I was a student at Grove City College when I received a subscription to The Presbyterian Journal. It was not good looking. It had no articles apt to grab the interest of most college students. It wasn’t an academic publication. It was simply clear, honest, humble and wise, just like its editor, Joel Belz. That journal would soon fade away, birthing in its wake, World magazine. Joel, and it, continued to be honest, humble and wise.
I had the privilege not only to read Joel Belz, but to know him, to be his friend. I saw him as a kindly uncle who always showed an interest in me. Eventually, however briefly, Joel was also my employer. My time on World’s masthead overlapped the end of Joel’s editorship and the beginning of Marvin Olasky’s. Soon the assignments dried up for me. When World published an egregiously wrong-headed piece on the death and end of Mother Theresa they refused to publish my corrective letter to the editor because my name was on the masthead. I asked them to take it off.
There were a number of articles, even whole issues that I took issue with. I debated some of those with then managing editor Nick Eicher, another friend. Despite those differences, I never lost sight either of the service World magazine was providing for Christians, nor the good heart of its founder. Joel was a profoundly loyal man. One of my pieces, at the time and likely to this day, 30 years later, earned the record for most responses from readers. When that record was reached, literally every single response was wildly negative. Joel was summoned to a board member’s office to give an account. It was not, however, my last piece. Because Joel was loyal.
For all his courage, in founding the magazine, in maintaining its Christian and conservative editorial stance, in taking on everyone from Time to Newsweek, from the NIV publishers to evangelical ministries with bloated executive pay, Joel remained kind. Not weak. Not seeking the favor of men. But kind. Not that he should be blamed for my own failures, but he was a model for me as a writer, as a servant of our Lord, and as a human being. He showed me how taking out the vitriol, while keeping the arguments, might make the writing a tad less interesting, but would likely make it way more effective. He did fail to break my habit of distracting word play, as evidenced by this piece’s title.
He was engaging, charming and shared a contagious laughter. He had the odd but endearing habit of somehow, so as to be able to put on his readers, to dangle his regular glasses off one ear, out of the way but near if needed. He wrote, and spoke wisdom. I was blessed, from the frozen tundra of rural Minnesota to the swampy power corridors inside the beltway, to share platforms with him. I listened, and learned.
Joel wasn’t defined by his publishing. He was a man who deeply loved his family, and clung to the grace of his Lord. He was a faithful churchman, serving as an elder at his local church and serving as moderator for a time for his denomination. I suspect, however, that there are many more men out there like me, not directly connected to Joel, but who have been shaped by him and are deeply grateful for him. Join me in prying for those left behind, including his wife and five daughters. God bless them all.
