Just As I Am: The Autobiography of Billy Graham

by Billy Graham

  We have laughed together and cried together as families, sharing each other’s burdens during times of illness and heartache. We’ve been guests in each other’s homes on many occasions and vacationed together from time to time. We have no better friends than Johnny and June.

  British pop music star Cliff Richard has likewise appeared at a number of our Crusades to share his testimony of faith in Christ. I will never forget a small dinner in London to which I had invited a dozen people. One of the guests that evening was a former prime minister, Sir Alec Douglas-Home. Cliff Richard was also included, as well as a prominent member of the royal family and her husband. Most of the conversation that evening revolved around Christian-ity—especially the deity of Jesus Christ. One of the guests could not accept this; he had been reared in a sect on the fringes of Christianity that denied the full divinity of Jesus Christ. Cliff exhibited an astonishing knowledge of the Bible and of theology that evening as they vigorously discussed what the Bible taught. I ended up saying very little, grateful for Cliff’s willingness to take a stand for Christ.

  Fifth, many men and women who are leaders in secular fields have given relatively little thought to God. They tend to be preoccupied with this world instead of the next. Occasionally, however, I do meet a leader who is perceptive spiritually. One such, I recall, was President Figueres of Costa Rica, whom I met in 1958.

  “The problem of the world is very simple to me,” he stated. “I am a Catholic, but I agree with you that the problem of the world is here.” He pointed to his heart. “Until we do something about the human heart, we cannot solve the problems of the world.”

  Even more memorable was German Chancellor Konrad Adenauer. One time when I was preaching in Germany, he invited me to his office. Coffee was served, but before my first sip, he started in.

  “Young man, do you believe in the resurrection of Jesus Christ?”

  “I most certainly do,” I replied.

  “So do I. If Jesus Christ is not risen from the dead, there is not one glimmer of hope for the human race. When I leave office, I’m going to spend the rest of my life studying and writing about the resurrection of Jesus Christ. It’s the most important event in human history.”

  Since so much of our ministry has been spent in Great Britain, we have had more opportunities to meet a wide spectrum of people in leadership positions there, including almost all of the prime ministers since 1954.

  Margaret Thatcher welcomed me to Number 10 Downing Street. Both her parents were dedicated Methodists, and she had great sympathy for our work.

  Prime Minister Harold Wilson likewise was always very cordial toward me. At our first meeting, we talked about the fact that the British Labour movement had some of its roots in the evangelical revivals of Moody and others in Great Britain during the nineteenth century. (During our trips to Britain I have tried to meet with people who are involved in all kinds of political parties and social movements. I recall, for instance, a serious but very friendly discussion I had with Arthur Scargill, the head of the National Union of Mine Workers, during a time of serious labor unrest.)

  No one in Britain has been more cordial toward us than Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. Almost every occasion I have been with her has been in a warm, informal setting, such as a luncheon or dinner, either alone or with a few family members or other close friends. Out of respect for her privacy and that of her family, I will say little more.

  Her official position has prevented her from openly endorsing our Crusade meetings. But by welcoming us and having me preach on several occasions to the royal family at Windsor and Sandring-ham, she has gone out of her way to be quietly supportive of our mission. She is unquestionably one of the best-informed people on world affairs I have ever met. Part of that knowledge comes from the weekly in-depth briefings she is given by the prime minister, of course, but I have always found her highly intelligent and knowledgeable about a wide variety of issues, not just politics.

  Once, when visiting the royal family at Sandringham in 1984, Ruth and I walked past a woman wearing an old raincoat, Welling-tons, and a scarf; she was bent over fixing some food for the dogs. We thought at first she was one of the housekeepers, but when she straightened up, we saw it was the Queen!

  At the end of that visit, a doorman came up to the car just as we were departing. He had a box under his arm, which he handed to our friend Maurice Rowlandson, who had come to pick us up.

