Howard O. Jones was born April 12, 1921, in Cleveland, OH to Howard O. and Josephine Jones. In 1934, the family moved to Oberlin, OH, where the son attended the Oberlin Conservatory of Music. For a time in high school he was first saxophonist in a local jazz band. He accepted Christ as a young man and enrolled at the Nyack Missionary College of the Christian and Missionary Alliance, from which he graduated in 1944. The same year he married Wanda Young, also a graduate of Nyack, and the couple went to the Bronx, NY, for Jones' first pastorate at the Bethany C&MA Church. In 1952 Jones became pastor of the Smoot Memorial C&MA Church in Cleveland, OH, where he served until 1958. It was while at this church, in 1954, that he began what were to be the two major aspects of his ministry, broadcasting a regular radio program throughout Africa and later the United States and holding evangelistic crusades in many parts of the world, particularly the United States and Africa. He was also a frequent speaker at Bible conferences and missionary conventions. In 1958 he became one of the associate evangelists of the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association and in 1973 he was appointed director of the Billy Graham Relief Fund for Africa.
Among the many positions of leadership held by and honors awarded to Rev. Jones were presidency of the National Negro Evangelical Association (1966-1968); enrollment in the Nyack Honor Society (1967); an honorary Doctorate of Divinity degree from Huntington College, Huntington, IN (1970); membership on the board of trustees of Huntington College (1974); membership on the executive committee of the board of National Religious Broadcasters (1974). He wrote three books, including an autobiography,
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The Jones had five children: Cheryl (1946), Gail (1948), Phyllis (1950), David (1953), and Lisa (1961).
HOWARD O. JONES, EVANGELIST: In his heart he knew it wasn't right.
PHILLIPS: Howard O. Jones, the first black preacher in Billy Graham's ministry, remembers the struggles when the evangelist brought his message to churches in Harlem.
JONES: They said, Billy, for God's sake, don't go to Harlem. Those savages will kill you. When the news broke that he had added a black man on his team, he got a lot of nasty letters. They said you don't need that "N" preacher on your team. And if you keep Howard Jones on there, we're not going to support you anymore.
DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR.: Oh, God, we ask you --
PHILLIPS: Graham would push the cause of civil rights further, inviting Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. to deliver a prayer at his Madison Square Garden crusade.
KING: Work with renewed vigor for the brotherhood that transcends race or color.
JONES: A lot of whites stopped coming to the Garden, in protest. But all the people that left, God was good, he brought others in. The Garden was still full every night.
The New York Experiment
When Billy Graham called me to be his first African-American evangelist, I was honored—and totally unprepared for the backlash that followed.
by Howard O. Jones with Edward Gilbreath
I was sitting on the platform at Madison Square Garden before 18,000 New Yorkers who had come to hear Billy Graham preach. Seated with me on the stage were a dozen other pastors and civic leaders. We were all people of faith—Christians who loved the Lord. However, one thing set me apart from the other men on the platform: I am black.
There's a mixed blessing to being the first African American to realize some key achievement in the United States. It is an honor to overcome a barrier that has long kept blacks on an unequal footing with whites. But, along with the outer triumph, there is an inner ache—an angst—of having to live with the often unfriendly fallout of going where no black man has ever gone before. It's feeling that you're a living experiment, a human lab test. It's the pressure of knowing that your every word and action has the potential to make or break the hopes of millions of others who will come after you.
I was acutely aware of this pressure on that summer day in 1957. I had agreed to become the first African-American associate on Billy Graham's team of evangelists, but I had not taken a hard look at the racial ramifications of my decision. I had a call from God to preach the Gospel of Jesus Christ. That was my priority. Soon, though, I was forced to look at the matter through the American social prism of black and white.
Back in 1957 we were just three years removed from the landmark Brown v. Board of Education case that opened the doors for racial integration in the U.S., and we were still a few years away from Martin Luther King, Jr.'s rise to national prominence. It was a different world.
Today when African-American actors like Denzel Washington or Halle Berry win Academy Awards, people of all races celebrate it. Back then, when a figure like Jackie Robinson broke the race barrier in Major League baseball, he received death threats from fans and dirty looks from members of his own team.
I didn't receive death threats, but I was the recipient of plenty of dirty looks. And when news hit the street that Billy was thinking of bringing me on board, he received an alarming number of disparaging letters: "You should not have a Negro on your team," came the warnings. "You're going to ruin your ministry by adding minorities." "We may have no choice but to end our support."
For better or worse, the church has typically followed the lead of secular society when it comes to our attitudes about race. Today racial reconciliation has become an evangelical buzzword. Organizations like Promise Keepers proclaim its importance. Christian books, magazines, and musical artists denounce racism and celebrate ethnic diversity in the church. When Billy approached me to join him in New York, it was more or less understood that white Christians worshiped with white Christians and black Christians worshiped with black Christians. Our evangelical churches seemed to believe that heaven, too, would be "separate but equal." We recited the Apostle's Creed and prayed "Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven," but then proceeded to bow at the altar of Jim Crow.
