Suicide is on the rise in our country, yet we still don’t know how to talk about it. We speculate in hushed tones about the deceased mental state and rush to conclusions, yet we are hard-pressed to know what to say to grieving family members. This is not a new problem. While I was researching the life of Maltbie Babcock (1858-1901), several obituaries at the time of his death simply stated, “he died suddenly.” The truth is that following a trip to the Holy Land, he contracted Mediterranean Fever (now known as brucellosis) and took his own life in a Naples, Italy hospital. It came as a shock to everyone. Maltbie was athletic (president of his Syracuse University baseball team), an accomplished musician (his music teachers urged him to consider a musical career), and a great preacher (his decision to accept a call to a NYC church prompted Johns Hopkins faculty to lobby him in writing to reconsider and remain in his Baltimore church). His biographers noted that he had been hospitalized earlier in his life for “nervous prostration,” comparable to depression in our time. Maltbie’s wife Kathleen published his letters, poems, and prayers after his death under the title Thoughts on Everyday Living from the Spoken and Written Works of Maltbie Davenport Babcock. One poem was inspired by hikes Maltbie used to take in upstate New York, leading to a panoramic view of Lake Ontario. “I’m going out to see the Father’s world,” he would say to Kathleen. His poem, “My Father’s World,” utilized words from Psalms 33 and 50. Each of the 16 stanzas begins in the same way, “This is my Father’s world.” A friend adapted the poem to fit the tune of an English folk song and released it in 1915 as the hymn “This is My Father’s World.” The song closes with the triumphant declaration, “This is my Father’s world, O let me ne’er forget. That though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the Ruler yet.” Kathleen also included this prayer from his collection:
Maltbie Babcock
Shall we dwell on our sorrows when we remember that Thou didst not spare Thine own Son, but delivered him up for us all? How can we but believe that Thou wilt do what is best for us? Thou will not withhold the best even if it hurts us to receive it. If we have borne adversity well, Thou wilt let us have the clear sunlight if that be best for us; but Thou wilt not refuse to us the shadow if we have been long in the sun, and now need shadow. If we are of high degree, we will rejoice that we are exalted; if we are low, we will try to rejoice that we are cast down. We thank Thee that we have seen the light. If we see only the daybreak and no more, we are glad—it is so beautiful! But if it goes on to the perfect day, how can we speak of its glory? And the fullest of life here is only the daybreak, the beginning of that perfect day Thou wilt yet reveal to us. Thou dost not expect perfection from us; Thou dost not look for the workman’s finished powers, but only for a faithful apprenticeship—and that we have tried to give Thee.
Maltbie Davenport Babcock, Thoughts on Everyday Living
Rev. Dr. Peter James served 42 years as the senior of Vienna Presbyterian Church in Vienna, VA — 21 years in the 20th century and 21 years in the 21st century. He retired in 2021 and now serves as Pastor-in-Residence at Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary.
Even as a pastor, prayer came slowly to Pete. Read Pete’s story.