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“Hitherto hath the Lord helped us” (I Sam. 7:12).
The word “hitherto” seems like a hand pointing in the direction of the past. Twenty years or seventy, and yet “hitherto hath the Lord helped us!” Through poverty, through wealth, through sickness, through health; at home, abroad, on the land, on the sea; in honor, in dishonor, in perplexity, in joy, in trial, in triumph, in prayer, in temptation–”hitherto hath the Lord helped!”
We delight to look down a long avenue of trees. It is delightful to gaze from one end of the long vista, a sort of verdant temple, with its branching pillars and its arches of leaves. Even so look down the long aisles of your years, at the green boughs of mercy overhead, and the strong pillars of lovingkindness and faithfulness which bear up your joys.
Are there no birds in yonder branches singing? Surely, there must be many, and they all sing of mercy received “hitherto.”
But the word also points forward. For when a man gets up to a certain mark, and writes “hitherto,” he is not yet at the end; there are still distances to be traversed. More trials, more joys; more temptations, more triumphs; more prayers, more answers; more toils, more strength; more fights, more victories; and then come sickness, old age, disease, death.
Is it over now? No! there is more yet–awakening in Jesus’ likeness, thrones, harps, songs, psalms, white raiment the face of Jesus, the society of saints, the glory of God, the fullness of eternity, the infinity of bliss. Oh, be of good courage, believer, and with grateful confidence raise thy “Ebenezer,” for,
“He who hath helped thee hitherto
Will help thee all thy journey through.”
When read in Heaven’s light, how glorious and marvelous a prospect will thy “hitherto” unfold to thy grateful eye. – C. H. Spurgeon (From Streams in the Desert, December 31)
I post this article at this commencement of a new year. There are links at the bottom for both an audio message and a neatly formatted bulletin insert.
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How should we confront the difficult times life invariably brings? One way is to learn from those who have succeeded in similar straits. Joseph the patriarch faced incredible trials, and his life holds many lessons to give us hope. Let’s look at four.
DELIVERANCE IS COMING
At age 17 Joseph (one of 12 sons of Jacob) was cast into a pit by his brothers, who plotted to kill him. Why? Because Joseph was their father’s favorite, and he singled Joseph out for special favors. Plus, Joseph had two unusual dreams indicating that his family would eventually bow before him in subservience. And they hated him even more for his dreams.
The eldest brother, Rueben, actually opposed the plot and intended to rescue Joseph. Perhaps he might even have furtively whispered, “Don’t worry, my brother. I’ll get you out of this pit and restore you to your father.” But in Rueben’s absence, the others pulled Joseph from the pit and sold him to slave traders bound for Egypt. (Gen. 37:2-22).
Joseph received deliverance alright, but it didn’t come in an agreeable, expected way. What only God knew, however, was that Joseph had an unbreakable appointment 13 years later to stand before Pharaoh, king of Egypt, to effect deliverance for those who hated him.
Has the hurtful sting of betrayal put you in a “pit”? Deliverance may not come when or how you envision it, but expect God to act on your behalf. (1 Cor. 10:13).
DELAY IS NOT DENIAL
A wealthy Egyptian, Potipher, purchased Joseph and soon put him in charge of his whole household. But when falsely accused by Potipher’s wife, Joseph was cast into prison and laid in irons. Despite his unfair circumstances, however, Joseph’s diligence motivated the chief jailer to make him supervisor of all the prisoners. (Gen. 39:21-23)
Then unexpectedly, when Joseph was 28, two fellow prisoners, Pharaoh’s chief cupbearer and chief baker, each had a puzzling dream. Joseph interpreted and gave the cupbearer good news: in three days he would be restored to his former position. But the baker would be executed. Desiring relief, Joseph implored the cupbearer, “Please remember me to Pharaoh, and get me out of this house.”
But even though events unfolded exactly as Joseph had said, the cupbearer forgot him, leaving him to languish in prison two more years doing his duty. (Gen. 40:1-23).
Perhaps you’ve asked God to release you from a painful trial and believe He’s forgotten because nothing has happened. His delay is not necessarily a denial of your request; the timing may not yet be right. Duty is what we do until deliverance comes.
