Vignettes — Noel Stookey

Nov 14, 2010 by Lancia E. Smith

One of the great pleasures of this years conference at Camp Allen was Noel Stookey joining the event.

Nothing I knew about him currently or remembered about him from the past prepared me for the experience we all had there.

Noel Stookey captivated me with the warmth of his gracious, unassuming manner

walking among us in the halls and singing with priceless generosity.

His music was as compelling as it has ever been.

In many ways the depth of it surpassed what we had heard from him in earlier years as Paul of

Peter, Paul and Mary.

I can still hear him singing “The Connection” and “Father’s House” to us as a completely rapt audience.

But what lingers with me most deeply

are the images of him sweetly and quietly embracing

fellow presenter Lael Arrington,

sitting low and on level with Sheila Swartz,

then later sleeves rolled up, sneakers, gentle eyes, ready laughter,

indwelling presence of Jesus, sitting in with us strong and steady on the presentations

by Malcolm Guite, Randy Alcorn and Louis Markos.

Without artifice, Noel related to each of us there as an Aragorn in the guise of a troubadour.

Malcolm Guite, astonishing man that he is, filled with giddy-hearted joy as they sang together.

I hope in fact that the memory of the look on Malcolm’s face looking at Noel

while they played will last with me my whole life.

The joy, the merriment, and the wonder in his face so reminds me

of what I expect to feel upon entering Heaven.

And the look in Andrew’s eyes as Noel examined a copy of Mere Christians -

almost boyish in sweet, innocent pride of accomplishment and

that vulnerability of waiting for recognition.

Those two looks – Malcolm’s and Andrew’s at Noel

like a beloved and much admired older brother

linger in my heart as much as my mind.

They stir in me a deeper affection for all three.

I loved looking at the lines on Noel’s face -

the presence of age like a map of encounters with God shaping him over his lifetime.

I remember his face when he didn’t have lines.

I didn’t have any then either.

Related posts:

1. Vignettes — Malcolm Guite