Devotionals

Jesus Lover of My Soul

by Stanley McMahon
01/17/16
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Jesus, Lover of My Soul

The precise date of the event is unknown but it happened over two hundred years ago, in the latter part of the eighteenth century. A certain man was preaching in the open air in a market town. He was not given to mincing his words and soon a group of listeners were perturbed to the point of chasing him out of town with the intent of finishing him off.

He somehow escaped across the fields and arrived at a farmhouse. The lady of the house took pity on his cry for help, recognised the danger he was in, and pointed him to the milk parlour for a hiding place.

Shortly, the posse arrived in search of the preacher. They were invited to come in and take refreshment, having travelled at top speed looking for their quarry. The lady suggested she get them some fresh milk from the outhouse, using the opportunity, of course, to warn the preacher.

She told him to exit the milk parlour using the side window and hide in the cover provided by the trees at the nearby stream. This all took its toll on the preacher and in his precarious situation, he poured his heart out to God, and being a songwriter as well as a preacher, he wrote a song.

The name of the man was Charles Wesley; his hiding place, Ringhaddy near Killinchy, where the mob had been incensed by his preaching. The song became one of his most famous, ‘Jesus, Lover of My Soul’. There are other stories around explaining the background to the writing of this hymn, including a vicious storm as he was returning across the Atlantic from Georgia, and the more romantic version that a bird landed on him, inspiring the words, ‘Let me to Thy bosom fly.’

I favour the story I have told because it was researched and documented by a local theologian and politician, among others. It was also the location where I baptised several people, one being the nephew of the current owners of the farmhouse, Sidney and Edna Graham, so there is a personal connection. It was Edna who told me this story and showed me the newspaper clipping to support it.

The apostle Paul exhorts us to build up one another with psalms, hymns and spiritual songs. Music is a special part of my life. It is an instrument of worship to the Lord, a source of encouragement and strength to me and a catalyst of joy. On one of the occasions where we held baptisms in Strangford Lough, yards away from Wesley’s hiding place, I remember we sang the words of a more modern hymn-writer, Keith Getty. The song was ‘See what a morning’ and it ministered to our souls.

A few days ago I had a brief, standard Friday afternoon conversation: ‘Are you doing anything nice this weekend?’ Happens every weekend. My response to my enquirers was that I was going to my niece’s birthday party and then on to a worship concert, with local musician Robin Mark. I was asked, ‘What kind of music is worship music?’ The answer to that, I think, goes beyond the actual music itself. It involves the soul. It is an outpouring of the spirit in praise.

As we went through the evening of praise, I was brought through various memories of stages and seasons of my life, of churches and people, of friends and experiences with God. Two of the songs we sang had been translated by my wife and I into Italian. Afterwards I spoke to people I hadn’t seen in ages and shared coffee with friends old and new. It was a memorable and wonderful evening.

Worship is what brings us to the Lord, whether in weeping or in praising, whether in solitude or fellowship. It doesn’t matter that the song we sing is written by a man whose life was threatened by an angry mob, or by someone sitting behind a desk, or borne out of our own experience.