YOU CAN HAVE A FRUITFUL FUTURE
When Joseph was 30, Pharaoh himself had two terrifying dreams. When none of his wise men could interpret, the cupbearer suddenly remembered Joseph, whom Pharaoh immediately summoned!
Stunned by Joseph’s insight, Pharaoh instantly made him Prime Minister and gave him a wife, who would eventually bear him two sons. The first he named Manasseh because “God has made me forget all my trouble and all my father’s household.” The second he named Ephraim, “For, “he said, “God has made me fruitful in the land of my affliction.” (Gen. 41:51-52).
Able to forget even the treachery of his own brothers, Joseph could look to the fruitful work God had planned for him.
Have bitter circumstances caused you to expect nothing better or different in the future? On the contrary, your future can bear much good fruit—but you must assuredly set aside the bitterness of the past.
GOD’S PLAN IS BETTER THAN YOURS
At age 56, Joseph took his two sons to his dying father to be blessed, but instead of following the customary, accepted procedure, Jacob placed his right hand on the head of the younger Ephraim. This deviation greatly displeased Joseph, who immediately attempted to “fix” his father’s “mistake” by grasping Jacob’s hand to move it to Manasseh’s head. But his father refused and said, “I know, my son, I know…. However….” (Gen. 48:14-19).
Though physically blind, Jacob’s spiritual eyes had seen what Joseph could not see and overrode Joseph’s plan and desire for his firstborn son.
Have your plans not worked out as you thought they should and left you facing outcomes you’d wished to avoid? Perhaps God has said “however” to your plan because He sees what you cannot, and His way will indeed be better than yours in the long run.
Joseph experienced hard times much like ours: jealous betrayals, unfairness, unfaithful friends, tedious delays, and undesirable turns of events. But despite all of these, he grew and succeeded because of an unswerving trust and confidence in God. That should give us hope for ourselves, no matter what we must face.
(Note: A detailed audio version of this message is available here)
Copyright 2008 James McAlister
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This has been a particularly difficult week, and I confess to have fallen prey to anxiety and fretting. Worry can give small problems such long shadows that they become giants of immense, irresistible proportions. But on the other hand, I fully realize that there is no enemy too strong or foe too powerful to stand against the truth of Scripture.
And thus there is a battle for dominance as my view of the impossibility of physical circumstances lays siege to what I should clearly understand from God’s Word. It’s the same struggle that Paul faced (Rom 7:25): “…so then with the mind I myself serve the law of God, but with the flesh the law of sin.”
The conflict is real. It’s a battle in which one skilled in handling God’s truth should easily put to flight 10,000 assailants of doubt, despair, and discouragement. But these are formidable foes that manifest themselves in situations that seem impossible to resolve, complications that look too tangled to unravel, wounds that appear too deep for healing.
And I generally succumb too easily by failing to look beyond what I can see into that unseen but ever-present world where such battles are won and lost (Eph 6:12). That’s where we ultimately stand or fall.
I would like to think that I could do better if the clock could be turned back about 40 years. But the past cannot be changed. And though the present is engulfed by the struggles of the moment, the future is in my hands.
Even when I feel helplessly adrift on a sea of swirling afflictions, there are always some notable promontories on the horizon. They are landmarks to guide me to safe harbor. They are the truths given by God for times of doubt and distress.
First there is the surety of answered prayer (Jer 33:3). I am not without appeal. I have the ear — and the heart — of a King who constantly bids me call upon Him. Second, I am not alone (John 4:4), and He who is with me is greater than any foe. Third, I am not forgotten; He has promised to never leave me nor forsake me (Heb 13:5).
And in the shadows of these majestic pinnacles of truth there await legions — even legions upon legions — of their companions. They are the “exceeding great and precious promises” of God (2 Pet 1:4), fit and ready for any situation. May I often gaze upon this mighty host and be reminded that God is able to care for His own, no matter how troubled the waters of life may be.
Copyright 1999 James McAlister
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They sat side by side on the hillside, silently gazing into the starry sky. Finally, the boy spoke. “Would you tell me about that night, Jacob?” The old man said nothing.
The boy persisted. “Please, Jacob. I won’t laugh at you. I promise. I really want to hear the story.”
The old man finally answered. “No matter, Peter. The laughing doesn’t bother me anymore. My thoughts just don’t come as quickly as they did 70 years ago.”
