November 2, 2026/ Singing on the Beach

Stan Key https://www.stankey.org/my-blog is my favorite “non-famous preacher”. With Stan’s permission, I am stealing a recent blog, written from a place of difficulty about a walk on a beach. Maybe this is for you, or someone you know.

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WALK ON THE BEACH

“Though he slay me, I will hope in him. (Job 13:15).

Yesterday, I took a walk on the beach. It was Sunday and the weather was perfect. In my humble opinion, Southwest Michigan has some of the most beautiful beaches in the country. It had been a rough week, and I knew that the sun, fresh air, and solitude would do me good. As I walked several miles along Rocky Gap Beach, collecting stones and startling seagulls, the words of an old hymn came to mind. Although it had been decades since I’d sung this song in public worship, I remembered the lyrics, all three verses (!). As I walked alone, I began to sing – loudly!

This is my Father’s world, and to my list’ning 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 the 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.

To be honest, I’ve always considered this hymn to be sentimental, sugary, schmaltzy; a pious jingle for nature lovers and tree huggers. But yesterday, as I absorbed the splendor of the rocks and trees, the skies and seas, the words seemed pregnant with power. It felt that God was speaking to me through his creation and addressing my own life circumstances directly.

I returned home several hours later feeling refreshed and, at least to some extent, renewed.

Maltbie Davenport Babcock

This morning, during my personal devotional time, the words that I had sung so loudly on the beach yesterday came to me again. I reached for my hymnal to make sure I had the words right. I was pleased to discover that my memory was good. As I looked over the page, however, I noticed the name of the author; Maltbie Davenport Babcock (1858-1901). Intrigued by someone who had such a strange first name, I wanted to know more about this poet whose words were speaking deeply to my life situation.

I discovered that Maltbie Babcock was from a prominent family in upstate New York. He excelled in academics, sports, and music. Feeling called into the ministry, he served as a Presbyterian pastor in Lockport (NY), Baltimore, and finally at one of the most prestigious churches in the nation, Brick Presbyterian Church in New York City, where he received a salary of $30,000; an astounding sum of money in those days. At the dawn of the twentieth century, he was one of the most promising young preachers in the nation.

As is often the case, however, outward success was accompanied by inward trials. Both of his children died in infancy. This certainly contributed to his lifelong struggle with depression. He even spent time in an institution (sanitarium) for what was then called “nervous prostration”. During his short tenure at Brick Presbyterian Church, he took a steamship to visit the Holy Land. He hoped that this ‘sabbatical’ would bring some relief to his inner turmoil. On the journey home, however, Babcock became ill with “Mediterranean Fever” (brucellosis). He stopped in Naples, Italy, where he was admitted to a hospital for treatment. While there he committed suicide by slitting his wrists and ingesting mercuric chloride! He was 42 years old. Newspapers from coast to coast reported his death. The New York Times ran the headline: “The Rev. Dr. Babcock committed suicide; act believed to have been done during delirium of fever.”

Needless to say, learning the tragic story of the author of the hymn that had ministered so deeply to my soul on the beach yesterday was a shock. My discomfort made me want to end my devotional time with a pious “Amen” and move on with my day. But then, I felt led to take my hymnal again and reread that third verse. Now, I began to realize why this hymn was speaking so deeply to my own life situation.

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!

On the one hand, I’m struggling to make sense of a man who could affirm his faith with such beautiful words and then give in to the darkest depths of despair. On the other hand, I’m profoundly grateful that now I know the rest of the story. In this beautiful hymn, Babcock was expressing his faith in the Lordship of Jesus Christ in the midst of deep inner pain. This Is My Father’s World is not a sentimental nature hymn. No! It is, rather, the raw affirmation of trust written by an honest soul struggling with deep, dark depression. Maltbie Davenport Babcock was not a dreamy romantic or a nature-loving pietist. He was a real man, living in a real world, with real demons, and real tragedy… and real hope. He was no different from the psalmist who wrote another hymn some three thousand years ago: “Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my salvation and my God” (Ps. 42:5).

Faith in God does not make us immune from hardship, or tragedy. Jesus died to save us from sin, not suffering! He may not explain why it happens, but he does promise to walk with us through the valley. No one who trusts in him will ever be disappointed (see Rom. 10:11). “O let me ne’er forget that though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet.”

So, dear friend, stop trying to solve the problem of suffering and begin to embrace the mystery. Maybe you need to take a walk and express your faith today by singing This Is My Father’s World. When you do, I believe Jesus himself will walk with you, singing in harmony.”

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So, Thank you, Stan, for these words which may help someone today. “… stop trying to solve the problem of suffering and begin to embrace the mystery.” WOW.

And I would add, stop feeling sorry for yourself. Instead, thank Our Father who is using your current difficulties to bless someone. Who might that be?

October 29, 2026/ "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Earl Mullins Jr

A lawyer and a preacher. Sounds like the beginning of a joke maybe. Perhaps the old one about burying two men in the same grave. But even though those two words aptly describe the professional life of a friend, Earl Mullins, Jr, who went to heaven this month, my biggest memory of Earl is the way he ended every conversation. It mattered not what the subject of the chat had been. He never just said goodbye- he always asked, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Honestly, I do not know if everyone got that same treatment or not. But I did. And I began to, on occasion, start to mimic my friend. He taught me. Like the ripple of a small pebble thrown into a pond, his question, repeated by me on occasion, resulted in people he never met being helped by a friend. Or at least being offered a hand of sympathy.