  “A brace of pheasants from Her Majesty The Queen, for Mr. and Mrs. Graham,” he said.

  All the way back to London we debated what to do with them. Maurice suggested we take them to the hotel chef to be prepared and roasted. In the end, however, I decided that would be a waste. I asked Maurice to arrange for them to be stuffed by a taxidermist. Eventually, they arrived at our Montreat home in a glass case—truly pheasant under glass! Later Maurice admitted that shipping the case from England and getting it through U.S. customs had been one of the greater challenges of his life.

  On one occasion when I was in Great Britain, the Queen was preparing her annual Christmas address to be broadcast on television around the world. To illustrate a point, she wanted to toss a stone into a pond to show how the ripples went out farther and farther. She asked me to come and listen to her practice the speech by the pond and give my impressions, which I did.

  I always found her very interested in the Bible and its message. After preaching at Windsor one Sunday, I was sitting next to the Queen at lunch. I told her I had been undecided until the last minute about my choice of sermon and had almost preached on the healing of the crippled man in John 5. Her eyes sparkled and she bubbled over with enthusiasm, as she could do on occasion. “I wish you had!” she exclaimed. “That is my favorite story.”

  I believe one reason for the Queen’s spiritual interest was the warm faith of her mother, Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother. The first time we were with her was at Clarence House, her residence in London. She had invited Ruth and me for coffee, and when we arrived she greeted us warmly and introduced us to Princess Margaret. We were there about an hour, and within five minutes we felt relaxed because they both were so gracious.

  The Queen Mother also impressed me with her sensitivity. I recall how nervous I was the first time I preached at Windsor, and afterward we went to the Queen Mother’s lodge for a little reception. I was talking with her and Princess Margaret when we were offered drinks. The Queen Mother saw me hesitate slightly and immediately said, “I think I will have tomato juice.” I said I would have the same. I believe she had sensed that I probably would not take any alcohol and had acted instantly to avoid any discomfort on my part.

  But more than anything, the Queen Mother always impressed me with her quiet but firm faith. The last time I preached at Windsor, as I walked in I saw her sitting over to my right, with others in the royal family. She deliberately caught my eye and gestured slightly to let me know she was supporting me and praying for me.

  One thing that has always impressed me about the British royal family has been their patronage of numerous charities and social agencies. In 1966 Ruth and I were invited by Princess Margaret to attend a celebration at the Tower of London honoring Dr. Barnardo’s Homes, an organization founded to assist impoverished children and orphans. We came directly from a Crusade service at Earls Court (which Princess Alexandra had attended that night), and when we entered I suspected some people wondered why we had been invited. It was an elegant affair, and the guests were dancing to the music of a live orchestra; I found out later it was the first time a charity ball had been held at the Tower of London.

  Then Princess Margaret and Lord Snowdon entered as everyone stood and the orchestra played a special piece. They came over and sat at our table, and a little later she leaned over to me and said, “Dr. Graham, would you mind speaking to this audience for a few minutes?” That was the first I knew I was to say anything, but I said I would be happy to. Thankfully, I had just read the life of Dr. Thomas Barnardo. Most people there, I real
ized, knew little about the background of the organization, so I told them about Barnardo’s conversion to Christ and how it had motivated him to establish the homes. When I sat down, Princess Margaret kindly said, “That was exactly what we needed to hear.”

  It has also been my privilege to meet a number of the outstanding Christian leaders of our time, many of whom I have already mentioned in these pages. One whom I have yet to mention— and with whom I felt a special affinity—was the Roman Catholic preacher Bishop Fulton J. Sheen. Like me, he was something of an itinerant preacher. I vividly recall the first time we met. . . .

  Being in a private sleeping compartment on a train usually gave the measure of quiet and rest I needed before an important engagement. In fact, in the early years, I often went from home by train, particularly if I was going to Washington or New York. It would stop at Black Mountain around four in the afternoon. By ten the next morning I would be in New York. Going home, I could leave New York at four in the afternoon and get to Black Mountain by ten or eleven the following morning. I got to know the conductors on the train, and I enjoyed those trips very much.