“So it’s been that long? Seventy years?”
“More than 70. I was about your age. Just a lad. But I remember clearly… as if it were last night.” He stared nowhere in particular, his mind lost in another time.
“And the others with you, Jacob? Were they older?”
“Yes. I was the youngest—and probably the most afraid.”
Peter paused a moment, then whispered. “Tell me. Please.”
Soft words came at last. “We were alone on the hillside, watching over our sheep. Just as you and I are tonight. Then instantly, like a lightning bolt from heaven, an angel stood among us. His blazing clothing blinded us and lit up the whole hillside….”
The old man paused as the boy interrupted, each thought tumbling over the next. “Did the angel speak to you, Jacob? What did he say? Were you frightened?
Jacob was sober in his recollection, as one who had told the story many times, often to mocking and ridicule.
“Though he told us not to be afraid, his appearance terrified us. Even Eli, who seemed as big as Goliath to me, could barely stand up afterwards. And the angel’s message stunned us. After thousands of years, the Messiah had finally come! But He would not be the king we were expecting. Instead, we would find him lying in manger in a stable in Bethlehem. It didn’t make sense.”
Peter could hardly utter his next question. “Then what happened, Jacob?”
“Then the heavens exploded with countless other angels—all singing and praising God. But like the light from a snuffed candle, they suddenly disappeared, leaving us in darkness again.”
“It was then you went to Bethlehem?”
“Yes. We knew we must seek the Child and see if what the angel had said was true. Eli took off first, and I struggled to keep up as best my short legs could. We ran from stable to stable until we found the Child—exactly as the angel had described.”
“Jacob, the boys in the village say you dreamed all these things.”
“Yes, I’ve heard their foolish talk. But they are mistaken. We all saw the Child… and touched Him. Flesh and blood are no dream.”
“They say you are just an old man who makes up tales about the Child to sound important. All of the other shepherds you claim were with you have been dead for many years, and there is no one left alive to prove your story. They call you ‘The Last Shepherd’ to make fun of you.”
“It is true that I am very old and have outlived all the others who ran to Bethlehem that night. But I am not The Last Shepherd, Peter.”
“What do you mean, Jacob? You said that the others were dead.”
“They are indeed. But there was another shepherd in the stable that night who still lives. He is The Last Shepherd.”
“But how can there be another shepherd, Jacob? I don’t understand.”
“The Child, Peter. The Child. Do you know what He called himself when He grew up?”
“Yes! Now I remember! He once said, ‘I am the Good Shepherd!’”
“He is also the Last Shepherd, for no other shepherd will ever come after Him to guard and protect His flock.”
“But how can He prove your story since he’s not here?”
“Tell me, Peter. How do you get your sheep to come to you?”
“I call them by name, and they come because they know my voice. First one, then another, until all are safely in the fold.”
“Exactly. And everyone who sees them respond to your call knows for certain you must be their shepherd. Is that not so? And so it is today with The Last Shepherd. He calls His sheep one by one, and as they hear their names they go to Him in heaven. But a day is coming when He will call all that remain, and the entire flock will go to Him at once. Then those who disbelieve will begin to understand.”
“I think I see, Jacob, but when will this happen?”
“I don’t know, lad. I don’t know. But with each passing year, I long more and more to hear my name called. I hope it’s on a night much like tonight, here on the hillside, gazing into the heavens and guarding our sheep. Then I will go to Him.”
“Could it be tonight, Jacob?”
“Yes, lad. It could be tonight.” And they lay back on the grass… listening… as if trying to hear a distant voice.
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“For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.”
Copyright 2011 James McAlister
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I saw her for the last time on such a rare and wonderful autumn day as this. With fall crispness charging the air, our long, lingering stroll around the campus let her enjoy the unique texture of October breeze and sun upon her cheeks.
Our visit completed, I offered my goodbyes–without realizing she was hearing them for the last time. But it’s not ordained for us to know the times or epochs of our lives, to read with full comprehension the great plans indelibly etched upon the scroll of eternity.
I returned home that bright October afternoon to mundane duties far less significant than the one just completed. We retired as usual that evening, around 10:00, only to be jolted awake at 3:00 by the telephone call many parents silently fear deep within their souls.
