Today in 1933 – Charles Tindley Died
American pastor and hymn writer Charles Albert Tindley’s story is an amazing one of striving to overcome hardship and succeeding, by the grace of God. He was born in 1851, the son of Charles and Esther Tindley. Charles’s father was a slave, but his mother was a free woman. Thus, he was born free but brought up among enslaved people. His mother died when he was 4 years old, and he was separated from his father a year later. Charles was raised by his Aunt Caroline.
In that day, white slave owners considered it dangerous for blacks to receive an education. But after the Emancipation Proclamation, young Charles taught himself to read and write. He moved to Philadelphia, where he worked as a janitor in a small church, attending school in the evenings and taking a correspondence course. He mastered Hebrew and Greek, largely on his own, and prepared himself for Christian ministry.
In 1902 he became the pastor of the church where he had once worked as a janitor. It grew steadily under his leadership, until, at the time of his death, it had 12,500 members. Most unusually for the time, it was an integrated congregation, with both blacks and whites serving in leadership positions. In spite of Pastor Tindley’s objections, the church was renamed the Tindley Temple Methodist Church.
As well as being a busy pastor, Charles Tindley wrote a number of fine gospel songs. In fact, he is considered one of the founding fathers of American gospel music. Twenty years after his death, his son Elbert and his wife Hazel ministered in music in our church in Ontario, singing some of the songs written by his father.
Charles Tindley wrote We’ll Understand It Better By and By. And his song I’ll Overcome Some Day became the inspiration for the secular Civil Rights song We Shall Overcome. Some of his songs grew out of incidents in his daily life. Pastor Tindley was working in his study one day when a puff of wind from the open window blew some papers over the notes he was jotting down. The thought came to him, “Let nothing between,” and the idea for a song was born. I have an old recording of son Albert singing it, and I can still see his shining face as I listen.
Nothing between my soul and the Saviour,
Naught of this world’s delusive dream;
I have renounced all sinful pleasure;
Jesus is mine, there’s nothing between.

On another occasion, a worried believer came to see Tindley, pouring out all his troubles and complaints. The pastor offered this counsel, based on I Pet. 5:7, “Put all your troubles in a sack, take ‘em to the Lord, and leave ‘em there!” Out of that conversation grew the hymn Leave It There. In succeeding stanzas, he lists several kinds of difficulty we can commit to the Lord in prayer: financial distress, illness and pain, hurts caused by others, and the problems of old age.
If the world from you withhold of its silver and its gold,
An you have to get along with meagre fare,
Just remember, in His Word, how He feeds the little bird;
Take your burden to the Lord and leave it there.
Leave it there, leave it there,
Take your burden to the Lord and leave it there.
If you trust and never doubt,
He will surely bring you out.
Take your burden to the Lord and leave it there.
Here’s a link to a unique rendering of Leave It There. From 1927 to 1929, black gospel singer and songwriter Washington Phillips recorded a series of 18 songs. His style is unmistakably his own. And the instrument he plays has remained something of a mystery. It has a zither-like sound, but some have concluded it must have been a homemade stringed instrument he invented himself.
(2) More from Isaac Watts
Isaac Watts is so significant to English hymnody that I wanted to include a hymn here or there that was not tied to a particular date. There Is a Land of Pure Delight came to mind. As he sat in his home at Southampton, looking out across the water at the green verdure of the Isle of Wight, he thought of the glories of heaven that await the believer beyond the “narrow sea” of death.
There is a land of pure delight,
Where saints immortal reign;
Infinite day excludes the night,
And pleasures banish pain.
There everlasting spring abides,
And never withering flowers:
Death, like a narrow sea, divides
This heav’nly land from ours.
Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood
Stand dressed in living green:
So to the Jews old Canaan stood,
While Jordan rolled between.
But timorous mortals start and shrink
To cross this narrow sea;
And linger, shivering on the brink,
And fear to launch away.
O could we make our doubts remove,
Those gloomy doubts that rise,
And see the Canaan that we love
With unbeclouded eyes!
Could we but climb where Moses stood,
And view the landscape o’er,
Not Jordan’s stream, nor death’s cold flood,
Should fright us from the shore.