It Is Well.

Growing up Southern Baptist gave me a hearty appreciation for hymns. Okay, yes, they can be kind of blah, but that's more due to tune, and the exuberance (or lack thereof) of the congregation. There is weightiness in the words of good old hymns that I think is often missing from contemporary worship music. Hymns give your brain something to chew on while your heart sings and you wave those hands in the air like you just don't care.

When I was a kid, I had an Adventures in Odessey tape about the hymn "It Is Well" and its origin. The story has stuck close to my heart ever since, and the song has become one of my favorites. It is a hymn full of persistent hope and soul-soothing peace. Were it set to some peppier music, it would seem like a super happy song.

My sin, oh the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to His cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

Fact: it's not a happy song. A joyful song, I think yes, but not a happy one.

In 1873, Horatio Spafford, a Chicago-based lawyer, sent his family to England for vacation. He intended to join them days later, after wrapping up his business affairs in Chicago. So off they went, four little Spafford sisters and their mother, ready for a break from what had been a tumultuous few years in the States.

In the middle of the voyage, the streamboat crashed into another ship. All four Spafford girls lost their lives, and Horatio received a telegram from his wife that began with the words, "Saved alone".

For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:
If Jordan above me shall roll,
No pain shall be mine, for in death as in life
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.

On his frantic journey across the Atlantic to join his wife, Horatio wrote "It Is Well".

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well with my soul.

Can you imagine? Seriously. Can you imagine writing those words in the face of such great pain? It takes a courageous heart to praise God in the midst of struggle. It is so easy to give up hope and give in to self-pity when circumstances don't make sense. Often I get frustrated because God feels very far away. There are moments of acute pain, and a general heaviness of heart that cannot be willed away.  
Heartache is very real, and comes in a thousand different flavors. 

It's part of the plan, I think. In the face of great hurt, Jesus steps up and says, "I'm here. I'm here, and you're going to be okay." 

Horatio Spafford felt that voice, I'm sure, even as he cried over his daughters. He knew that at the end of the day, Christ is victorious. Utterly, totally, beautifully victorious. For that reason the hymn is full of great joy. But it's not the kind of joy that comes with sunshine and summer and smiles. It's the weighty kind of joy, the joy that comes from great, immovable hope. The kind of joy that has been refined in the fire. The kind of joy that makes you cry on a Sunday morning.

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ hath regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

And Lord haste the day, when the 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.