Little Holland Lighthouse off of Lake Michigan

Lighthouses get me excited for EFY! Right now I'm pumped up for EFY because it begins in less than a month! I have been counting down the days since I left EFY last July...

Last summer's EFY theme was "Stand in the Light" and the symbol was a lighthouse. At the opening devotional for the counsleors, Brother McMullin taught us the origin of the Hymn "Brightly Beams Our Father's Mercy" (which happens to be one of my favorites, and I wish that we sang it more often!).

A hymn which encourages us to let our lights shine before me is "Let The Lower Lights Be Burning" The text was written and the tune (Lower Lights) was composed both by Philip Paul Bliss (1838-1876). A native of Clearfield County, PA, he left home to work on farms and in lumber camps, but later became a music teacher and professional songwriter. Eventually, he joined the evangelistic team of Daniel W. Whittle and Dwight L. Moody, headquartered in Chicago, IL, as a music director for their crusades. Many of his songs were drawn from illustrations that he heard in sermons. This song was suggested by a story which Moody told.

"On a dark, stormy night, when the waves rolled like mountains and not a star was to be seen, a boat rocking and plunging, neared the Cleveland harbor. 'Are you sure this is Cleveland?' asked the captain, seeing only one light from the light-house. 'Quite sure, sir,' replied the pilot. 'Where are the lower lights?' 'Gone out, sir.' 'Can you make the harbor?' 'We must, or perish, sir!' And with a strong hand and a brave heart, the old pilot turned the wheel. But alas, in the darkness he missed the channel, and with a crash upon the rocks the boat was shivered, and many a life lost in a watery grave. Brethren, the Master will take care of the great light-house; let us keep the lower lights burning!"

The song was first published in "The Charm, a Collection of Sunday School Music," which Bliss compiled in 1871 for John Church and Co. of Cincinnati, OH. Bliss and his wife died in a fiery train-wreck near Ashtabula, OH, while returning to Chicago from Pennsylvania where they had been to visit family for the holidays. This hymn has been well-known and much used among churches of Christ and has been found in practically all song-books published by brethren since the 1921 "Great Songs of the Church" edited by E. L. Jorgenson.

After sharing this story about the origin of the hymn with us, Sister McMullin gave each of the counselors a small mirror to put on our name tags next to the lighthouse. The mirror was there to reflect the light of Christ.

Almost two weeks later, at the closing fireside during the second week of EFY, Brother Hinton shared this story about the same hymn. It is from Elder Boyd K. Packer...

In 1971, I was assigned to stake conferences in Western Samoa, including the organization of the Upolo West Stake. After the necessary interviews on Upolo Island, we chartered a plane to the Island of Savaii to hold a midweek stake conference of the Savaii Stake. There were in our party besides myself and John H. Groberg, now of the First Quorum of Seventy and who was then a Regional Representative; President Wayne Shute of the Samoan Mission, now a professor of education here at BYU; Mark Littleford, superintendent of Church schools in Samoa; and Brother Laeausa, a Samoan talking chief who would represent us in some ceremonies.

The plane landed on a grass field at Faala and was to return the next afternoon to take us back to Apia on Upolo Island. The next afternoon it was raining a little. Knowing the plane would not land on the grassy field, we drove to the west end of Savaii where there was a runway of sorts atop a coral water-break. We waited until dark; no plane arrived. We were finally able to learn by radiophone that it was storming on Upolo Island and that the plane could not take off. We were able as well to tell them we would come by boat and to have someone meet us at Mulisanua. We then drove about three hours back around the island to Saleleloga. There President Tuioti, a counselor in the Savaii Stake presidency, arranged for a boat and obtained the necessary police permit to make the night crossing.

As we pulled out of port, the captain of the forty-foot boat, the Tori Tula, asked President Shute if he happened to have a flashlight. Fortunately he did and made a present of itto the captain. We made the thirteen-mile crossing to Mulisanua on Upolo Island on very rough seas. None of us realized that a ferocious tropical storm had hit Upolo Island.

At Mulisanua, there is one narrow passage through the reef. A light on the hill above the beach marked that narrow passage. There was a second lower light on the beach. When a boat was maneuvered so that the two lights were one above the other, it was lined up properly to pass through the reef.

But that night, there was only one light. Someone was on the landing waiting to meet us, but the crossing took much longer than usual. After waiting for hours, watching for signs of our boat, they tired and fell asleep in the car, neglecting to turn on the lower light.

The captain maneuvered the boat toward the single light on shore while a crewman held a flashlight off the bow. It seemed like the boat would struggle up a mountainous wave and then pause in exhaustion at the crest of it with the propellers out of the water. The vibration of the propellers would shake the boat nearly to pieces before it slid down the other side.

We could hear the breakers crashing over the reef. When we were close enough to see them with the flashlight, the captain frantically shouted reverse and backed away to try again to locate the passage through the reef. After many attempts, he knew it would be impossible to find the opening. All we could do was try to reach the harbor in Apia, twenty miles away. We were helpless against the ferocious power of the elements. I do not remember ever being where it was so dark.

We were lying spread-eagled on the cover of the cargo hold, holding on with our hands on one side, with our toes locked on the other to keep from being washed overboard. Mark Littleford lost hold and was thrown against the low iron rail. His head was cut front and back, but the rail kept him from being washed away.

As we set out for Apia Harbor, I kept a post on the rail in line of sight with the one light on shore. We made no progress for the first hour even though the engine was full throttle. Eventually we moved ahead and near daylight pulled into Apia Harbor. Boats were lashed to boats several deep at the pier. We crawled across several of them, trying not to disturb those sleeping on deck. We made our way to Pesanga, dried our clothing, and headed for Vailuutai to organize the new stake.

I do not know who had been waiting for us at Mulisanua. I refused to let them tell me. Nor do I care now. But it is true that without that light, the lower light--the light that failed--we all might have been lost.

There is in our hymn book a very old and seldom-sung hymn that has very special meaning to me.

Brightly beams our Father's mercy
From his lighthouse evermore,
But to us he gives the keeping
Of the lights along the shore.
Let the lower lights be burning;
Send a gleam across the wave.
Some poor fainting, struggling seaman
You may rescue, you may save.

Trim your feeble lamp, my brother;
Some poor sailor, tempest-tossed,
Trying now to make the harbor,
In the darkness may be lost.

So, today while I was at the Lighthouse at Lake Michigan, I had the song "Brightly Beams Our Father's Mercy" stuck in my head and the thoughts of these two firesides bouncing around in my head...