Earl and I shared two huge memories which always became the subject of conversation. First, a full week together in Moscow, Russia, probably in 1996. His pastor father had started some ministry things in northern Russia, so Earl Jr had been there before. He made a good travelling companion. I was excited when he said that he knew someone with a ‘flat’ in Moscow where we could stay for free. Sounded great until we arrived and the ‘flat’ was on the 8th floor of an old Soviet apartment building with no elevators and the smell of drunken men’s urine all up and down the stairs. It was September and the cold was already moving into Moscow. The heating system in that building had gone out long ago. It was just one piece of evidence that communism had not been working too well.

Russia was just one of 67 countries I visited during those CBMC days (1996-2003). When people now ask me about those trips, they often ask ‘Where was the toughest place you visited’? I usually say, “Russia”. The spiritual darkness was real. The cold war was real. The overcrowded underground subway rail system, with stares from former ‘enemies’ travelling with me, was real.

But my friend Earl was a smiling companion through it all. We were mainly visiting Alexander Zaichenko, a former economist in Gorbachev’s world who had met Jesus while reading a smuggled New Testament. His testimony included being baptized by himself in a bathtub, and saying that when he first read Matthew 5 (the Sermon on the Mount), he felt like he was meeting God for the first time. Something like that. Wow. We also visited the beginnings of Moscow Evangelical Christian Seminary, and spent some time with Sasha Tsutserov, who would later be the president of the seminary. I vaguely recall attending and even speaking in two churches, one that was still underground and another where Billy Graham had once preached. I was still a Kentucky state Senator at the time, and so, some authorities were tracking us to make sure we were not spies. Or at least that is how it felt.

Earl was there with me every step of the way.

And so, after our Russia experience,  it made sense for Earl to accept my second invitation to go to an even crazier place, North Korea. Click here to read the full story.

2002 in North Korea meeting with government official.

Wow. Looking back, I still wonder if it really happened. I had met a ‘missionary’ to North Korea, a young man from Canada who was operating a goat farm in the northern regions of North Korea, not far from the Chinese and Russian borders. I met him at a conference for Tentmakers (missionaries who have real jobs or businesses in their mission field). They move to the ends of the earth to live as business people, or professors, or some occupation that gives them a real ‘cover’ for their true intention of sharing the Light of the world in dark places. And what could be darker than Communist North Korea. The goat farm was being operated by a small group of these ‘missionaries’- one from Switzerland, one from Australia, and my friend from Canada. No one from the USA or South Korea was welcome, so I honestly am not sure how we got Visas for the trip, but in May of 2002, Earl Mullins and I had Visas to travel to North Korea. Our friend told us where to come and he would meet us at the border. We trusted his advice, so off we went.

Earl and I flew to Beijing, China, stayed there for a short time, then flew to a city near the NK border where a short drive took us to a crossing spot covered in barbwire. Our arrival at the border created quite a stir. Apparently the Visa for Earl was confusing for the NK authorities because they expected a female. With his curly red beard, Earl was clearly not a female. It took an hour or so to sort out the confusion, and soon we were in a van with a couple of NK officers, one of whom had been assigned to stay with us every second of every day that we were in the country.

The road from the border to our destination, about fifty miles away, was literally a dirt road. The country was so poor that this primary road from China to a city of perhaps 250,000 people was all dirt until we got near the city. Most buildings had pictures of the original dictator, Kim Il-Sung and his son, Kim Jong- Il, who was now in charge. This was long before the days of Kim Jong-Un, the current grandson dictator.

Most everyone had a button on their clothes with the picture of Kim Il-Sung, who was apparently worshipped as a God. This was long before the internet opened the world to a new brand of truth which was at least possible for citizens inside NK to the reality that the world outside NK might be better than what they were being told.

Our arrival at the hotel was interesting. Our friend warned us that our rooms would be bugged, probably, so be careful what we say. He informed us quietly that he had arranged a meeting with NK economic officials to discuss what ‘business’ we could perhaps bring to to NK. These missionaries had established very real positive connections with these local officials, and they were apparently hopeful that Earl and I would bring some sort of economic benefit to the region.

Our meeting went as anticipated. I had been instructed to just be cordial and go along. We started with the Earl Mullins Jr line--- “Is there anything we can do for you?”. The answer was simple. They needed equipment to process potatoes. Growing potatoes was easy in the region. But processing them was apparently a problem. I pretended like I could possibly help.

SO, I now imagine my friend Earl in Heaven. He heard the famous Voice say, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant.” Or something like that. Surely even better than we imagine.

And Earl’s response to Jesus would be the same as always. “Thank you, Jesus. Is there anything I can do for you?” In my imagination, I envision Jesus hugging Earl and saying, “Now that you ask, yes, there is something you can still do for me…………….” I don’t have any idea what it might be, but Earl is now part of the army of God in the heavenly realm which fights the battle for the souls of men and women every day.

So, as some of you who know me can attest, I have given up on being “like Jesus”….. but for me, I just want to be more like Earl.

So, here we go. Is there anything I can do for you today?