American singer/songwriter RICH MULLINS was tragically killed in a car accident in Illinois on September 19th. Three Cross Rhythms writers, Tony Cummings, Steve Stockman and Sammy Horner here each pay tribute to the man and his music.

Rich Mullins

THE SIMPLEST OF LESSONS By Sammy Horner
It's funny how God helps us understand the most important things through the simplest of lessons and the most tragic of times. I could tell you about how we met Rich Mullins in Chicago 1993, and how he spent all night talking with our keyboard player about his desire to go and work amongst Native American children (which he did). I could tell you of an amazing talent and a multi-instrumentalist with a knack of writing beautiful melodies with gentle but cutting lyrics, but after his tragic death a few short weeks ago, for some reason all I could think about was my new boots!

As soon as my Irish mate Steve Docherty called and told me about Rich's fatal car accident, my mind went back to our short time together with the Ragamuffin Band in July '96. Just before the band arrived from their Irish trip, I had just bought a pair of brand new boots...a real bargain...reduced from £75 down to £20. Black leather Pumas and I loved 'em. A day or two later a few of us made the 200 mile round trip to Stranrar to pick the guys up...Rich and Rick Elias travelled with me, and I couldn't help noticing Rich's shoes...paint splattered canvas shoes...truly horrid. It turned out that a dog had eaten his only pair of shoes and someone had given him these meantime. Straight after our time in Scotland, Rich and the boys were heading off to one CR festival, and so, I suggested that these canvas shoes would simply not do...(knowing the weather at the previous festivals...) and that I had several pairs of boots that the man was welcome to. After arriving at our destination, I removed my boots (to save the pink carpet from muddy stains) and went to the kitchen to make some coffee. As I came out of the kitchen, I noticed Rich was wearing my brand new boots... "These fit great," he said, and I hadn't the heart to tell him that these were my favourite, brand new boots.

About 150 people came to the gig, we lost money, but it was one of those fantastic evenings that you wished more people had come to. No complaints from the Ragamuffins, but I can remember feeling, "How come I break my neck to bring this great band, charge less than the average club gig, pay for travel, meals, venue, PA, lights and even with Word Record's help we still lose money, and on top of all that I even lose my boots!" Next day, we said our goodbyes at the airport, Rich was funny and looked embarrassed as he was even recognised in Glasgow Airport by a bunch of American teenagers on holiday. As they walked towards the boarding gates, it was obvious that we all had a great time in Scotland and that it had all been worth the hassle, and so I watched as Rich Mullins, his band and my boots flew off together. It was July '97 when we met up again...he asked me to go swimming with him at Cornerstone Festival in Illinois...and I had to ask about the boots... "They belong to some kid on the Res now," he said.

It is strange, how God speaks to us. CCM can be a funny old business. You don't really make a lot of money, fact is, you can lose a lot. You can sleep on floors, drive all night, and as Tony Cummings admitted a few issues ago, even feel guilty when you invite a bunch of people across the Atlantic to sing to a small crowd. The fact is it doesn't really matter, as long as you have served others as best as you can. Rich Mullins will be missed by many people for many reasons. Our thoughts and prayers go to his family and friends, but his passing has taught me a timely lesson. I must serve others as best as I can, or as if it was the last time that I may be able to serve them. Rich's gift of music and communication was evident in Glasgow, his willingness to spend time with others obvious, his love of people clear and his desire to serve whoever made the effort to come out was plain to see. This simple little trip and concert was brought about by mutual service...and in spite of the difficulties, the evening was a feast for all involved. Rich's last trip to Scotland cost time, effort, money, my bed and even my brand new boots...but I can say in all honesty, he was completely welcome, and the pleasure was all mine.

POINTERS TO ETERNITY By Tony Cummings
Because I have a lifestyle/ministry which involves listening to two hundred new albums each and every month it's usually circumstances - my daughter getting heavily into 'Jesus Freak', a meeting with an artist whereby something beyond the interviewer/interviewee relationship is established - which dictate those musicians that impact my life. I never met Rich Mullins. I could have. Cross Rhythms ran an article on him in its second issue republished from an American magazine; in CR21 Jan Willem Vink interviewed Rich for Cross Rhythms; and at Cross Rhythms '96 festival Rich and his Ragamuffin Band were surprise, last minute unadvertised guests. Even there our paths didn't cross. Other duties at the fest meant I missed Rich's sets.

