Back when I was the praise and worship music leader for a church in the Denver metro area, I remember announcing, with a quip, a song we were about to sing. I said something like, “This next song is called My Father’s World. But I don’t think this is our Father’s world. Because it’s filled with evil and rebellious people.”
That’s what any praise and worship music leader would say. Right?
Yeah, probably not.
And the following Sunday, I announced we’d be singing the song again. But I mentioned how I thought about it some more. And I decided I was wrong. I said, “You know, this actually IS My Father’s World. He’s just got some really awful renters.”
Yes, it got good laughs. But it’s true. Which is probably why it got good laughs.
As a matter of fact, there’s a back story that proves my point about the bad renters. Turns out that the song, My Father’s World, was written by a minister from New York back in the last part of the 1800’s. His name was Maltbie Davenport Babcock. (Yeah, I checked. And that was his real name)
Well, apparently Malty…uh, Maltbie…caught something called the “Mediterranean fever” during a visit to the Holy Land. And it got bad enough that on May 18th, 1901, he committed suicide. He slit his wrist and ingested mercuric chloride while he was in Naples, Italy.
Now, while I can understand how pain can drive people to the brink, suicide is not the answer. No one has the right to take a life, even their own, just to end pain.
Did that make Maltbie a bad renter? Well, not just because of that. But it didn’t make him look good.
At least he left a very nice, old hymn behind.
This Is My Father’s World
This is my Father’s world,
And to my listening ears
All nature sings, and round me rings
The music of the spheres.
This is my Father’s world:
I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;
His hand these wonders wrought.
This is my Father’s world,
The birds their carols raise,
The morning light, the lily white,
Declare their Maker’s praise.
This is my Father’s world:
He shines in all that’s fair;
In the rustling grass I hear Him pass;
He speaks to me everywhere.
This is my Father’s world.
O let me ne’er forget
That though the wrong seems oft so strong,
God is the ruler yet.
This is my Father’s world:
Why should my heart be sad?
The Lord is King; let the heavens ring!
God reigns; let the earth be glad!
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