Over the past few Sundays we have had some good times but never quite in the way that we planned them. God takes what we have done and puts his own spin on things.Take yesterday.
Paula preached on taking up crosses and following ,using candles to be blown out to say No to temptations and candles to be lit to say Yes to the things of God, ending with that grand old hymn 'It is well with my soul'. Afterwards, one of our saints was visibly upset, not just moved. She told me a little about some of the tragic episodes in her life and confessed that all was not well with her soul. She spoke in tears as words would not come and I asked if she knew the story of the old song which she did not.
Horatio Spofforth was an American whose only son had died tragically young and whose business had been wiped out by a fire. He sent his wife and four daughters to Europe planning to follow them later when business commitments had been settled. However, their ship collided with another and all of his daughters drowned. His wife survived,sending him a telegram which simply saying 'Saved alone'. Spofforth travelled to meet his wife in Europe and wrote these words as he sailed past the place where his daughters died.
When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.It is well, with my soul,
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
Clearly Spofforth was not talking about joy and happiness, nor absence of grief, but about a deep surrender which carried him through and somehow spoke to him of hope.
My Saint heard this story, listening intently and sat quietly. Then she lit her candle and placed it at the cross, surrendered and broken, as she had been so many times in her life, perhaps without understanding or joy, perhaps as a child receives. A few words were said, a little prayer. (I never feel remotely adequate in these precious moments). But all is well with her soul.
And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.