One thing however ensured that hardly a week went by when Rich wasn't touching my life. The song "Creed". It was the Cross Rhythms Experience producer Jonathan Bellamy who'd heard with his heart as much as his ears that here was a song, with its impassioned litany of the very tenets of our faith, which cried out to be played on the radio. And month in, month out, "Creed" rose majestically from West Country radio sets, or in Maxine's and my case as we played the Cross Rhythms Experience programme tapes in our car and office. Even today that song affects me every time. As that eery hammered dulcimer intro starts and Rich's voice plaintively begins "I believe in God the Father, almighty maker of Heaven, maker of Earth" it lifts me, taking me from the place of mere religious drudgery to that climactic insight that these ancient truths are, for those who believe, literally life-transforming. "I did not make it, but it is making me," Rich sings. I'm a lyric writer who'd die to write a line as good as that. Now Rich has. News of his death made me sad in a way that that of Princess Diana never did. Rich did something far greater. He too was a friend of the common people, Native Americans and festival stewards and "ordinary" believers who bought his CDs. But he also had a rare gift to pour out his life into his art. And because his was a life that transcended the sad limitations of mere human goodness to become the carrier of an eternal goodness able to be transmitted to others, Rich left more than the mere dust of nostalgic memories or great art, he left a pointer to eternity.

THE WORLD, AS BEST AS I REMEMBER IT By Steve Stockman
It was one of the biggest blessings of my life to have spent some time with Rich Mullins: 78 Eaton Wood Green in Dublin, Ireland; a trailer in Window Rock, New Mexico; his, then, home in Wichita, Kansas; a freeway from Wichita to Greenville, Indiana; and then back-to a tent in Co Armagh, N Ireland. They were not long times, they were not life changing times for Rich but for me their memories and their realities are still so alive that today I feel a deep deep pain and emptiness within my life that in this life I will not get another short time with this unbelievable man.

What we have lost in Rich's untimely passing is much more than flesh and bone. At that moment when he stepped into the presence of his best friend, Jesus Christ, on that road in Illinois, we lost glimpses and clues of truth, an understanding of the wonders and mysteries of faith that no one else in my life has ever been able to articulate. I think of the next five albums that now I will never have the joy of buying, rushing home, listening to and feeding into the bloodstream of my soul. I think of the possibility of having him over to Greenbelt to listen to that voice that recording studios were never able to fully capture. I think of just another cup of coffee where he could throw out from his eccentric, but wise wise mind just another sentence that I could chew on for another few lifetimes. I think of how between meetings he'd always forget my name but remember my world and be so interested to catch up and though I was never going to be close to him, how he always made me feel so. I put on his albums and hear even more lines that drop like depth charges deep within my character. From the beauty and grace of "Sometimes By Step", the praise of "Colour Green" and "Calling Out Your Name", the joyous peek into his own unique journey on "What Susan Said" and "Land Of My Sojourn" to the honesty and tenderness of "Wounds Of Love" and "We Are Not As Strong" to the challenge and correction of "Hard" and even "Hold Me Jesus (Surrender Don't Come Natural To Me)". What a legacy he left us and all the time urging us to see past the singer and take hold of the truth and the God that he so deeply deeply loved.

And I have those personal memories. I can remember, in our Dublin home, the first time I'd ever seen a hammer dulcimer and he played for us a song he'd just written, "Land Of My Sojourn", and the instrumental that he would name after our house, "78 Eaton Wood Green". I can remember when he and Beaker left us in their Wichita home without a key or any clue what to do with their dogs, Jordan and Bear, but with a great book collection in which I discovered Chesterton and Manning and a rough mix of 'A Liturgy, A Legacy And A Ragamuffin Band' without strings on it - great! I can remember driving him across a couple of States and trying to tap into his mind but he'd answer my questions in one word and then give an hour on GK Chesterton, Madonna, politics and the naivete of America - I was driving and couldn't take notes! I can remember trying to interview him at Summer Madness in Ireland but he was only interested in the visuals of Star Wars that were up on the screen behind him. I can remember, now best of all, sitting in his trailer in Window Rock, on the very border of Arizona and New Mexico, watching his favourite and maybe the movie that most influenced his whole life, Brother Sun, Sister Moon about St Francis of Assisi. Maybe in those two hours I got as close to Rich Mullins as you could get.

American writer Frederick Buechner who influenced Rich so much once wrote that a saint was someone who made you feel alive. He would never have wanted the tag, saint. Indeed that was one of the amazing things about him. In a world where success and being a star was the god of the age, Rich Mullins realised that the devil was more interested in those things than God, and his following of Jesus was the upside down discipleship that is such a rare, if not weird, thing in our age -especially if you are as talented as Rich Mullins. However, in Buechner's terms Rich was the one saint I can be sure that I have met in this life. He leaves me the legacy of the vitality and dynamism of his life. Rich Mullins truly is the world as best as I remember it.