When we moved into a new house–new to us, at least–the place needed some fixing up. A friend offered to help. He was a retired businessman who found his joy in helping others. His name was James Pirrie, but his friends called him Jamer. The first project we had worked on together was a small office for our printing work in St. Catharines. It was in the basement of an older building–full of pipes, electrical boxes, and odd angles. It was more than a challenge for someone who needs an instruction manual for a hammer.
Another businessman had seen my plight and sent Jamer to help, with instructions to buy whatever was needed and put it on his tab. I breathed both a prayer of thanks and a sigh of relief.
“I’ll send someone to help,” said my generous friend, “who will not only help finish the project. He’ll do your heart good, too.” On both counts, he was right.
Mr. Pirrie, as I called him, had been an elder in our assembly when I was growing up. He had rugged good looks. A ready smile, and a twinkle in his eye. The voice of a songbird. And, said some, a sharp tongue. I had felt it on occasion, but I knew that beneath his sometimes gruff exterior there was a tender heart.
We had been working on the house for a few days when, as we began our project one morning, Jamer turned to me and asked in his usual diplomatic way, “What’s the matter with you, Nicholson?”
“Where would you like to start?” I queried.
“I’ve been here for two days now, and I haven’t heard you sing yet!”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
So the two of us began singing our way through the job. It lightened the load–and our spirits. It’s tough to get upset with a man if you’re sharing a tune with him. And the days went by so gently, we hardly noticed their passing.
As we picked up the tools to put them away for the last time, Jamer Pirrie looked me in the eye and said, “Keep singing, Jabe. Remember we’ll be doing this forever.”
He’s in heaven now. I miss him. But I still can hear him say on occasion: “What’s the matter with you, Nicholson.” I smile to myself. And then I start to sing.
In the mirror-image passages of Ephesians 5:18-20 and Colossians 3:16-17, Paul speaks of the two great influences in the life of the believer. First, the Spirit is to fill us (Be being filled with the Spirit). When asked why, every time he prayed, he asked to be filled with the Spirit, D. L. Moody simply responded, “I leak!” We know what he meant.
The Colossian passage reminds us: “Let the Word of Christ dwell in you richly.” While the first need seems to be active–you be filled, and the second passive–you let the Word dwell, they are two facets of the same jewel. You can’t have one without the other. The Spirit inspired the Word in the first place, and now illumines us to understand it and energizes us to do it. The Spirit of God reveals the Word of God; the Word of God reveals the Son of God; the Son of God reveals the Father. To follow this path is the substance of eternal life.
And what is the evidence that this Spirit-filling, Scripture-dwelling life is mine? Bible knowledge? Regular attendance at the meetings of the church? Effective soul-winning? More than likely, but that is not what Paul says. On both accounts, he mentions first of all–singing! To the Ephesians, he describes their singing as a form of intimate communication, almost a secret heavenly code to pass from one spirit to another in the midst of enemy territory: “Speaking to yourselves in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs.”
To the Colossians, the Apostle writes of the vigorous influence hymnology can have on our character and conduct: “teaching and admonishing one another . . . ” Which is why we must be careful of the theology we sing!
And what is the result? The Spirit orchestrates a heavenly melody in the heart (not necessarily with the voice!) and the Word works godly grace into the heart too. Nothing could make the life sweeter than to be in tune with God’s heaven and in touch with heaven’s God. And you will be amazed at the effect it will have on you, your home, your friends, and your assembly.