An Evening to Remember

A few days ago I journeyed to The Cove—the Billy Graham Training Center in Asheville, North Carolina—to participate in a small two-day discussion between pastors and business leaders. After dinner on the first evening, we guests were honored by a visit from Billy Graham, Cliff Barrows, and George Beverly Shea. Barrows is in his eighties, Graham his nineties, and Shea his hundreds (yes, he’s 102).

For an hour the three men chatted back and forth, reminiscing on their 65-year partnership in world evangelization. Barrows and Shea sang a few of the songs that were often featured at Graham crusades in the past. They even coaxed Billy into joining them for one of them. The three told many stories and remembered “inside jokes” they’d played on one another. But always the focus of the conversation was their indelible joy over the tens of thousands who had crossed the line into faith in Jesus Christ as a result of their efforts.

Throughout the hour Barrows, Graham, and Shea expressed great affection and appreciation to each other in ways that made us all realize that each was conscious that there might not be another occasion quite like this one when the three of them would be together again. Aging at this advanced point, you must understand, makes moments like these precious beyond understanding.

Watch three men like this who have lived a lifetime of kingdom-service, and you are reminded of the words of E. Stanley Jones who wrote toward the end of his life, “My song is a life-song. Not the temporary exuberance of youth that often fades when middle and old age sets in with their disillusionment and cynicism …. No, I’m 83, and I’m more excited today about being a Christian than I was at 18 when I first put my feet upon the way.” Ditto: these three.

As I listened to these remarkable old men speak of God’s faithfulness in their lives, my memory went into overdrive.

My first experience with Cliff Barrows—music director and crusade coordinator—came when I was just 16 years old, a student at a New York boarding school. It was 1957, the year of Billy Graham’s historic, four-month crusade at Madison Square Garden. On one of those days, a schoolmate of mine and I took the train into the city, found the “Garden,” and sneaked in a side door. It was midday and the arena was empty except for one solitary figure sitting on the edge of the stage shuffling papers. It was Cliff Barrows.

When he saw my friend and me, he put his papers aside and swiftly walked in our direction. “I’m Cliff,” he said when he reached us. “Welcome to the Garden. Where are you from?” We told him we had come to the city hoping to be part of the event that night. I shall not forget his response.

“Well, let’s see how we can make that happen.” He took us to the stage where there were three or four rows of chairs right behind the podium. Barrows pointed to those seats. “Where do you think you’d like to sit, second or third row?” We were astonished! And when we realized he was serious, we pointed to two seats in the second row. He immediately took paper and wrote, “Reserved for Gordon MacDonald.” Doing the same for my friend, he placed the papers on the seats we had chosen.

“Now let’s find a way to get you back into the Garden tonight,” he said. Taking us to a small office outside the arena area, he spoke to a security guard. “These two young men need passes for the side door. Please make that happen.” And the man did.

When Barrows left us in the following moments, he said, “Now, boys, pray for Mr. Graham tonight while he preaches. That’s why I’ve got you up there.”

And we did. I think I grew a foot taller and several years older that day, thanks to Cliff Barrows.

Some years later as a seminary student, I had my first chance to meet Mr. Graham personally. “Billy, I’d like you to meet Gordon MacDonald,” my introducer said.

I was a 24-year-old scrawny, somewhat unpromising kid, struggling to pass basic seminary courses, and I was one of many being introduced to Billy Graham. What do I remember about that moment? That he fixed his piercing eyes upon me, extended his hand and said, “Mr. MacDonald, it’s an honor to meet you.” Mr. MacDonald! He addressed me as if I were a peer or someone “superior” to him. Oh, the dignity of the moment for me. For the space of about—I’m guessing—ten seconds, he connected with me and it seemed as if the two of us were the only people in the room. For weeks I bathed in that awesome moment in which this extraordinary man poured value into me. Such a tiny encounter: such an unforgettable moment.

I know it sounds like an exaggeration, but ever since that moment when I shook Billy Graham’s hand, I have always tried to replicate that same sense of intensity of interest any time I have been introduced to anyone.

And now, the other evening, I sat and watched three very aged men do their best to make us, we visitors to The Cove, feel welcomed and honored. Their singing was a tad off key. Their words were halting as they taxed their memories for the right ones to express themselves. Their eyesight and their hearing were obviously impaired. Their physical limitations were apparent. But they filled the room with grace, and I was tearful and awed. They are still bringing people to Jesus.

When a godly person grows old—Simeon and Anna in the temple come to mind—and reaches the twilight in a life of faithfulness, there is no need to be musically on key or smooth with words. The fact is that one’s Spirit-filled presence is all that is needed to bring others blessing.

When the evening was over, we milled around these three saints trying to offer appropriate words of thanks, snapping pictures with them and with one another, seeking to sort out our own thoughts about what it’s like to occupy a small piece of holy ground (or floor in this case) where you are in the presence not of celebrity but of men who have walked with God.

Do you think any more like them are coming down the pipeline?

Gordon MacDonald is editor at large of Leadership and lives in New Hampshire.