“Jenny is in cardiac arrest,” the voice dutifully reported. “You can meet the ambulance at the emergency room.” We numbly scrambled to pull ourselves together.
We were there when the ambulance arrived, and a group of medical personnel hovered over Jenny, frantic in their attempts to revive her.
“How long has she been this way?” I asked, dreading the answer. The terse reply came: “Twenty-five minutes.”
“There’s no use continuing,” I acknowledged. “Let her go.” They questioned my decision. “Are you sure?” I was.
Then came a few moments alone with her, the formal documents to sign, the sober trip home, the decisions about what to do first, the long wait until daylight before making the requisite calls, the cleaning and the tentative plans.
Mary shopped for a suitable outfit, one of soft, respectful pink for the daughter who would, after all, need to look lovely for friends coming to see her for one last time. And she did. Mary called me from the funeral home. “I’ve just seen the most beautiful girl in the world.” And she had.
Along with Mary and me, her brother spoke at the funeral. Then we three offered our goodbyes–knowing they were for the last time.
On rare and wonderful autumn days such as this, I sometimes wonder: Is there really a heaven? What will it be like? Will we remember our times together? Will we know each other? Will we be able to take long, lingering strolls and feel the October breeze and sun upon our cheeks?
But in those moments of evaluation, Jesus’ assurances from the Bible spring up within me. “Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.”
Thus I seldom recall that particular rare and wonderful autumn day — October 2, 1995 — with any residual sadness. For it was, and still remains, one of the few great watersheds of our lives, defining the terrain and landscape in which we will live out our remaining years. And the last times of that unique October confirm the beliefs we truly call our own.
Copyright 2004 James McAlister
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Autumn is my favorite season of the year, and the weather I have come to expect and enjoy in October has just arrived in the last few days. Thus I post an older article about the feelings Autumn brings with it.
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Golden Autumn by name, she heralds inevitable liberation from the restricting bonds of summer heat. And brushed by the train of her garment, summer’s prickly greens and blues soon transform to longer, softer wavelengths of red and orange and yellow.
At about this time each year, I watchfully await signs of her coming — not on a specific calendar day, but in a particular season of pleasantly distinctive and remarkable quality. This week, Golden Autumn, crouching just outside my door, unexpectedly sprang upon me. And as with her previous annual visitations, she caught me not disappointed.
Surely because our house faces directly west — and no trees shield afternoon’s sun — summer has lain upon us like a blanket, hot and heavy. Stifling, stale air, tempered infinitesimally only by a layer of insulation just added to the door, saturates and permeates our garage.
So when I slightly cracked the front door early Friday morning and felt lightness in the air, I silently rejoiced. “Autumn,” says Gregg Easterbrook, “truly is what summer pretends to be: the best of all seasons. It is as glorious as summer is tedious; as subtle as summer is obvious; as refreshing as summer is wearying. Autumn seems like paradise.”
But for the unforgettable pungent odors of burning leaves wafting through our neighborhood, few autumn memories of my own childhood linger. But decades later, our son would often indulge himself with flying leaps into the copious windrows of fallen leaves snaking about our yard. At least, that is, until he had more intimately associated himself with the work which had created those fluffy brown dunes.
For several years, autumn announced my pilgrimage back to college, a ritual I never warmly embraced. But on the other hand, Golden Autumn still brings balance by also staying tedious and tiring lawn care.
Today, varied enemies have entrenched themselves on several fronts to launch guerrilla warfare at their discretion against my contentment. But enter Golden Autumn — bearing the hopefulness of plunging once again into coolness and color for both respite and renewal. For Golden Autumn speaks of new beginnings.
But why the acute interest in autumn — especially this autumn? Perhaps because my own season of life impels me to carefully count remaining autumns as a miser his gold, to treasure them as a definable and finite resource. And perhaps because physical infirmities have recently barred me from activities I’ve sorely needed — to be out and moving, experiencing the solitude and majesty of God’s creation as man pits himself against the outdoors.
Summer inflicts pain only autumn can salve, puts wrinkles in life only autumn can smooth. And like a mother with her hurting child, Golden Autumn heals the soul by touch and words alone.
Copyright 2003 James McAlister
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“It came to pass . . . that the brook dried up” (1 Kings 17:7).
