New York, New York

BREAKING DOWN BARRIERS IN THE BIG APPLE

I was sitting on the platform at Madison Square Garden before 18,000 New Yorkers who had come to hear Billy Graham preach. Seated with me on the stage were a dozen other pastors and civic leaders. We were all people of faith — Christians who loved the Lord. However, one thing set me apart from the other men on the platform: I am black.

   There's a mixed blessing to being the first African American to realize some key achievement in the United States. It is an honor to overcome a barrier that has long kept blacks on an unequal footing with whites. But, along with the outer triumph, there is an inner ache — an angst — of having to live with the often unfriendly fallout of going where no black man has ever gone before. It's a feeling that you're a living experiment, a human lab test. It's the pressure of knowing your every word and action has the potential to make or break the hopes of millions of others who will come after you.

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   I was acutely aware of this pressure on that summer day in 1957. I had agreed to become the first African-American associate on Billy Graham's team of evangelists, but I had not taken a hard look at the racial ramifications of my decision. I had a call from God to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ. That was my priority. Soon, though, I was forced to look at the matter through the American social prism of black and white.

   Back in 1957 we were just three years removed from the landmark Brown v. Board of Education case that opened the doors for racial integration in the United States, and we were still a few years away from Martin Luther King Jr's rise to national prominence. It was a different world.

   Today when African-American actors such as Denzel Washington or Halle Berry win Academy Awards, people of all races celebrate it. Back then, when a figure such as Jackie Robinson broke the race barrier in Major League baseball, he received death threats from fans and dirty looks from members of his own team.

   I didn't receive death threats, but I was the recipient of plenty of dirty looks. And when news hit the street that Billy was thinking of bringing me on board, he received an alarming number of disparaging letters: "You should not have a Negro on your team," came the warnings. "You're going to ruin your ministry by adding minorities." "We may have no choice but to end our support."

   For better or worse, the church has typically followed the lead of secular society when it comes to our attitudes about race. Today racial reconciliation has become an evangelical buzz phrase. Organizations such as Promise Keepers proclaim it's importance. Christian books, magazines, and musical artists denounce racism and celebrate ethnic diversity in the church.

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When Billy approached me to join him in New York, it was more or less understood that white Christians worshiped with white Christians, and black Christians worshiped with black Christians. Our evangelical churches seemed to believe that heaven, too, would be "separate but equal." We recited the Apostle's Creed and prayed, "Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven," but then proceeded to bow at the altar of Jim Crow.

   Talk about being countercultural; what Billy did was radical. There's no getting around it. He weathered the barrage of angry letters and criticisms. He resisted the idea of pulling the plug on the whole thing and playing it safe. There was never any hesitation on Billy's part. He remained faithful to his convictions. He had dug the trench, you might say, and he was going through. He knew it was what God was calling him to do.

WHERE THE PEOPLE ARE

   In New York, Billy once and for all made it clear that his ministry would not be a slave to the culture's segregationist ways. He was serious about integrating the crowds at his Madison Square Garden crusade, which had registered a disappointing number of blacks during its first several evenings. Soon after my arrival in New York, he looked to me for counsel on boosting minority turnout. "Howard, what can we do to get more blacks to the meetings?" he asked.

   I looked at Billy and give him the hard truth: "If they're not coming to you, you have to go to where they are," I said. "Billy, you need to go to Harlem."

   This is a cardinal rule of evangelism and missions: You have to go

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where the people are. Jesus knew this well. When He dined with tax collectors and sinners, He wasn't worried about how it would reflect on His reputation (Matthew 9:9-13). In another instance, while journeying to Galilee he expressed an urgent need to travel through Samaria (John 4:4-43). It wasn't the most politically correct route for a Jew to take in those days, but He made it a point to put Himself where the needs were — where the people were. He was incarnational in every aspect of the term. We can only strengthen our evangelistic efforts by following His example. And Billy did.

   Predictably, the prospect of going to Harlem brought Billy even more flack from white church leaders. They warned that it was too dangerous — "Those savages up there will kill you!" Still, Billy made plans to hold a rally in Harlem.

   The irony is that some of those whites who were saying "Don't go to Harlem" were members of evangelical churches that were sending white missionaries to Africa. They weren't afraid of ministering to the blacks over there, but the men and women of Harlem were another story.

   I worked my New York contacts to spearhead a series of rallies where Billy was able to come before the community's Christian leaders and declare his commitment to them. In Harlem more than 8,000 people turned out to hear the evangelist share his heart. A week later, we organized a similar event in Brooklyn. More than 10,000 blacks and other minorities packed that service.

   It was at this Brooklyn rally that Billy remarked publicly for the first time that civil rights legislation — combined with hearts transformed by God's love — would be necessary to eradicate the discrimination and racism that pervaded our nation. This would have been a bold statement for any white

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conservative preacher in those days; the fact that it was Billy Graham saying it made it even more striking.

   God blessed our strategy. The smaller rallies resulted in increased black attendance at the Madison Square Garden crusade. It was estimated at the time that by the conclusion of the New York crusade in August, blacks were making up 20 percent of the nightly crowds.

