sidewalk, leaving scuff marks as we went.

Having witnessed and been involved in such scenes myself, I know that this was not easy or enjoyable to her.

We can’t spend forever in the past, even with those we love.  I returned to the present to be with the people at Saint Andrews.

When we sang the chorus of the last verse, the guitarist minimized his playing, allowing the voices of the congregation to carry the song.

We were all there together: The congregation; me; my mother.  All standing amazed in the presence of Jesus.

How marvellous! How wonderful!

And my song shall ever be:

How marvellous! How wonderful!

Is my Saviour’s love for me!