  One night, on the train from Washington to New York, I was just drifting off to sleep when a knock came on the compartment door. I was too tired to answer it. It was, I thought, probably someone seeking an autograph or a photograph. In daytime I would have happily obliged, but this was the middle of the night.

  The knocker persisted. I finally unlocked the compartment door and opened it a crack. There, greeting me, was one of the most familiar faces in America—not just to Roman Catholics but to everyone else. It was Bishop Sheen. We had never met, although I had watched his television program Life Is Worth Living from time to time and greatly admired his gifts as a preacher and communicator. So did many other Protestants. (Perhaps as many Protestants viewed his prime-time television program as did Catholics.)

  “Billy, I know it’s late,” he said, “but may I come in for a chat and a prayer?”

  I was in my pajamas, but I was delighted to see him and invited him in. We talked about our ministries and our common commitment to evangelism, and I told him how grateful I was for his ministry and his focus on Christ.

  As far as either of us knew, he was the first person ever to conduct a religious service on television. It had taken place on Long Island in 1940; at that time, there were only forty television sets within range.

  That first broadcast was a Mass, with him as celebrant—but it was not the serene service he had anticipated. He had barely begun when he noticed that the candles were melting under the ferocious heat of the stage lights. The technicians kept tripping over the cables, and the audio began to screech. The whole disastrous affair, he said with a twinkle, was hardly an auspicious introduction of television as a medium through which to preach the Gospel!

  We talked further and we prayed; and by the time he left, I felt as if I had known him all my life. Our paths crossed a number of times after that, and we became good friends. The last time we met was in January 1979, at the National Prayer Breakfast. By now Sheen was an archbishop, retired, enduring the severe problems of a failing heart. He had accepted the invitation against the advice of his cardiologist, who reluctantly agreed to accompany him. The organizers of the event had quietly asked me beforehand to be prepared to fill in at the last minute in case he could not carry on. Even as he made his halting way to the podium, I silently prayed that God would grant him the necessary physical and spiritual strength.

  “Mr. President,” he began, turning toward President and Mrs. Carter, “you are a sinner.”

  Instantly, he had everyone’s undivided attention. Then, pointing to himself, he said, “I am a sinner.”

  “We are all sinners,” he said as he looked around the huge ballroom at the sophisticated and influential audience, “and we all need to turn to God. . . .”

  He then went on to preach one of the most challenging and eloquent sermons I have ever heard.

  The following December he succumbed to the heart disease that had plagued him for years. I determined to go to New York to pay my respects at the funeral. I planned just to slip into St. Patrick’s Cathedral and sit at the back. Instead, I was escorted to the front of the church to sit near the casket with the prelates who had known him and worked with him.

  I recall also one summer in Switzerland when I met Karl Barth, the great theologian, with his son Markus; they were also on vacation. He suggested we climb a mountain. I climbed with him for a while—as far as my shortness of breath allowed—and mentioned that I would be holding an outdoor meeting in Basel.

  “Don’t be disappointed if few people come,” he said, trying to be kind.

  I told him that people would indeed come, and that at the end I would give the Invitation.

  He warned that nobody would respond.

  When I did hold the meeting in Basel, Karl Barth showed up, in spite of the pouring rain. I recognized him huddled under an umbrella. As many as 15,000 others also showed up. I preached on the passage in the third chapter of John, “Ye must be born again.” Hundreds streamed forward at the Invitation.

  “I agreed largely with your sermon,” he said afterward, “but I did not like that word must. I wish you could change that.”

  “It’s a scriptural word, isn’t it?”

  He had to agree that it was. He felt, though, that one should not give an Invitation; one should just declare that God had already acted.

  I heard him out and then said I would stick to Scripture.

  In spite of our theological differences, we remained good friends.

