|
Article: "Have You Got Another Check??"
October 2002 CMP Article
By: Charlie Sexton
In last month's column, I mentioned that I had played piano for Tony Peace when he was Minister
of Music at several Metro Atlanta churches. In fact, in 1984, we were instrumental (pardon the pun) in starting the
New Fellowship Baptist Church in Lithia Springs, GA. We, along with Pastor Terry Marbut, saw that little congregation
grow to become one of West Georgia's finest churches. We were always known for our old fashioned style of preachin',
singin' and heartfelt worship.
Even in the formative years of New Fellowship, we always brought in the very best that the
Southern Gospel industry had to offer. Artists like Gold City, The Greenes, The Ruppes and The Perrys graced our platform
more times than I can recall. Our Homecoming Sing always seemed to fall on the Sunday after NQC. One year we booked
The Hoppers for the afternoon concert, thinking that we'd have our new sanctuary ready for dedication that Sunday, too.
Well, it didn't turn out that way. There were many unexpected problems that prevented the building from being completed,
so Claude graciously agreed to performed that evening outside at the construction site. Without giving it a second thought,
we quickly set up a makeshift stage right beside the freshly dug septic tank pit! That was a night I'm sure they'll
NEVER forget!!
One year, I decided that I really wanted to bring in The Speer Family, so I called The Harper
Agency and we discussed a date and time and the financial arrangements. I must admit, that the figure we settled on
was considerably more than we had ever agreed to before, but I just knew that we simply had have The Speers that year for
our Homecoming. I also knew that God would make a way for us to be able to meet our obligation.
Finally, the much anticipated day arrived, and I awoke that beautiful, fall morning to the
ringing of a telephone. Groggily, I answered "Hello??". This sweet, little man
with a happy lilt to his voice said, "Mr. Sexton? This is Brock Speer, and we're in town and ready to sing for you today.
I was noticing that it's a Homecoming service, and wanted to see if Faye needed to bring something for the afternoon lunch?"
"Er... um... No, sir! No, that won't be necessary. I'm sure our ladies have
prepared more than enough food. Ya'll just come on over. We have been looking forward for this day so long..."
I sputtered.
Our attendance was unusually low that day, but The Speers performed as if the house was full
to capacity. Because the weather was so nice, the meal was served across the creek near our rock altar on some long
picnic tables. When everyone had their fill, we returned to the sanctuary for more singing and ministry from this precious,
legendary family.
After the service, I presented Mr. Brock with a check for the contracted amount. He
thanked me, and without looking at it, pocketed the check and turned to go. He got about half the way back down the
long aisle toward the front, and with the swiftness of a man one third of his age, he spun around and called out "Charlie...
Wait just a minute!"
My heart was in my throat. Had I misunderstood? Did I fill out the check incorrectly?
Was there a problem? He grabbed me by the arm, and escorted me out into a private corner of the vestibule. I was
on the verge of panic. Pulling me down, he whispered in my ear. "Charlie.
Have you got another check with you? If so, I want you to go and make one out for HALF the amount that our contract
stated. I really feel like the Lord would have me do this for New Fellowship today."
Needless to say, I was speechless. With tears in my eyes, I could hardly see the checkbook
as I scribbled out a reissue. What a blessing that dear, old Soldier Of The Cross was to me that day. What a lesson
I learned from his obedience. What an example he was to me in how a Southern Gospel Artist should conduct himself.
I'll never forget it, and I pray that someday, I'm able to make a similar gesture to some young, unassuming upstart and can
show him the love of Jesus
like Brock Speer did me that day.
Article: "Wave Your Hanky For The Lord..."
November 2003 CMP Article
By: Charlie Sexton
Often I'm asked about interesting things that have happened to me over the past twenty or
so years of performing Southern Gospel Music. I want to share this one with you this month. I promise it is true.
"With my hand up", as Brother Wendy used to say.
Back in the 80's, I played piano for "The Saxons", a very popular Pentecostal family from
Gainesville, Georgia. We were privileged to sing in campmeetings all over the Southeast. I fondly recall those as being
some of the best times I've ever spent anytime, anywhere. Who wouldn't love the fellowship of a week or more of almost
constant worship services? And the food. Let me just say this. I don't know everything that Heaven will
hold, but I do know from experience that campmeeting cafeteria workers should help prepare the Marriage Supper Of The Lamb.
I've never had such wonderful food in all my born days.
One year, in North Carolina, we were also in charge of the combined choir music for a particular
campmeeting. We chose some high energy tunes that was sure to get everyone on shoutin' ground. The first night, after about
the third song, someone hollered out "Let Brother Doug sing one!" We called for him to come to the podium, and this gently,
elderly little man of about 85 years old slowly made his way up to the microphone. I knew we were in for a Heaven-Sent revival.
I was at the piano, and he turned to me and said "Page 71, Sonny Boy". Anyone even remotely
familiar with the old redback Church Of God "Church Hymnal" songbook knows that page 71 is "Sweet Hour Of Prayer". I
kicked it off, and here we went. I've never seen a slow song move an audience like that before. They were shoutin' and
runnin' and fallin' out and brother, did Glory forever more come down.
At the end of the second verse, Brother Doug stopped me and sweetly and tearfully said, "You
know, Children, sometimes I just wanna humble myself down, and just wave my hanky before the Lord. Just wave my hanky for
the Lord." He reached in the back pocket of his Duckhead bib overalls, and pulled out a perfectly pressed silk hanky
and flew it high above his head. I tell you, there was not a dry eye in the place. It was precious.