Talk about being countercultural: what Billy did was radical. There's no getting around it. He weathered the barrage of angry letters and criticisms. He resisted the idea of simply pulling the plug on the whole thing and playing it safe. There was never any hesitation on Billy's part. He remained faithful to his convictions. He had dug the trench, you might say, and he was going through. He knew it was what God was calling him to.
Where the People Are
In New York, Billy once and for all made it clear that his ministry would not be a slave to the culture's segregationist ways. He was serious about integrating the crowds at his Madison Square Garden crusade, which had registered a disappointing number of blacks during its first several evenings. Soon after my arrival in New York, he looked to me for counsel on boosting minority turnout. "Howard, what can we do to get more blacks to the meetings?" he asked.
I looked at Billy and gave him the hard truth: "If they're not coming to you, you have to go to where they are," I said. "Billy, you need to go to Harlem."
This is a cardinal rule of evangelism and missions: You have to go where the people are. Jesus knew this well. When he dined with tax collectors and sinners, he wasn't worried about how it would reflect on his reputation (Matt. 9: 9-12). In another instance, while journeying to Galilee he expressed an urgent need to travel through Samaria (John 4: 4-26). It wasn't the most politically correct route for a Jew to take in those days, but he made it a point to put himself where the needs were—where the people were. He was incarnational in every aspect of the term. We can only strengthen our evangelistic efforts by following his example. And Billy did.
Predictably, the prospect of going to Harlem brought Billy even more flack from white church leaders. They warned that it was too dangerous—"Those savages up there will kill you!" Still, Billy made plans to hold a rally in Harlem.
The irony is that some of those whites who were saying "Don't go to Harlem" were members of evangelical churches that were sending white missionaries to Africa. They weren't afraid of ministering to the blacks over there, but the men and women in Harlem were another story.
I worked my New York contacts to spearhead a series of rallies where Billy was able to come before the community's Christian leaders and declare his commitment to them. In Harlem, more than 8,000 people turned out to hear the evangelist share his heart. A week later, we organized a similar event in Brooklyn. More than 10,000 blacks and other minorities packed the service.
It was at this Brooklyn rally that Billy remarked publicly for the first time that civil rights legislation—combined with hearts transformed by God's love—would be necessary to eradicate the discrimination and racism that pervaded our nation. This would have been a bold statement for any white conservative preacher in those days; the fact that it was Billy Graham saying it made it even more striking.
God blessed our strategy. The smaller rallies resulted in increased black attendance at the Madison Square Garden crusade. It was estimated at the time that by the conclusion of the New York crusade in August, blacks were making up 20 percent of the nightly crowds.
Famous black actress and singer Ethel Waters attended the crusade meetings one evening and recommitted her life to Christ. When Cliff Barrows discovered that Miss Waters was in the audience, he invited her to sing a solo. Ethel brought the house down with a rousing rendition of "His Eye Is on the Sparrow." After that, she joined the crusade choir and turned down several lucrative performance opportunities to sing at the crusade for the remainder of the meetings.
Billy's friend Martin Luther, King, Jr., was the other famous African American who appeared onstage at the New York crusade. Billy invited him to come to the Garden one evening to lead a prayer. When the news got out that Dr. King was coming, Billy again got a lot of nasty letters and phone calls from irate whites. "Why would you invite that communist?" some said. "He's an agitator and an enemy to the peace of America!" Billy's response: "He's my friend, and I admire the work he is doing and I back what he is doing." But again, Billy stood his ground.
Billy also heard from some members of the black community who questioned why he would not allow Dr. King to do more than say a short prayer at the meeting. (Later, in 1963, when Billy decided not to attend King's famous March on Washington, he would again hear it from black leaders who questioned his commitment to racial justice.) I've always responded to Billy's African-American critics by asking them to examine those things that Billy has done for racial progress. No other white evangelical leader of his prominence had put himself on the line for civil rights as much as Billy, even if he did not pass each and every litmus test of the black establishment.
Dr. King did pray at the crusade. That evening, after the meeting, Billy threw a party for King at the New Yorker Hotel in one of the large rooms. He invited a select group of his team members to attend, and he said to me, "Howard, I want you to be there."
After an elegant dinner, Billy asked Dr. King a few questions about the race problem in America and invited the civil-rights leader to respond at length. Billy asked, "How in the world did you maneuver the Montgomery bus boycott without violence?"
The room got extremely still. Dr. King was the kind of person who would always ponder a question thoroughly before answering, and he did so that night. After a long pause, he finally explained that when Rosa Parks was arrested for not giving up her seat to a white passenger on that fateful December 1956 day in Montgomery, Alabama, he called a meeting of black ministers to discuss a plan of action. And the main thing they did at that meeting was pray to God to give them wisdom to address the great injustice that was being inflicted on the black citizens of their city. And so the short answer to the question, said Dr. King, is prayer. They prayed.