  When I was in Zurich with Emil Brunner, whose stature as a theologian was next to Barth’s, he was warm, friendly, and supportive. He disagreed with Barth’s views on this.

  “Pay no attention to him,” he said. “Always put that word must in. A man must be born again.”

  And he was in favor of the Invitation.

  Another cleric I have not mentioned so far in these pages is Dr. Michael Ramsey, a giant of a man, a onetime Archbishop of Canterbury, and a delightful person. We were friends for many years. In 1961 we were sitting together on the steps of the Assembly Building in New Delhi, where we both were attending the World Council of Churches—he as a delegate, I as an observer.

  “Now Billy G”—he always called me Billy G or Billy Baptist—“you know I don’t agree with your methods. And I don’t always agree with your theology. And in fact, Billy G, you’ve strengthened the evangelicals too much. That’s the thing I’m afraid of.”

  “Yes,” I replied, “I’m sure that may be one of the side effects, and I rather hope it is. But Dr. Ramsey, could we—you and I—be good personal friends? Do we have to part company because we disagree in methods and theology? Isn’t that the purpose of the ecumenical movement, to bring together people of opposing views?”

  A strong supporter of the ecumenical movement, he had to smile and agree with my logic.

  One memorable occasion he and I shared was a dialogue held in Cambridge, England, in January 1981. (It was advertised everywhere as a debate.) It gave me the opportunity to organize in a more systematic way some thoughts I had been having on the place of evangelism in the modern church, and to focus my own thinking more intently on the Christian church’s calling in the world.

  Our hosts had booked us into the same hotel, and we arrived the day before the dialogue. As dinnertime approached, I called him on the house phone and asked if he would like to dine with me. We ordered from the menu, and as the dinner progressed, he revealed more and more of the points he planned to make against me. I have seldom been better prepared for a dialogue or a debate!

  The following day, in Great St. Mary’s, the university church—which was packed to overflowing—I fully acknowledged the importance of the Church’s social witness, but at the same time I stressed the biblical priority and centrality of evangelism, a priority I felt was becoming lost in some ecclesiastical circles.

  “God created His Church to extend to His
kingdom . . . ,” I stated. “The proclamation of the Gospel lies at the very heart of our mission to the world. That is why we must recover the biblical meaning of evangelism in its deepest sense and fullest scope. . . . Without proclamation, God’s purpose will not come to pass, for without it, humanity will never come to Christ, and to acknowledge him as Lord.”

  Then I added my conviction: “Evangelism is not a calling reserved exclusively for the clergy. I believe one of the greatest priorities of the Church today is to mobilize the laity to do the work of evangelism.”

  Knowing a great number of people has its poignant side also, as I hear of the death of someone whose friendship I have valued and realize I will not see that person again. Sometimes their passing is tragic, and I feel it very sharply. I think, for example, of the death of Martin Luther King, Jr., in 1968. I was in Australia for a series of Crusades, and one day I was just finishing a round of golf when several journalists ran up.

  “Dr. Martin Luther King has been shot,” they said. “We would like your comments.” I was confused at first because I did not know if it was the father (who had the same name) or the son, and they did not know either. Then I realized it must be Martin Jr., and I was almost in a state of shock. Not only was I losing a friend through a vicious and senseless killing, but America was losing a social leader and a prophet, and I felt his death would be one of the greatest tragedies in our history. There on the golf course I had all the journalists and the others gathered around, and we bowed in prayer for Dr. King’s family, for the United States, and for the healing of the racial divisions of our world. I immediately looked into canceling my schedule and returning for the funeral, but it was impossible because of the great distance.

  Yes, it has been a privilege to know some of the great men and women of the latter part of this century—people spanning the religious spectrum from Christianity to Buddhism to Judaism to Islam to atheism. Let me stress again, however, that most of my time has been spent with people who will never be in the public eye and yet who are just as important to God (and to us) as a queen or a president.