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The
Old Rusted Cross
All
over the outback, old timers wander the tracks, looking for
the end of their magical rainbow, with no care except their
own privacy and seclusion. Here's the story of one of those
Sundowners who found his rainbow's end-and how it happened.That's
the outback stockman I met one dusty night. The night was
oppressively hot in Tibooburra, and the people flocked to
the film night, just to forget the awful heat, the dust, the
flies, and the agony of it all.
Les
Nixon's Gospel concert was the way out...
And
the time came to end. Almost eleven. Suddenly, at the entrance
to the CWA Hall entered-a bush stockman...in his 60's at
least, bush hat, dungarees, and riding boots. Sweat made
muddy rivers on his rugged
face. Oblivious of everyone else, he wandered to the front
row, and took the only empty seat. Mine.
He fixed
his eyes on my accordion and said: "Padre: Play my
favourite Hymn"! It was a command.
Dutifully,
I agreed, and asked him, "What is your favourite Hymn,
old timer?" Every one else was as curious as I. Who
was this stranger? "What's your favourite Hymn, and
if I know it, I'll play it; and if I don't—you'll sing
it, eh?!"
He smiled
wryly. Only then he realised he was not alone in the place.
"Is it, 'Onward Christian Soldiers'? 'The Church's
One Foundation'? Is it 'Wonderful Words of Life'? ' When
we all get to heaven'? What is it?"
"Well,
to tell you the truth, I forget'" he replied dryly.
He'd truly forgotten, but, the memory of it lingered on.
He truly wanted to hear his favourite hymn.
Sleepy
children came awake. Restless adults sat on the edge of
their chairs? Who was this stranger with a rare request
from the bush? "There's
many a good tune played on an old fiddle."
In a
rare moment of musical brilliance, I felt for a tune on
the keys of the accordion I still had strung over my shoulders:
It went like this: MMM MMM MMM -MMM MMM MMM MMm-Mm MMMM.
He smiled
in recognition and sang: " ... till my trophies at
last I lay down." He tried to join in: "I will
cling to the old rusted Cross, la da da dda ddaaa ddaaaaddasss....."
"I
think I know it", he said: "That's the One. It's
called, 'THE OLD RUSTED CROSS'."
"Well,
the one I know is different. Don't think I know the Old Rusted
Cross-but the song I think you mean-the one we all know is
called, 'THE OLD RUGGED CROSS'."
That
was it, and it was his favourite. Overlooked for years, but
never really forgotten. An hour later, after he sung it right
through, and remembered what it truly said, he prayed a simple
prayer of repentance.
A
year later he died.
Two
years later I stood at his grave in Tibooburra and heard Mrs.
Kelly declare that he was the best man in the west after that
night in the CWA when he called out for the 'OLD RUSTED CROSS'.
That's the bush stockman who realised that...
"The
great enemy of faith in God is the one who says God is alive
and then acts as if He were dead".
Erected
above his crude grave in an outback cemetery stands this graphic
symbol of the song that brought this man to Jesus Christ.
During
a flying patrol outback in July, 2003, I was able to retell
this story to a group of outback men around a camp fire on
a bitterly cold night near the town of Goodooga, NSW. Men
had driven for 40klm around to be there. It's a men's prayer
meeting, and it's on every second Saturday night.
Someone
asked if anyone knew how to sing "The Old Rugged Cross,"
so Phil Mitchell dragged out his weathered old accordion,
and if you can imagine it, a bunch of old timer bush men tried
to grind their way through a couple of verses of the song.
It may have lacked musical dexterity and choral polish, but
it sounded heavenly to me. Then, we all sat and stared into
the burning flames of the fire while we considered the words
we'd just been singing.
After
five minutes of that kind of respectful silence, I asked if
I could tell them my story of "The Old Rusted Cross."
It sparked interest, and they agreed. I repeated the story
just as it's told in the text in this account, including the
bit about the old rusted cross erected on the gravesite at
Tibooburra in the far west of New South Wales. Several men expressed deep interest in the event and showed a keener display
of their faith in Jesus Christ. Seemed The Old Rusted Cross
did it's special work again.
Next morning one of the men at last night's BBQ fire confronted me in town. It was 7am, and I was reading yesterday's newspaper at the shop. He commented, "That was me in that story last night, too. I left my family but that Rusted Cross would not let me go too. I moved a thousand miles, but the Rusted Cross followed me all the way. I drowned my memories in Opal mining, and when I hit a seam, I thought I'd eventually escaped. But last night, it all returned. The song, my family, the memories, the church. "So I settled it in my hut. I got on my knees and cried my way back to The Old Rugged Cross, and started all over again. Thank God for the old stockmen at Tibooburra who could not forget. He saved my life. I'm on my way to the 8am service at Church, and I can't wait to get it right with them, too.
A
week later, after we'd flown to a dozen other outback towns
for schools and meetings, and at dusk on Friday August 1st,
2003, as we banked over the township of Tibooburra, heading
toward the airstrip, passenger Peter in the right front seat
of the Cessna looked down, and remarked loudly for all to
hear, "There's the town's cemetery. I think I can still
see The Old Rusted Cross."
So,
The Old Rusted Cross continues to live on and on....
Les
Nixon
Remember:
'Don't back out on the outback!'
 Opportunity down under Go to our opportunity down under page.
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