The next night, about the third song, the same thing took place. The next night it happened
again. Every night the same thing. Long about Friday night, there was about 2000 people in attendance, and definitely the
biggest crowd of the entire series of meetings. A few minutes into the service, somebody called out, "Let Brother Doug
sing one!" As every night before, this precious old man went through the same repartee.
But this night was slightly different. He stopped me at the beginning of the second verse,
and started into his familiar speech. "You know, children, sometimes I just wanna humble myself, and wave my hanky before
the Lord! Just wave my hanky for the Lord."
When he reached into his back pocket, instead of his silk hanky, he produced a pair of white
Fruit Of The Loom underwear and began waving them high over his head, saying "Come on, children, don't be shy. Wave 'em high
before the Lord!" Needless to say everyone totally cracked up, and we never made it through the next verse of "Sweet Hour
of Prayer."
Got a funny church story to share? Send it to me, I'd love to hear it.
Charlie Sexton
Article: " Holy Manna "
November 2002 CMP Article
By: Charlie Sexton
A few weeks ago, I was driving in toward home from our office. It was on a Monday, and
we had been out on the road for several days. I knew that when I did arrived, there would be several issues demanding
my attention, and to be honest, I wasn't quite ready for all of that just yet. Since it was nearing lunch time, I pulled
up to one our local fast food drive thru windows, and got myself a grilled chicken Value Meal complete with a large diet drink
and some fries with more than enough oil in them to crank our Silver Eagle coach. The advertisement at the restaurant
had convinced me that I "deserved a break today", so I decided to find a quiet place to just chill out for a while.
I found myself going down the old two lane road toward one of the churches that my family
attended when I was younger. It had been quite a while since I had been down there, so I pulled in and parked in a shady
spot down near the cemetery. As I began my meal, my mind wandered back to some of the wonderful revival services that
had been conducted on these grounds. I recounted the great host of people who had been saved here over the years, myself
included. I thought about the many Christmas and Easter pageants, the fourth Sunday night singings, and the weddings
that had been held in the charming, old sanctuary known as "Zion View Church".
I continued to devour my sandwich, and heartily recalled all the many "Dinner-On-The-Ground"
feasts that had been spread out under the trees on the old, concrete tables. That was back before somebody had the bright
idea to cut and tear them all down and build a fellowship hall. Oh, well, they say you can't stop progress, you know.
I reminisced about each one of the older people that had held a distinct place in my heart
during my formative years. I wept as I realized that the vast majority of them had already outstripped the confines
of this old world and had been planted out here in this quaint, little graveyard near where I was parked. Each of them
had a very specific knack for cheering me on in my ongoing pursuit of musical study and its related endeavors. I‘ll
be forever grateful for their kind and purposeful words of encouragement during this pivotal time in my life.
One such person was Mrs. Mary Jacobs. Without a doubt, she was one of the sweetest,
dearest, and most spiritual ladies that I have ever known. She was our piano player at the church when I was small.
She was easily in her seventies back then, and had no formal musical training, but, Brother, could she ever romp out a good
ole Hymn Of The Church as good as anyone. Most people called it playing by "ear". I call it playing by "heart".
Regardless of the terminology, she definitely had a style all her own. I recall that her favorite tunes came out of
the old "Church Hymnal", or as we called it, "The Red Book". (I never did understand why we called it that... It was
actually burgundy!) Anyway, as she got older, Mrs. Mary became hard of hearing, but that didn't slow her down, though.
Now, sometimes, she might misinterpret the page number that was called out, or forget the number of verses that had already
been sung, but if she was ever embarrassed, it never showed. It was a sight how much she loved me, too. "Like
a great grandson." she once said.
And, Lord, could she ever shout...and never
miss a beat! Now, friends, when Mrs. Mary shouted, you knew it was real. There wasn't an ounce of pretense in
that old saint. Her shout was loud and piercing, and then it would trail off in to this unworldly, quivery tone.
Many times as a child, before I fully understood what was going on, I thought that she must have been in some kind of severe
pain. How puzzling it was to find out that it was actually an uncontainable, unspeakable joy that had triggered that
shrill sound. My, how I miss hearing the shouting of the dear, old saints. I am easily bored with all of this
hyped up, hypnotic emotionalism that is found in some so called places of worship today. I wish that they could
get a hold of a true touch from the Lord that came from the inside out, not from the outside in.
Another fond memory that I have is of an elderly gentleman named Tack Compton. He, too
was getting on up in years, and, although senility had overshadowed his body, it never took the song in his heart. Unlike
Mrs. Mary, Mr. Tack had been to many a singing school in his younger days, and could read music as well as any one.
I guess he's the first person I ever heard sing using only the given names of the ‘shaped notes'.
On several occasions after his mind started slipping, I remember him singing out in church.
Didn't matter if the preacher was preaching, or if somebody was praying, or if one of the deacons was giving the announcements.
If ole Tack got a hankering to sing, buddy, he'd just tear out on the old hymn, "Holy Manna" right from his seat. They'd
just let him sing by himself till he was through, but one particular day I recall, everyone joined in and sang that grand,
old song with him. Now, friends, I tell you, we had a Holy Ghost meetin' that hot August afternoon.
If I close my eyes, it seems that I can still hear that majestic sound of old fashioned Sacred
Harp harmony rising swiftly past the rafters of a simple earthen brick and mortar structure and in awe, observe as a song
of praise wafts straight up through the heavens and directly into the Throne Room of God. My, how it must please The
Father to hear His children sing... "All is vain unless The Spirit of The Holy One comes down. Brethren, pray that Holy
Manna will be showered all around."
Well, I finished my meal and headed on home, but oh, the joy that filled my heart to have
once again spent some quality time with several of the dearest friends that a young boy could have ever had in this world,
or the world to come.
Charlie Sexton
|