It was my privilege that evening to meet Dr. King and shake his hand. He said to me that night, "Brother Jones, I would like to have you come and preach at my church sometime." And of course, I told him I would be honored. Sadly, though, in the course of time our paths would not cross again.
'How Did He Get Up Here?'
I was pleased to see an increased minority turnout at the New York crusade, but this periodwas also one of the most agonizing times of my life. With my dear wife Wanda and the kids still back home in Cleveland, I was overwhelmed by a sense of loneliness. And it was only compounded by the fact that I was the lone African American on Billy's team. Every evening I felt the piercing stares and heard people muttering under their voices. There were nights when it seemed palpable.
I remember sitting on the crusade platform on various occasions with empty seats next to me because some white crusade participants had decided to sit on the other side of the stage. At other times, I would go down to counsel new believers during the altar calls only to see white counselors move in the other direction.
One night, I heard two white pastors seated behind me murmuring to each other: "How did he get up here?" one of them asked. The other replied, "That's Graham's new associate."
I put on a brave face while in public, but once I was alone the mask came down. There were nights when I went back to my hotel room and literally wept before God and told him, "Lord, I can't take this pressure." I felt like telling Billy that it was too much. But I knew his heart, and I knew the heart of the team. God gave me the strength to endure.
Eventually, Wanda arranged for some church members to take care of our kids and the Graham Association flew her to New York to be with me. This was a great comfort. Billy's wife, Ruth Bell Graham, was particularly gracious to Wanda when she arrived. "Oh, Wanda. It's so nice to finally meet you," Ruth said as she embraced my wife. "We love Howard, and now we get to spend some time with you as well."
With Wanda by my side again, I felt rejuvenated. Though I still sensed hateful stares from some people, I knew for certain that God had brought me to New York for a reason. I looked forward to the remaining nights of the crusade with renewed anticipation.
Torn Between Two Loves
After 68 days, the crusade came to a close. It would go down as the longest crusade in Graham's ministry. When it was all said and done, some 2 million New Yorkers had attended the event, and tens of thousands had made commitments to Jesus Christ.
We rejoiced at God's faithfulness. But the event also left us exhausted. I was quite happy to return home to Cleveland to see my dear family and my congregation at Smoot Memorial Alliance Church.
A month later, however, I received another call from Billy. This time he wanted me to join his staff full time. I was thrilled and honored at the request. But I was torn: I loved being a pastor of a local church, but I also knew that God had given me a passion for evangelism. And when the world's most famous evangelist wants you to work for him, how do you say no?
I told Billy that I couldn't give him an immediate decision. He told me to take my time, that the invitation was open. For the next year, I poured myself into the pastoral duties at Smoot Memorial, enjoying every moment of it. But at the same time, Wanda and I prayed and fasted regularly for a clear signal from God about our future.
I was never the kind of preacher who went out looking for a new gig. But God consistently had something lined up. All I knew was that I was called to preach the gospel. I never could have predicted how far and wide that simple call would take me.
Frankly, neither Wanda nor I were prepared for what God had in store for us next.
Howard O. Jones spent 40 years as an associate with the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association. Retired, he currently resides in Oberlin, Ohio. Edward Gilbreath is managing editor of Today's Christian magazine and an editor at large for Christianity Today.
In the months preceding the 1970 convention, the word got out that the Urbana leadership was making an effort to change. Tom Skinner, a Black evangelist from New York City, had signed on as a guest speaker, with the worship band from his revivals, Soul Liberation. So it was that several hundred Black students showed up in Urbana, Illinois in December 1970.
On the second night of the convention, Tom Skinner, went up to speak, After a warm-up from Soul Liberation, an Afrocentric worship band that toured with Skinner. For the background story on this event, click here to read an article from Christianity Today. (opens new browser window).
Skinner had the grace to stand up and tell the truth, at the risk of getting poo-pooed by the same people who wanted to hear about preaching the good news of Jesus to the ends of the earth. May we learn from him and from the prophetic voices that today sound out his clarion call to righteousness!
Descendants of Bethany CM& A, Tom Skinner Associates, NYU, Baptist, Harambe, Youth for Liberation, Pentecostals, Soul Saving Sta, Urbana 70, Campus Crusade, NBEA, Nyack College, Intervarsity, Baptist, Bethel Gospel Tabernacle, Brethren, Soul for Liberation, Apostles, Young Life, Canaan Baptist Church, Young People’s Crusaders, National Young Peoples Christian Association, Ebenezer, Beulah Gospel Tabernacle, Church of God, Pilgrim Holiness, Refuge Church of God, Mt Zion, Christ Players, Soul Dimension, National Chorale, National Drum, The Hudson House in Nyack, NY
he "CUNY story" has become an almost commonplace part of metropolitan life over the decades since the City University was established. You know the genre. These are the only-at-a-public-institution-like-CUNY tales of how multiple University campuses have nurtured multiple members of multiple generations of education-thirsty but financially straitened New York City families.
