Today, the world officially said goodbye to Chuck Colson. His death on April 21 left a void that will be hard to fill. I remember him first for all the BreakPoint commentaries I listened to through the years. His voice became as familiar to me a that of a family member as he helped feed my thirst for truth.

When he invited people to apply to become BreakPoint Centurions, I never thought I would be accepted. I was, and that began a one-year journey with Chuck and the other Centurions leaders who mentored us in being able to understand and articulate the biblical worldview in every area of life and culture.

Chuck, above anyone, helped me see that Christianity is the most logical of all belief systems. His passion for truth and for passing it on to others was contagious, and now I will do my best to continue to carry on his vision, along with about 800 other Centurions – not for Chuck’s memory or glory, but for the glory of Jesus Christ, the One he loved and served – the One I love and serve. Chuck was a great man because he accepted no greatness for himself. He made sure that all glory and honor and praise went, rightfully, to Jesus Christ.

I remember Chuck’s kindness, his friendly hellos, his genuine smiles. But more than anything, I remember his passion to bring glory to Jesus. To help bring the gospel to those who are lost and need the Savior. To bring help, hope, and comfort to those who suffer. I will miss him, but I look forward to meeting him again.

Inside each church, I could imagine an organ, its regal pipes standing at attention, ready to pour out majestic praises to God, as they had done for over 100 years. But now they gathered dust like relics of an ancient, saintly era, stark reminders of the revivals that swept this land in the 1800s. Massive. Beautiful. Silent.

Not far from there we entered another church, still struggling to stay open. We attended their evening Bible study/prayer meeting. The small group met in the basement of the church, for it was warmer there. The fellowship was sweet, the music tender and worshipful. But the prayers carried us straight to the throne of God! We worshiped, praised, and pleaded for God’s help where it was needed. We thanked Him for His awesomeness, His love, His mercy. In those moments, we intimately connected with His heart.

Afterwards, one of the men took us visitors upstairs to show us the sanctuary. I vaguely remember dark, wooden pews, but all I saw was the organ. He said it was broken, but it had been worked on recently.

“Would it be okay if I tried to play it?” I asked. It had long been a dream of mine to play a real European pipe organ built when craftsmen knew how to incorporate an organ into the structure of a church for the best acoustics.

I had no music with me, so I sat down and played chords and notes as the Spirit led me. Glorious sounds resonated through the building and through my heart. All over the city, great old organs sat silent, but that night one crippled organ found its magnificent voice again and carried my praises to God.