In 1870, Horatio Spafford was a successful Chicago lawyer, with a 4- year old son and four older daughters. Life was good, happy, full of promise. I imagine Christmas at the Spaffords in 1870 was full of laughter, the kind of Normal Rockwell type of Christmas that we all kind of hope ours turns into.
But in 1871, Horatio’s son died of an illness, followed quickly by The Great Chicago Fire, which ruined him financially. To escape the suffocating depression of Chicago, the Spaffords decided to take a trip to Europe. At the last minute, though, a zoning dispute forced Horatio to delay his departure for a few days while his wife and daughters went on ahead. During their transatlantic voyage, their ship collided with another ship and sank in 12 minutes. 288 passengers drowned, including all four of Spafford’s daughters. Shortly before leaving on his own ship, Horatio received a telegram from his wife: “Saved…alone.”
Horatio was awakened one night on his transatlantic crossing by a silent captain, who led him to the rail. “This is the spot?” he asked. The captain simply nodded and left him alone. This was the spot his daughters had gone down. What do you imagine went through Horatio’s mind? No doubt there were tears, and not the small silent kind. Did he think of the happy families on his own ship, safe in their beds? Was he angry at God? Whatever tortured battle took place in Horatio Spafford’s broken heart that night, he clung tightly to his hope, and shortly afterward, he produced the lyrics for the hymn, It Is Well With My Soul.
When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to know,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
Christmas in America is maybe the worst holiday for our souls, I think. All around us are families with more, it seems. More money, more opportunity, more time. They’ve got happy marriages, where we’re having trouble plastering over the cracks in ours. They’re getting promoted, while we can’t seem to find work. They seem to have bulletproof immune systems, while we may be spending Christmas at the hospital. Their kids will have huge presents under the tree, while we’re having to choose between that gift our kid really wants… or just paying the bills. It doesn’t take a series of personal tragedies like Spafford endured (although that would sure do it for me). For most of us, there are just a long string of small things. As they say in baseball, “the hits just keep on coming.” The result is frustration and discontent. It is not well with our souls.
How is it with your soul this Advent season? Are you struggling, hanging on by your fingernails? Maybe more to the point, do you catch yourself comparing your circumstances to Them, to Their circumstances?
How do you respond? Do you put on the fake smile, like so many evangelicals? When “They” ask how you are, do you put on your best smile and say, “fine” – even when everything in your world is most certainly NOT fine? Can I suggest something? Don’t fake it. That only makes it worse. In fact, don’t even try to be happy. There are times that are just not happy – even at Christmas. Instead, grab hold of what you know to be true: whatever else is true of your circumstances, the difficulty and pain of this world doesn’t compare with what Christ has for those who are His (Rom 8:18). It’s not happy… but because of Christmas, it’s temporary.
It’s worth noting that in the more common version of Spafford’s hymn, the third line reads, “whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say. That’s not how he originally wrote it. The original reads, “Thou has taught me to know.” Spafford knew how to cling to joy, even when his circumstances were anything but happy. In his grief, in what must have felt like an unending string of tragedies that dark 1871, he refused to let go of the one thing that gave his soul peace, hope… joy.
How is it with your soul, this Christmas season?
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