A Tribute

We met one of the first Sundays I was at Woodburn Baptist Church. I remember her approach to me as strong, gracious, and friendly. She spoke quickly and purposefully, telling me she was in her late 80s, very much missed her days of playing piano in church, and started playing long before I was born. I think I remember she said she had played in churches for more than 70 years.

Amazing.

One of her first post-worship-service comments was to express her appreciation of the way I helped make many of her favorite hymns come alive, specifically ensuring they would connect with younger generations. There was no doubt about her bias: she loved old hymns. No doubt she played more hymns than I’ve ever heard—and I have a master’s degree in church music. 

Don’t be misled, her passion was not gentile. It was fiery. She loved hymns. She wanted to know if I loved hymns. And she wanted to make sure that I continually pointed people to our heritage of faith through hymns.

But let me quickly add that she was mature enough to understand that, as our pastor often says, every church is only one generation from being extinct. And so she was open to “the new music.” She didn’t always like it, but she assured me it was okay that she didn’t like it. “It isn’t just about me,” she would say.

Amazing.

But as I ponder on why I loved Kathryn Jarboe so much and so quickly, I think this is her legacy to me: she loved me regardless of the music on a given Sunday. She was for me even when she was against a song choice. (She wasn’t real fond of the Casting Crowns remake of “Glorious Day” and told me plainly.)

She compelled me toward thoughtfulness, excellence, and consideration.

Oh, how I long to be that way a few decades from now.

I want to compel younger worship leaders—even when they are old enough to have grandchildren—toward thoughtfulness, excellence and consideration.

Thoughtful in terms of song choice, based on Biblical strength, poetic beauty, and lyrical substance.

Excellent in terms of crafting music and technology. She would remind me that God deserves the best we can muster, not the best we feel like mustering at the moment. The reason she wasn’t fond of the newer “Glorious Day” was because the melody was flat and boring, not near as singable and expressive as the one she knew. That level of excellence. 

And considerate in terms of all 4 or 5 generations present in the room in any given worship gathering. Considerate of the hearing issues that face our oldest adults. Considerate of the desire for passion among our younger adults. Considerate of ways to connect generations.

And above all these, love. She really did love me. And I really did love her.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget our last visit in the hospital. We were both at peace with the fact that she was in her last days. I asked her what she thought the music would be like in heaven. She responded with a joke. We both belly-laughed. I pondered with her about what it would be like to be reunited with her husband. We talked about the things she was learning about Jesus in these finals weeks of her life.

There’s something amazing about a senior saint being ready to go, anticipating heaven. Her time on earth was winding down. She had raised extraordinarily Godly children. She had fought the good fight. She had loved well.

I asked her what she’d like me to tell the church when we gathered to pray that night. She requested they know she was at peace and ready to go to Jesus.

Then she asked me to sing.

Through the tears—mine and hers—I sang:

And Lord, haste the day when my 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.

It is well with my soul,

It is well, it is well with my soul.

Her faith is now sight.

Hallelujah!