   Famous black actress and singer Ethel Waters attended the crusade meetings one evening and recommitted her life to Christ. When Cliff Barrows discovered that Miss Waters was in the audience, he invited her to sing a solo. Ethel brought the house down with a rousing rendition of "His Eye Is on the Sparrow." After that, she joined the crusade choir and turned down several lucrative performance opportunities to sing at the crusade for the remainder of the meetings.

   Billy's friend Martin Luther King Jr., was the other famous African American who appeared onstage at the New York crusade. Billy invited him to come to the Garden one evening to lead a prayer. When the news got out that Dr. King was coming, Billy again got a lot of nasty letters and telephone calls from irate whites. "Why would you invite that communist?" some said. "He's an agitator and an enemy to the peace of America!" Billy's response: "He is my friend, I admire the work he is doing, and I back what he is doing." Again, Billy stood his ground.

   Billy also heard from some members of the black community who questioned why he would not allow Dr. King to do more than say a short prayer at the meeting. (Later, in 1963, when Billy decided not to attend King's famous March on Washington, he would again hear it from black leaders who questioned his commitment to racial justice.) I've

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always responded to Billy's African-American critics by asking them to examine those things Billy has done for racial progress. No other white evangelical leader of his prominence put himself on the line for civil rights as much as Billy, even if he did not pass each and every litmus test of the black establishment.

   Dr. King did pray at the crusade. That evening after the meeting, Billy threw a party for Dr. King at the New Yorker Hotel in one of the large rooms. He invited a select group of his team members to attend, and he said to me, "Howard, I want you to be there." After an elegant dinner, Billy asked Dr. King a few questions about the race problem in America and invited the civil rights leader to respond at length. Billy asked, "How in the world did you maneuver the Montgomery bus boycott without violence?"

   The room got extremely still. Dr. King was the kind of person who would always ponder a question thoroughly before answering, and he did so that night. After a long pause, he finally explained that when Rosa Parks was arrested for not giving up her seat to a white passenger on that fateful December 1956 day in Montgomery, Alabama, he called a meeting of black ministers to discuss a plan of action. The main thing they did at that meeting was pray to God to give them wisdom to address the great injustice that was being inflicted on the black citizens of their city. And so the short answer to the question, said Dr. King, is prayer. They prayed.

   It was my privilege that evening to meet Dr. King and shake his hand. He said to me that night, "Brother Jones, I would like to have you come and preach at my church sometime." Of course, I told him I would be honored. Sadly, though, in the course of time our paths would not cross again.

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"HOW DID HE GET UP HERE?"

   I was pleased to see an increased minority turnout at the New York crusade, but this period was also one of the most agonizing times of my life. With Wanda and the kids still in Cleveland, I was overwhelmed with a sense of loneliness. And it was only compounded by the fact that I was the lone African American on Billy's team. Every evening I felt the piercing stares and heard people muttering under their voices. There were nights when it seemed palpable.

   I remember sitting on the crusade platform on various occasions with empty seats next to me because some white crusade participants had decided to sit on the other side of the stage. At other times, I would go down to counsel new believers during the altar calls only to see white counselors move in the other direction.

   One night, I heard two white pastors seated behind me murmuring to each other: "How did he get up here?" one of them asked. The other replied, "That's Graham's new associate."

   I put on a brave face while in public, but once I was alone the mask came down. There were nights when I went back to my hotel room and wept before God and told Him, "Lord, I can't take this pressure." I felt like telling Billy it was too much. But I knew his heart, and I knew the heart of the team. God gave me the strength to endure.

   Eventually, Wanda arranged for some church members to take care of our kids and the Graham Association flew her to New York to be with me. This was a great comfort. Billy's wife, Ruth Bell Graham, was particularly gracious to Wanda when she arrived. "Oh, Wanda. It's so nice to finally meet you,"

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Ruth said as she embraced my wife. "We love Howard, and now we get to spend some time with you as well."

  With Wanda by my side again, I felt rejuvenated. Though I still sensed hateful stares from some people, I knew for certain God had brought me to New York for a reason. I looked forward to the remaining nights of the crusade with renewed anticipation.

TORN BETWEEN TWO LOVES

   After sixty-eight days, the crusade came to a close. It would go down as the longest crusade in Graham's ministry. When all was said and done, some two million New Yorkers had attended the event, and tens of thousands had made commitments to Jesus Christ.

   We rejoiced at God's faithfulness. But the event also had exhausted us. I was happy to return home to Cleveland to see my dear family and my congregation at Smoot Memorial Alliance Church.

   A month later, however, I received another call from Billy. This time he wanted me to join his staff full-time. I was thrilled and honored at the request. But I was torn: I loved being a pastor of a local church, but I knew God had given me a passion for evangelism. And when the world's most famous evangelist wants you to work for him, how do you say no?

   I told him that I couldn't give him an immediate decision. He told me to take my time, that the invitation was open. For the next year, I poured myself into the pastoral duties at Smoot Memorial, enjoying every moment of it. But at the same time, Wanda and I prayed and fasted regularly for a clear signal from God about our future.

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   By now, you've probably detected a pattern in my ministry. I was never the kind of preacher who went out looking for a new gig. But God consistently had something lined up. All I knew was I was called to preach the gospel. I never could have predicted how far and wide that simple call would take me.

   Frankly, neither Wanda nor I were prepared for what God had in store for us next.

Chapter Thirteen  ||  Table of Contents