The education of our faith is incomplete if we have not learned that there is a providence of loss, a ministry of failing and of fading things, a gift of emptiness. The material insecurities of life make for its spiritual establishment. The dwindling stream by which Elijah sat and mused is a true picture of the life of each of us. “It came to pass . . . that the brook dried up” — that is the history of our yesterday, and a prophecy of our morrows.
In some way or other we will have to learn the difference between trusting in the gift and trusting in the Giver. The gift may be good for a while, but the Giver is the Eternal Love.
Cherith was a difficult problem to Elijah until he got to Zarephath, and then it was all as clear as daylight. God’s hard words are never His last words. The woe and the waste and the tears of life belong to the interlude and not to the finale.
Had Elijah been led straight to Zarephath he would have missed something that helped to make him a wiser prophet and a better man. He lived by faith at Cherith. And whensoever in your life and mine some spring of earthly and outward resource has dried up, it has been that we might learn that our hope and help are in God who made Heaven and earth. — F. B. Meyer
(This entry can be found in Streams in the Desert for October 5)
Do you have a significant need that has not been met, or an urgent prayer that hasn’t been answered? If so, I’m right there with you—and I bring good news. God has made provision for such times: “Therefore let us draw near with confidence to the throne of grace, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”(Heb. 4:16, NASB). And isn’t that exactly what we need, help from the throne of grace, offered and granted by the omnipotent King upon that throne?
Since this throne of grace exists in heaven where we can’t physically observe it, its provisions and operations are necessarily somewhat veiled. History is our friend, however, for the book of Esther affords us a remarkable glimpse at an actual throne, the desperate petition laid before it and the king’s gracious judgment.
The Persian king Ahasuerus occupied that throne, and Esther, of Jewish heritage, was his queen. When the king promoted Haman, this man of immense wickedness quickly initiated a plan to destroy all the Jewish people. Greatly distressed, Mordecai, Esther’s cousin and guardian, urged her to employ her position to supplicate the king on behalf of the Jews. (Est. 3-4). Thus she did with marvelous and providential success. (Est. 5).
While this vignette beautifully illustrates God’s provision and love for His people, we enjoy at least three undeniable advantages at our throne of grace that even a queen didn’t have.
WE HAVE AN INVITATION
When Esther stood outside the king’s throne room, she had not been invited in 30 days. And for all who dared appear uninvited, the king had but one law: death. Even Esther’s position did not assure acceptance and admittance.
But such is not our case, for the throne of grace stands open day, night, weekends, holidays. And as heirs of God and joint-heirs with Christ, we are literally part of the family of the One upon the throne—invited to come with boldness and confidence to make our petitions. (Heb. 4:16). What a privilege that Esther never knew!
WE HAVE ADVOCATES
Though queen, Esther had no friend at court to stand beside the king and whisper in his ear, “Oh, King! Esther has come uninvited, so her need must be urgent! Please show favor and hear her request!” And even when summoned into the royal presence, she stood alone before the king to make her appeal.
But we have advocates, two faithful friends at court. At the Father’s right hand sits Jesus the Son, our great High Priest who has passed through the heavens. He ever lives to make intercession for us (Heb. 7:25), and like His Father, never sleeps, never slumbers, and never grows weary or tired.
Life has often riddled my peace with situations that rendered me unable to arrange jumbled, disjointed thoughts into meaningful prayers. But in such circumstances that Other Advocate, the Holy Spirit, intercedes for me with groanings which cannot be uttered, conforming and presenting my feeble petitions to align with the will of God. (Rom. 8:26-27).
WE HAVE CONFIDENCE
Esther’s confession to Mordecai, “If I perish I perish,” verbalized her intense uncertainty of life or death, favor or denial. Not so with us. We approach the throne of grace with boldness, confidence and expectation—for the express purpose of receiving mercy and finding grace to help in times of need. (Heb. 416).
The word help in this verse is used in just one other place (Acts 27:17). Those aboard the ship transporting Paul to Rome ran helps (ropes and cables) under the vessel to keep it from being destroyed by the ferocity of the wind and waves relentlessly pounding it to pieces.
Isn’t that comforting? When the storms of life pummel me with devastating blows, help from the throne of grace undergirds me and holds me together until I reach my destination. What inner confidence that inspires!
