A farewell to Billy

Sometimes the pages of history turn so slowly it's hard to perceive that they are even moving. So it was recently in Corona Park at Flushing Meadows, N.Y. – as the best-loved evangelist of our time, Billy Graham, stood before 90,000 people to deliver the Gospel for what was most likely his very last crusade.

How do you say goodbye after 60 years? It was clear that not even Billy Graham could figure that one out. Nobody could write "the end" to this script. So Billy told the crowd that he'd like to come back. About it being his last crusade he said, "Don't ever say never!" It made us feel a little better, though we all knew it was only putting off the inevitable.

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We want to believe that we will continue to see Billy, Bev Shea, Cliff Barrows, stadiums full of people, and invitations where thousands respond to the plea to "make a decision for Christ" while the choirs sings "Just as I Am." The sight of Billy in the pulpit is in itself comforting. It is as natural as Babe Ruth at home plate or A.J. Foyt behind the wheel of a race car. The jutting of his jaw, the piercing eyes, and the reassuring humor all serve to attract us to the sweetness of his character – and he uses it all to talk about Jesus. His are some of Heaven's best sent gifts.

But Billy is 86 years old. Bev is 96. Time has eroded their gifts, but not their character, not their dignity. As Christians, we've watched these heroes of evangelism go into so many battles that we scarcely know where to turn now that they are leaving. Throughout my entire life, Billy Graham has been the watchword for evangelism. I remember as a little boy watching him and the team on television. I remember my mom and dad speaking warmly of him and my dad telling us proudly how they were both "Tar Heels."

Our country still needs Billy Graham. More than ever, we want his voice to echo in our evening news, to show up in our newspapers, to remind us "Jesus said, 'You must be born again!'" The cry of Jeremiah the prophet is the cry that kept the great evangelist and his team moving in their advanced years: "The summer is ended, the harvest is past, and we are not saved." America is, more than ever, "not saved." America needs Billy Graham.

It's hard to let go of the man we counted on to communicate the message of what it means to follow Jesus. We honor our athletes and rock stars with farewell tours in their retiring years – but there were no curtain calls for this great one, no laps around the track, no parades, no encores. Billy would have none of that. So the door just closed. The lights at the park just went dark when it was all over. Could it really end this way?

Certainly, we'll see more of Billy. We'll see him on archived TV footage. We'll hear remakes of his program on the radio. There's a library that will keep his legacy alive. But we will not see him lead another crusade, or campaign as they are sometimes called. It is not likely that another community will be called on to rally all its churches and leaders and lay claim to the local venue so that Billy, Bev, and Cliff can point us to Christ. After 417 campaigns, New York, N.Y., appears to be the end.

As Billy made his final comments, I watched as one of his team members walked off to the side of the stage and wept. No one took notice, but I saw. I knew what he knew, and I felt it too. In a way, I wanted us all to weep. It somehow seemed fitting that we should all recognize the passing of an era, recognize and honor a life well lived. Why not honor our heroes in the faith as they take us into their last battle? But that would only serve to bring honor and attention to Billy when after all these years he's been careful to reserve that for his Savior, Jesus. So there was no time for communal tears planned. No group hugs, just a short moment at the start of his message where Billy thanked Bev and Cliff for standing with him, and then an empty promise of "maybe we'll be back."

That's the legacy of humility that Billy left us. He was always better than us at humility. When the church was tempted to flex its muscles of evangelicalism in politics, he would do as he did last Saturday – offer seats on the platform to Bill and Hillary Clinton. He gave them the spotlight and said overly-kind words about them. And he told the crowd how much he loved them. He always took the high road. Wisdom of his years taught him to pick his fights well, and mostly he never fought at all.

In the weeks leading up to this crusade when the media pushed all evangelical hot-button issues about which religions go to heaven, who's right on abortion and homosexuality, the man who is largely responsible for creating evangelicalism in America deftly brushed the questions aside. He was always the master bridge builder. When Larry King pressed for answers about contrary religions, Billy responded in sweet, grandfatherly tones saying, "I love them. I love them all."

Hmmm. What would Jesus do?

That was and is Billy. Showing us as Christians how to extend God's grace to those outside of the fold, showing us one last time that the Gospel is easier to embrace when mixed with love and not just doctrine. Someone once said that a dog could whip a skunk in a fight any day, but it's never worth the stink. That describes Billy's golden years, looking past our divisions to simply love mankind and telling them about Jesus.

I am profoundly sad that the sun is setting on this man, this team, and this unique era in history. It's not that the Gospel will fail to be represented. God will raise up others. I pray that our ministry will be one of them. For 16 years, it has been my privilege to assist Greg Laurie and the Harvest team as we have attempted to follow in Billy's footsteps with large scale evangelistic crusades. But it will be a rare individual who possesses the office of evangelist so completely, for such a long period of time, and does it with such great effectiveness. All those who follow will be measured by his standard of integrity, by his faithfulness to the message, and by the universal way in which he was loved by Christians and non-Christians alike.

I once had the great privilege to meet the man. I was thoroughly rehearsed on what I would say. When the moment came, I stuck out my hand and thanked him for his faithfulness to Christ, for his example to us, and for all that he had done for the sake of the Gospel. True to form, he looked right through me with those steely blues and then deflected the praise saying, "I wished I had done more."

At the time, I thought his comment was filled with an almost outlandish, illogical humility. How could he possibly have done more? And if he could, what does that say of us? But today I don't see it that way. Today, I think I understand better about his desire to do more. And I wish – we all wish – that he could stay with us, and do more – much, much more!

John Collins is a senior pastor with Harvest Christian Fellowship.