Recently our home church commemorated its 67th anniversary on a special Sunday. Our pastor, Joel Stevens, asked me to reflect upon some of the events of those years, two-thirds of which I was privileged to have been the under-shepherd. For anyone who may be interested, here are a few memories I shared:
The first Sunday I preached as pastor of Thompson Road Baptist Church, Lonial Wire, long-time lay song leader, pulled me aside and said, “Preacher, we have one unspoken rule here: song leaders don’t preach, and preachers don’t lead singing.” I wiped the sweat off my brow when he said that! I had never aspired to lead singing, and Lonial, who proved to be a dear friend, never had aspired to be a preacher, though he loved preaching and preachers. We got off to a good start together!
That first fall as pastor, in 1979, encouraged by our deacons to do so, I preached the fall revival meeting. All went well, and with parents attending with small, school-age children, I was sensitive to getting families home at a “respectable” hour so that they could get their children in bed before it was too late. There was a large clock on the wall, above the auditorium doors, that anyone could easily read from the pulpit. About the third night, the chairman of our deacons, after the closing prayer, made a bee-line to the pulpit and got into my face with his long, bony finger shaking and said, “Brother pastor, if you don’t quit looking at that clock on the wall back there, I’m going to put a calendar over it!” Enough said and thank you, Brother Henry Davee—a godly man who did everything in his power to assist a new pastor, and to minister to his needs faithfully, until he was graduated to glory.
God never failed in supplying the needs of His church. In the early 1980s we experienced four Sundays in a row of really bad weather, almost blizzard-like. I don’t remember cancelling any of the services, but I do know that many people could not make it to church because of the dangerous weather conditions. There was no “online” giving in those days, and it would be an understatement to say that the offerings suffered during that month. My wife, Ellen, was working in the church office at that time. One day in the middle of the week, after three or four blustery Sundays, a man dropped by the church office. He and his wife had moved quite a distance from the church and had not been attending, even before the weather turned frigid. But they had been putting away their weekly offerings in the envelopes provided to each member/family. With hardly any conversation, the gentleman laid down a fist full of envelopes, then left. Ellen had to catch herself to keep from falling off her chair (at least in my imagination)! We got through that long, cold winter—and decades more—with every need graciously met by our great God! As Pastor R. V. Clearwaters used to say, “Nothing over, nothing lacking.” So true!
On a lighter note: One year I announced to our church that since Paul told the Corinthian believers that they should “lay by him in store” the collection for the saints on the first day of the week—“that there be no gatherings when I come” (I Cor. 16:1,2)—I wanted our church to do the same, starting weeks ahead of our spring revival meeting. The evangelist was one of my favorites, a friend from school days. And, in truth, I wanted to “put him to the test.” Our folk set aside a generous amount of money as a love gift for the man of God, well ahead of the beginning of the meeting. So, during the week, I never mentioned taking up an offering for the evangelist, not one time. I was satisfied that this seasoned evangelist, living by faith, would not—would not, I repeat—at any time during the week say something like, “Pastor, are you forgetting the love offering?” And, I was right! He said nothing. We had a good meeting, and on Saturday morning, before our guest pulled up stakes (actually, got his motor home ready for departure), I handed him an envelope with the “love offering” plus expense money in it. He thanked me without any further discussion but did not seem to be overjoyed with the whole method of operation that week. He had passed the test, as did our church. I believe the offering was at least equal to what we would have given had offering plates been passed and appeals for giving been made every service. I never did an offering that way again; and the evangelist returned for meetings many times at our church in the ensuing years. He and I remain friends to this day! To pastors who may be reading this: I am not advocating this, and please note that I did it only once in 48 years of pastoring!
I could share many more memories, but one more. Above I mentioned Lonial Wire. On Mother’s Day, he would often sing the tender old song, “Tell Mother I’ll be there, in answer to her prayer.” There was a dear family that never missed a Mother’s Day service with their 90-something—maybe even 100-year-old—mother. On at least one Mother’s Day, I placed a rocking chair near the pulpit and asked the aged mother if she would join Lonial and myself on stage. She was carefully helped to her seat, and Lonial began in his touching, tenor voice singing, “Tell Mother I’ll be there….” Between the first and second stanzas, I quoted (with Mrs. Taylor beside me) the poem that begins: “There she sits, the dear old mother. Time has etched deep furrows into her brow, and her shoulders are a bit stooped having borne a heavy load of cares so many years” (something to that effect). By the time Lonial began singing the second stanza, there were many hankies dabbing tear-stained eyes throughout the auditorium. When the song/poem concluded, the dear old mother was presented a bouquet of long-stemmed roses as she was escorted back to her seat.
These are a few memories—and, of course, there are myriads more. Precious memories, how they linger.
“Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised; and His greatness is unsearchable. One generation shall praise Thy works to another, and shall declare Thy mighty acts.” (Ps. 145:3,4)
YOU and GOD 