That VOICE - Dr. W.A. Criswell
by Larry Shannon

That voice. It was a low, deep quiet voice that reached out to me beyond the television screen as it rose to a crashing crescendo and fell again to a whisper.

That VOICE belonged to Dr. W.A. Criswell, the pastor of the First Baptist Church of Dallas. Mesmerized, I sat through the whole sermon that Sunday morning, listening to him preach. I’d lean forward to listen to the whisper in his voice until the intensity, strength and power pushed me back into the seat cushion.

I was working at Dallas-Fort Worth’s only religious station at the time, KSKY 660.  It was my first job in radio. Maybe that was why I was attracted to Dr. Criswell’s voice and delivery, because they were so different from the pay-per-program preachers who were on KSKY.  Perhaps it was my young search for a delivery style to use on the radio.

I don’t recall a time when Dr. Criswell didn’t have his head of wavy white hair. It was the color of angel’s wings.  My Aunt Marie first told me about Dr. Criswell when I was 10 or 12.  She didn’t attend First Baptist Church, but like almost everyone in Dallas, she knew of him and spoke of him in a hushed, deeply respectful tone of voice.

If you’ve never been to the First Baptist Church in downtown Dallas, it is a journey that you must make. You’ll see a dark red brick building that, although dwarfed by the skyscrapers that surround it, has the look and feel of a place where angels would hover over.  Millions of footsteps have been heard as they climbed the stairway to go inside to hear the word of God delivered by a unique man who is simply irreplaceable.  Those who entered the church never needed to worry about their safety or their souls.  Dr. Criswell had long ago driven the Devil from the doorsteps.

There have been other great voices of this age. Paul Harvey has his patented pause. James Brown can sing "Good God!" like no other. But, when Dr. Criswell spoke the word, "God," it grew to be at least a dozen silver syllables long, stretched and reached from the pulpit to the far back row of the congregation and back again.  The eloquent orator would first break the sanctuary’s silence with the "G," then surround the seated, quieted congregation with the "O." By the time he reached "D," there was no escape from knowing whom he was talking about. When Dr. Criswell called out God’s name, I have no doubt that God heard him and knew precisely who was calling.

He could talk about Hell and make it seem so sizzling hot that you’d hope you’d never have to go there. Dr. Criswell could make Heaven sound like such a warm, loving place that you’d give your soul to go there. When he spoke about the little lambs and children you could see them playing together in the Garden of Eden. If he spoke about older people, you pictured your grandmother and grandfather in your mind and regretted that you didn’t visit them more often.

During those days in the sixties and for the next two and a half decades, I made it a point to watch Dr. Criswell’s Sunday morning TV broadcast as often as possible. Although I never joined his church or profess to have a deep devotion to organized religion, I never grew tired of hearing this gentle man preach the Gospel.

I studied and copied his style and used variations of it on the radio. Maybe other radio people who heard and studied his oratory did the same. Reaching deep within my belly for an expression or phrase, I’d close my eyes, lean forward across the pulpit of the radio station’s studio board and deliver an intro to a song in the same spirit and devotion that Dr. Criswell gave when he read the Psalms..

I believe that radio people are, in many ways, priests, pastors and preachers, too. We have our own sermons and flocks to preach them to. Radio people earn their rewards in cumes and demographics while preachers find their rewards in Heaven.

I awoke this past Thursday morning to the news that Dr. W.A. Criswell had passed away. I never knew until he died that he was an Okie from Muskogee, that he was 92 and led the First Baptist Church in Dallas for 47 years.

Though his great heart has been stilled, I still hear the passion, the rise and fall of his voice. I’ll probably seldom think of God without hearing Dr. Criswell calling his name – in a dozen long and silver syllables.  I wonder what the little lambs and children and older folks will do without him now that he's gone.  But, I am comforted because I know that he's taking care of a lot of those who had gone before him -- and missed him -- way up yonder.

Larry Shannon
Publisher
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