can face, stern and joyous—bore thencreases expected of a 67-year-old man.nYet Graham is tireless. “Someonenasked me when I was 65 what was thengreatest surprise in life? I said—itsnbrevityl I feel like I’m 18 again! Just ankid!”nGraham spoke for an hour, pepperingnh:.s sermon with quotations fromneveryone from Novalis to Led Zeppelin,nwith illustrations thrown in fromnGraham’s travels, which ranged fromnan alligator-shooting trip in Florida tona regrettable crusade in the SovietnUnion, where “the Soviet people respondednto the Gospel — just likenyou.”nThe subject of Graham’s sermonnwas death, how people try to avoid theninevitable by wasting their lives accumulatingnwealth and power instead ofnaccepting Jesus Ghrist as a preparationnfor eternal life.nThe sermon was simple, but notnsimplistic, and Graham kept hisnspeech lively by throwing in large dollopsnof folk humor. “Have you evernseen a house on the way to the cemeterynwith a U-Haul?” Graham said.n”You can’t take it with you. Even ifnyou got it all, what happiness would itnbring you?”nGraham’s greatest strength, however,nwas the way he used his hands. Atnone point Graham was speaking of thendeath of Rock Hudson, and his handsnsummed up the vanity of Hudson’snlife. “All those exercises!” Graham’snhands pulsed up and down, as if doingnjumping jacks. “All those vitamins!”nHis hands were held outstretched, as ifnhe was prepared to swallow more pillsnin a mmute than Elvis Presley gobblednin a month. “And Hudson is stillndead.” (“Dead,” in Graham’s accent,nwas pronounced halfway betweenn”dod” and “daid.”)nThe sermon went on for an hournand concluded with a parable about anjester on a ship, who had put all hisnwealth into a diamond-studded ball,nwhich he flung and caught threentimes. The third time, the ball fell offnthe ship’s deck and vanished into thensea. “YDur soul is like that ball,” Grahamnsaid. “Are you going to toss itnaway, or are you going to commitnyourself to Jesus Christ? It’s time tonmake a public dedication to JesusnChrist.”nI didn’t know how many times Gra­nham had asked people to come forward,nbut it was still moving to watchnhundreds of people surge towards thenstage. The choir sang soft hymns, andnGraham’s voice had subsided into anwhisper. “You haven’t come to me,”nGraham said. “You’ve come tonGhrist.”nAs the people moved forward, blacknand white, male and female, soldiernand civilian, you could feel, at least forna moment, that the tensions had flednfrom the world, that, at least for anminute, all the factions of Americannlife had fused into a harmoniousnwhole. As I left, I could see howndiverse Graham’s ministry had become.n”We need a Korean translator,”nGraham said, “a Chinese translator, anSpanish translator. …”nMartin Morse Wooster is Washingtonneditor of Harper’s magazine.nLetter From thenPresbyterynby C.A. McGheenRenaming GodnWe were ambushed last Christmas Evenby a gang of politicians disguised asnPresbyterian clergy and elders. Thenscene was a sanctuary; the occasion ancandlelight service. The weapons ournassailants used were so subtle: newlynprinted orders of service with the lyricsnto all those familiar Christmas hymnsnset forth where they were to be sung.nAnd it was there, along this bypass ofnthe old hymnals, that they fell uponnus.nAs we made our way through thenfirst verse of Edmund H. Sears’s “ItnCame Upon a Midnight Clear,” expectingnto sing with those bendingnangels, “Peace on earth, goodwill tonmen,” the trap sprang. The awfulnword, “men,” had been “improved” tonread “all.” The word and its notencrumbled in our confusion and, weakly,nsomething like “maul” trickled out.nPoor Sears.nThe enormity of the crime becamenclear only when, in the “New Hark!nnnThe Herald Angels,” the “sons ofnearth” whom Christ was born to raisenwere unceremoniously toppled andn”each child” enthroned. The evening’snonly saving grace was that thenHigh Ideologues of the PresbyteriannChurch had not yet the temerity tonconvert the Three Wise Men into thenThree Wise Persons. I await thisnChristmas with trepidation.nThe censorship of hymns is a supremenexample of undertaking to fixnthat which is not broken. Is therendoubt about whether Christianity includesnwomen among the saved? Ofncourse not, and no Christian womannhas ever suffered from the mistakennbelief that women are excluded. Sonwhat is the point? The point is politics.nBut the effort to redraft the hymns tonsuit political purposes is despicable.nThe lyrics Charles Wesley wrote inn1749 for “Hark! The Herald Angels”nare what they are; we moderns nonmore have the privilege to alter themnthan we do to reshape Mona Lisa’snsmile.nIn the Presbyterian Church, or to benmore precise, in the Presbyterian administrativenand academic hierarchy,npartisan politics are now dictating thenparticulars of church doctrine—rightndown to the wording of the hymns.nNow rewriting hymns may seem anpetty affair, but there are graver mattersnafoot. Consider the source behindnthe censorship of carols: the Reportsnon Inclusive Language, composednlargely by the Presbyterian Church’snCouncil on Theology and Culture.nThe Report itself contains the usual,nand now boring, feminist prohibitionnagainst the traditional use of the masculinenas a pronoun of indefinite gender.nThis prohibition is so much follynand bother about which the laity caresnlittie and probably will not adopt unlessnit is forced down their throats.nAlas, such coercion is exactiy what thenIdeologues intend.nWhat truly gives pause lies deeper innthe document. Scripture itself is to benredrafted: When reading the Bible,nlectors are to remove indefinite masculinenpronouns and replace them withnsomething “inclusive.” The words ofnMoses, Isaiah, Paul, and Christ Himselfnare to be changed. The idea growsnall the more preposterous when onenrecalls that the meaning of the Prophets,nthe Aposties, and the Son wasnDECEMBER 1986 / 35n