One final thought. Notice that Esther received far beyond what she had requested or could have even conceived! She sought deliverance for her people, but the king gave more: Haman’s punishment, Mordecai’s promotion and the establishment of the Feast of Purim, a celebration still observed 2,500 years later! And as a final expression of favor, the king asked her, “And what is your further request? It shall also be done.” (Est. 9:12). When we go to the throne of grace, can’t we expect our loving, compassionate, merciful King to likewise render unto us “exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think”? (Eph. 3:20).
And though I may long persist before the throne of grace without visible evidence of answer, I must remember: delay is not denial. My invitation, advocates and confidence all tell me that I will eventually reap if I do not grow weary and lose heart. (Gal. 6:9).
Copyright 2011 James McAlister
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Our helper in prayer (by A. B. Simpson)
A glimpse into the throne room
“Seeing then that we have a great high Priest?Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our profession. Let us come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need” (Heb. 4:14, 16).
Our great Helper in prayer is the Lord Jesus Christ, our Advocate with the Father, our Great High Priest, whose chief ministry for us these centuries has been intercession and prayer. He it is who takes our imperfect petitions from our hands, cleanses them from their defects, corrects their faults, and then claims their answer from His Father on His own account and through His all-atoning merits and righteousness.
Brother, are you fainting in prayer? Look up. Your blessed Advocate has already claimed your answer, and you would grieve and disappoint Him if you were to give up the conflict in the very moment when victory is on its way to meet you. He has gone in for you into the inner chamber, and already holds up your name upon the palms of His hands; and the messenger, which is to bring you your blessing, is now on his way, and the Spirit is only waiting your trust to whisper in your heart the echo of the answer from the throne, “It is done.” — A. B. Simpson
Streams In The Desert, July 20
The unexpected death of Jenny, our firstborn and only daughter, ushered in a period of difficult adjustment for me and my family. And though I certainly believed in heaven, an unusual and instantaneous experience transformed my abstract conceptof heaven into a settled reality.
I clearly recall having been discouraged and thinking about her death when without warning my mind’s eye was opened, and I saw–truly saw that heaven was indescribably real and that all was well with Jenny and would be with me.
This may seem odd and far-fetched, but it is certainly not unique. Of his writing of the “Hallelujah Chorus” in Messiah, George Frederick Handel would say, “I thought I saw all Heaven before me, and the great God Himself.”
Out of those moments of enlightenment soon came this poem, a picture of the glories of heaven as described in Revelation 4 and 5:
HE WHO IS WORTHY AT LAST
I was discouraged when cares held my heart;
Troubles rolled in like the sea.
Cries to the Father that they might depart
Inclined His ear to my plea.
When through the Spirit enlightenment came —
A door to heaven for me —
Glorious splendor demanded surrender,
Compelling my heart to its knees.
Throned upon emerald, pavilioned in light,
Covenant rainbow arrayed;
Lightning and thunder acclaiming His might,
Holy, the Ancient of Days!
“Thou who art worthy of honor and pow’r,
Riches and blessing and praise,
For by Thy pleasure in limitless measure
Creation Thy glory displays!”
When none was worthy to open the book —
Sealed from eternity past —
Millions of angels their silence forsook,
Filling the heavens so vast:
“Weep not; behold Him! The Lamb that was slain
Now has the book in his grasp!
The Root of David, for ages awaited,
It’s He who is worthy at last!”
(Refrain)
Blessing and pow’r and glory to the Lamb.
Forever and ever, bowing to the Lamb.
He redeemed us to God
By the cross, the crown, the blood.
Blessing and pow’r and glory to the Lamb.
(Based on Revelation 4 & 5)
Copyright 1997 James McAlister
Not long afterwards I gave these words to young Zack Stanton, 14 years old at the time, who set them to music. Today Zack, now an accomplished composer and conductor, is on track to receive his Doctor of Musical Arts in Music Composition at the University of Texas at Austin in May 2012. And though he describes his youthful efforts at composition as “green,” I never tire of hearing “He Who Is Worthy At Last” and would love to see it published and used to encourage others.
Zack has given permission for me to post a copy of his original musical score along with a printer-friendly version of the words. As with other items on this web site, usage by individuals and churches is permitted, but other usages require written permission.
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