Trouble
in the Amen Corner
This has always
touched my heart. I had an elderly aunt whose voice, much like Brother
Eyer's, had grown shrill with age. But she dearly loved to sing the old
hymns and sang them loudly and joyfully with her shrill elderly voice.
I'd love to hear that cracked soprano now--see her standing with head
tilted back singing praises to her Lord and Savior. "Make a joyful
noise unto the Lord" . I think
that was
what Brother Eyer and my Aunt were doing. Doesn't matter to God if it's a
stylish congregation in a stylish church or a broken old voice in a little
country church. God hears and is well pleased.
It
was a stylish congregation: you could see they’d been around,
And they had the
biggest pipe organ of any church in town.
But over in the
amen-corner of that church sat Brother Eyer,
and he insisted
every Sunday on singing in the choir.
His voice was cracked and broken; age had touched his vocal chords,
And nearly every Sunday he’d get behind and miss the words.
Well, the choir got so flustered the church was told in fine
that Brother Eyer must stop singing or the choir was gonna resign.
So the pastor appointed a
committee, I think it was three or four,
and they got in
their big fine car and drove up to Eyer’s door.
They found the
choir’s great trouble sitting there in an old arm-chair,
The summer’s
golden sunbeams lay upon his snow-white hair.
Said one, “We’re here
dear Brother, with the vestry’s approbation
to discuss a
little matter that affects the congregation.
Now, it seems
that your voice is interfering with the choir,
So, if you’ll
just lay out, or...Are you listening, Brother Eyer..?”
The old man raised his head,
a sign that he did hear;
and on his
furrowed cheek they caught the glitter of a tear.
His feeble hands
pushed back the locks as white as silky snow,
and he answered
the committee in a voice both soft and low:
“I wonder if beyond the
tide that’s breaking at my feet,
in that far-off
heavenly temple where my Master and I shall meet:
Yes, I wonder
if, when I try to sing the songs of God up higher
I wonder if
they’ll kick me out of singing in Heaven’s choir?”
A silence filled the little
room, the old man bowed his head;
The committee
went on back to town, but Brother Eyer was dead.
A few
church-goers watched the door, but the old man entered not.
The choir missed
him for a while, but he was soon forgot.
Far away his
voice is sweet, and he sings his heart’s desires
Where there are
no church committees and no fashionable choirs.
