It Is Well... Or Is It?

The Shocking Cult History Behind Your Favorite Hymn

Behind one of America’s most iconic hymns lies a shocking story. So, here’s the challenge: First, I dare you to read this without getting “It Is Well” stuck in your head. And second, be on the lookout for the hope behind my hot take.

So back in the 1800s, there was this guy Horatio Spafford. He was a wealthy Chicago lawyer with lots of real estate investments. He attended Illinois Street Church, where D.L. Moody was the pastor. He had a wife, Anna, a son, Horatio Jr., and four daughters: Annie, Maggie, Bessie, and Tanetta.

In 1870, their son tragically died of scarlet fever. In 1871, Horatio lost most of his real estate investments in the Great Chicago Fire.

In 1873, Spafford planned a trip to Europe with his family, but due to business concerns, he had to send the girls ahead of him, and he promised to catch up with them later. During their voyage aboard the S.S. Ville du Havre, the ship collided with another ship and sank in just 12 minutes.

Anna was the only family member rescued, and she sent Horatio a telegram with her words: “Saved alone.”

Horatio (poor guy couldn’t catch a break!) got on the next possible ship and traveled to meet his grieving wife. While passing the spot where his daughters had drowned, he famously penned the lyrics to the hymn “It Is Well.”

Here’s the first stanza just for anyone who’s not familiar with the song.

When peace like a river attendeth my way
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Don’t-get-it-stuck-in-your-head. Don’t-get-it-stuck-in-your-head. Don’t-get-it-stuck-in-your-head.

If you grew up in church, then you’ve heard this song. And if you really grew up in church, then you probably heard Horatio’s story used as a worship interlude, altar call, or one of those awkward sermon illustrations where the pastor spontaneously broke into song.

What a beautiful example of how we should praise God in life’s trials. The dude went through a hard time, wrote a poem about it, trusted God more, happy ending. Right?

It’s funny how no one ever tells the rest of Horatio and Anna’s story. It’s not useful for church, I guess. After the tragedy, they were deeply grieving and needed support. Their pastor, good ole D.L., advised them to stay busy in ministry and “overcome your own affliction by bringing comfort to others.”

In other words (and in my opinion), “Shove it down and get busy serving in my ministry. I need more free labor.” So, the couple mustered up their spiritual strength, got busy serving, and determined to find a godly purpose in their suffering.

But grief doesn’t just go away because someone slaps a Bible verse on it. And when you don’t process serious trauma, it often finds a way to manifest elsewhere—sometimes in deeply unhealthy ways.

Over the next eight years, Horatio’s mental health began to deteriorate. Understandably. He began to claim he was a messianic figure like Jesus, and that he had a special divine purpose. He even built a small cult following of about 13 families.

In 1881, Horatio and Anna convinced all their followers to move to Jerusalem with them. They established The American Colony—one of those creepy Christian utopia communities. Yes, like the kind we see in movies. Over time, the community grew to about 150 people at its peak.

The small cult was known for spiritual manipulation and control. One belief in particular that Horatio heavily promoted was (surprise) the discouragement of traditional grieving.

He preached that suffering was a divine test that should be accepted without question. Don’t process your pain! Heaven is all that matters. Life on earth? Just a pit stop. Why sit in grief when you can just look forward to the bliss of Heaven? So, Horatio strictly forbid all traditional mourning rituals and trained his followers to repress their emotions.

The cult went on to grow, even after his death in 1888, and his wife Anna maintained control long after he died. And she was even stricter than he was. (So um, yay for feminism, I guess?)

Today, Horatio’s lyrics are sung in churches everywhere. And although the words to “It Is Well” are moving and beautiful in many ways, lots of people warn that these lyrics encourage spiritual bypassing. And they’re right, but I’ll raise you one better:

The theology behind “It Is Well” isn’t just spiritual bypassing. It is cult mind control.

The lyrics of “It is Well” are idealistic at best, and inhumane at worst. These words keep followers from acknowledging the depth and fullness of the human experience. Written by a cult leader, the hymn represents a greater movement of toxic theology that denies the reality of human grief in favor of a fetishized, ungrounded view of suffering.

According to cult expert Dr. Steven Hassan’s “BITE Model,” cults and cultish groups control people in 4 main ways.

• B - Behavior control

• I - Information control

• T -Thought control

• E - Emotion control

Basically, if you can teach a group of people to police their own emotions and ignore their body’s natural grief—then you can control their thoughts, behaviors, and so on. Ever thought about being a cult leader? Here’s the starter kit.

Control emotions, control the people.
Make suffering feel like holiness.
It’s that simple.

Look, if you don’t believe me, just go watch a few cult documentaries. Literally, pick a cult. Any cult. There’s a wide spectrum. You’ll quickly see how the leader usually starts by teaching people to suppress their emotions and bypass grief.

So let’s check in with ourselves. Did Jesus actually teach us to say “It is well” with our souls? If not, who did? And why?

Any theology that expects you to magically, immediately say “it is well” when you experience pain is not the love of Jesus. In fact, here’s something Jesus actually said:

In the garden of Gethsemane, Jesus said to his disciples, “The sorrow in my heart is so great, it feels like it will take my life. Stay here and watch over me.” (Matthew 26:38-39) Here, Jesus models how to handle overwhelming grief. Notice he didn’t just start singing about how great life is because he’s going to Heaven. He sat with his pain and reached out to friends for support.

Was it scary and dark out? Yeah. Did his friends fall asleep and let him down? Kinda. Did he get through it? Yup.

Moral of the story: if you don’t want to end up either becoming a cult leader or being in a cult (joking obviously), then feel your feelings. Question God. Sit by a big tree and cry big tears. Ask a friend to sit with you, even if you’re sweaty and probably smell bad. Have a bad time grieving, because grief is supposed to feel bad.

Let’s do a little rewrite:

If it’s not well with your soul,
If it hurts like hell with your soul,
Makes you want to yell with your soul,
You’re on the right track.
Sit in your grief for as long as you need,
Know that Jesus is with you,
And it’s not well with his soul either.
Jesus doesn’t need you to say it is well.
Jesus wants you to be well.

(That was fun. Lost the rhyme. I guess we can count that as my awkward-sermon-break-into-song moment.)

Here’s the thing. God can give us peace in hard times, obviously. And no doubt, “Peace like a river can attend our way” whenever we need or ask for it. But also, we don’t have to have some cosmic showdown with God while in the trenches of deep and painful emotions. That’s not usually when peace shows up, because grief is necessary to move our bodies through hard times.

Peace tends to come later, in the small stuff—the stuff we have to take time to notice. It’s in the sunsets, stars, and grass. It’s in the voices and touch of people we love. It’s when you pet your dog, meet a friendly cashier, watch a cardinal land on the window sill.

I wonder how Horatio would’ve ended up, if he’d just let himself be sad for a while. Imagine if their church had supported them in their grief. Ugh. The ending could’ve been so beautiful. Maybe he would’ve still penned the words to “It Is Well,” but from a place of wholeness. I wonder what those lyrics would’ve been? What kind of poetry would’ve spilled out of his soul after he took time to actually grieve? After lots of dark nights, where he and Anna held each other sobbing. After lots of walks together, hand in hand, talking about their beautiful daughters and keeping their memory alive. After lots of little moments of letting the light slowly back in.

Guys. Life is hard, beautiful, mysterious, and long. And it’s here and now. God forbid we use the idea of Heaven to skip out on it.