Friendship
It was one of those faintly ridiculous and mildly hilarious Christian gatherings that cheer me up no end. I was enjoying this meeting, not least because I had absolutely no responsibility in it. I spend my life waiting for the nod that signals that it’s time for me to preach, which means that I can rarely just enjoy singing in worship - my mind is flitting around, thinking what I’m about to say, and I’m invariably fiddling with my ipad, making last minute adjustments before delivering the talk. And then, when I’m the one bringing the sermon, there’s a consistent arrangement that I have to live with, because I always have to listen to me. I’ve listened to myself blethering on quite a few times over the years, and am occasionally tempted to tell myself to belt up, but that would be rather odd.
The worship leader was leading a rather lilting song, but he had chosen the wrong key. I know this, because all the men were trying to sing in a lower octave, but it was just pitched too deep for most of us, which meant that there were moments in the song when we had to go up almost into a falsetto mode. The result was the sound of a notational symphony (cacophony more like) where the men alternated between gruff, off-key bass tones and high pitched squealing. The worship song had at least fifty-eight verses (actually six, but that’s how it felt), and I was trying hard not to laugh out loud.
But it was then that I heard a voice behind me, a deep, resonant voice manfully belting out the lower bass line of the song. It was my friend Dick Foth. I decided to take a break from the shrieking, and just listen to Foth. He has a nice voice. He’s not going to fill any concert halls, but the man can sing.
But as I tuned into Foth, a realisation dawned that sparked immediate gratitude, because Dick has been a bass line in my life. Strong, solid, substantial, his friendship, together with that of his wife Ruth, has undergirded my faith and helped kept the rhythm going for quite sometime.
I first met him thirty years ago. A new immigrant to America, I was feeling homesick and bewildered, not so much by the culture, but by the church where I served as an associate pastor. Everything was different from church life in the UK. Suffering from suffocating homesickness, I wondered if it was time for my family and me to return to Blighty.
And then I went off for a weekend men’s retreat. I wasn’t hopeful, because the place was packed with chaps sporting massive beards, who wore baseball caps, check flannel shirts and generally made the place look like a lumberjack convention. I didn’t have a flannel shirt, all hats perch on my head in a peculiar way that looks awkward, and last time I tried to grow a beard, I resembled a rabbit’s rear end. Booking homebound flights seemed like a very sensible thing to do.
Until the speaker for the weekend stood up, that is. It was Foth. He had an endless supply of fascinating stories. There was just something about him that thawed the spiritual chill that had crept into my soul, and warmed my heart towards being in America again. I decided to stay.
That was the last I saw of Dr. Foth, until I was asked to speak at Bethany Bible College in California, where Dick was then serving as President. As chapel speaker, it was my privilege to have dinner with him.
And then, years later, Dick and Ruth decided to relocate to Fort Collins, Colorado, and be part of Timberline Church, where I serve as a teaching pastor.
And so my bass line singing friend is a regular part of my life now. This morning we had breakfast, and I somewhat tearfully told him about this piece that I am writing.
In Gethsemane, Jesus agonised, knowing that the dawning of tomorrow would bring horrifying pain. There He called upon the Father. But He was also hopeful that His faithful trio of Peter, James and John would offer solid, prayerful support. When facing trouble, nobody wants to sing solo.
And so thanks for singing the bass line, Dick. Keep that tune going, please, for many, many years to come.