Ira Stanphill—Sweet Singer
Hometown Retrospective. Dr. Gary Straub. Meadow @ St Matthews. Advent ‘21
Pandora played an old Ira song today, bringing back high school memories of Lancaster, PA. In the summer of ‘62, those wild-eyed, hand-waving, hallelujah-shouting Pentecostals over at 1st Assembly Church called a traveling evangelist to pastor them. Rev. Ira Stanphill stayed till ‘68 and wrote over 500 old-timey Southern Gospel songs which were immensely popular with my manic Mennonite friends. They later joked: our “All Night Mennonite Hymn-Sings” were the very first wave of The Rave phenomenon.
After supper at home, mom played her rickety Hammond organ while we boys did the dishes. Our strategy allowed access to raid the cookie cupboards while she played long and loud. “Play it again, Mom,” my brother would shout to cover noisy potato chip bags he wrestled open! While we “did the dishes,” Mom dished up her rendition of Ira Stanphill’s greatest hits. She collected all Ira’s songsheets—remember sheet music? Somehow, Stanphill’s folksy lyrics lodged in my memory. If its true that we become what we listen to; I definitely have a smidgeon of Stanphill in my soul. His music ministered blessing while I served some rough and tumble seasons in parish ministry. Nobody ever warned me about church meetings that so easily devolved into Roller Derby!
Ira’s genre was old timey, but my Inner Mystic Critic melted in the presence of his homespun devotion. His theology waxed poetic; but bedrock Bible. His songs sounded like kitchen table conversation. Two years later, a kerfuffle occurred over at First Assembly. They adored Ira but wanted to control him. His gentle heart was unbound, but also unbowed by the brutal brand of bullying that passed for ‘wise elder counsel’ in some fundamentalist circles. As the dark dynamics of pastoral politics played out, The First Assembly disassembled. Sadly, their awe, admiration and appreciation of Ira turned sour with the discovery of his humanness. Then, bad news broke out as his wife deserted him/family for a night club singer! According to the fundamentalist rule book, if his wife would do that—HE must be flawed… and fired! Gossip and gripes ensued as mumbling turned into murmuring. Ira saw the handwriting on the wall and abruptly found a new call. Lancaster’s local papers hearlded his hasty departure w/ kudos for his contribution to the Gospel genre. ALL TOO late! He’d become a prophet without honor. After Ira found greener pastures, a malaise of remorse/guilt ate away at the congregation’s current leadership. Those huge Sunday night crowds faded fast as 1st Assembly sank back into—some said—“well—deserved obscurity.” All the ground-breaking acclaim of this youthful, upbeat, thriving church tumbled downhill after Stanphill. Nobody notices anymore.
Ira’s themes dealt with deep wounds healed by God’s hand in God’s good time. His confidence in the radiance and resilience of the Holy Spirit proved providential in my 50 years of ministry. Knowing Stanphill’s story ministered a measure of equanimity to me whenever church politics opposed and oppressed me. Ira sang of the rock-solid steadfast faithfulness of God to raise us up again and again— and as many times as it takes for redemption to take hold, heal the curse and bring blessing. Some judged his gospel music harshly, as pure schlock. I still find Ira’s music drifting thru my mind in prayer and often hum along. Like David the Psalmist, Stanphill was a sweet singer who gave witness to the Love that will not let us go….. no matter what!
In the early 90’s,as I began a fresh season of ministry in Frankfort, KY— Ira finished his last pastorate in KS and was laid to rest in Overland Park. Someday, I hope to lay a wreath at his grave in gratitude for all the songs the Spirit sang thru his soul into mine. His music ministered many a resurrection to me.
Hope you have someone who sings soul resilience, which can rest on something as simple as a song that just won’t go away.
