YOU and GOD

I have Melvin on my mind and have had for several days, so let me share with you some of his story. He and his family attended the church I pastored in Indianapolis and they always sat on the second row from the front.  Melvin, his wife, his mother, and their daughters–a special needs adult, and another daughter who was caregiver to her sister. 

I’ll give them a name, for the sake of this post, and call them the Talbots.  They lived in a modest home on Indy’s east side.  By the time I became acquainted with them, Melvin was retired from a job with the city and was probably in his 70’s. His daughters lived in a small framed house right beside where Melvin and his wife, along with Melvin’s aged mother lived. They were closely knit together, depending upon each other for care and loving nurture. Their means were meager. They were the simplest of people and almost seemed “out of place” trying to keep pace with a fast-moving world around them, but they were positive in their outlook, always welcoming to this pastor when a visit was made, and as regular as they could be in attendance to church. Their abode was humble, minus most of the modern gadgets that adorned typical living rooms of that day, and their furniture was more than well worn, what there was of it. I do not know if they had a television as I never saw nor heard one.

The mentally challenged adult daughter could not speak intelligibly, but she could make sounds when she got excited about something, and either at church or at the Talbot home, when she saw this pastor she would somehow manage to exclaim loudly “SLUTZ!”  She had mastered that sound. Always with a wide, if contorted, smile and happy face.  We were friends though our connection was non-verbal and communication was through the eyes and countenance.  Her family always saw to it that she was cared for and there was never a lack of love in the Talbot household.

So, why has Melvin been on my mind of late?  Well, as pastors who may be reading this post will attest, some memories you have of those to whom you have been privileged to minister through the years are etched indelibly upon your mind. Memories of Melvin in my mind are such. He had a face that exuded kindness, but that had demonstrably worn life’s cares deeply. His frame was average and topped with a full head of hair that had never had too much attention in grooming. Melvin was clean but would appear fairly disheveled in dress. His brow boasted deep furrows and his hands were rough and spoke of physical labor that had molded his fingers and hands into instruments of toil through the years.  His speech was broken and were one to estimate what level of education Melvin might have had it would probably not exceed the eighth grade if that. His eyes were kind and his mannerisms methodical and somewhat mechanical.

Melvin has been on my mind of late because of the picture that I have treasured, call it a memory, of him on a weeknight years ago, sitting across from me in my office at church, sharing in his broken English a testimony that he wanted me to hear.  Melvin had been in the Army and had served in World War II and had fought in battles in the cause of freedom for not only America but for Europe and the world. On that particular office visit, he took me back in his military memory to an exceeding fierce fight somewhere in Europe when, taking enemy fire into his fox-hole, Melvin said that he thought his life was about to be over.  In his own words, with difficulty framing each syllable, he said, “I bowed my head and said to God ‘If you get me out of this alive, I promise you I will say the Lord’s prayer every day and will be in church with my family.’” Those were probably not his exact words but the essence of what I remember of them.  He was very moved in his spirit when he related that fox-hole experience to me and it was apparent that it had been a life-changer for Melvin and he wanted his pastor to share that with him and to know of his commitment and sincerity.  I have never forgotten it, nor have I forgotten Melvin and his humble, sweet family.  They were what one might consider the “weak” of this world, but in their simplicity, they were unique and testaments to the truth that God will take care of His own.

Melvin’s mother was aged, probably in her 90’s. She never spoke much, but her searching eyes and countenance, through deep, time plowed wrinkles, communicated volumes.  She was always in her place with the family at church for worship.

On Mother’s Day, the last few years that Talbots were able to attend together, Lonial Wire, long-time song leader of our church, and I would do a special tribute featuring Mrs. Talbot.  We would have her come to the platform where a rocking chair had been placed for her to sit in.  Lonial would then sing, “Tell Mother I’ll be there, in answer to her prayer….” It was an old song, and sung by Lonial with his empathetic tender, tenor voice, with the aged mother sitting in her rocking chair.  A good many mothers in the congregation were seen wiping tears that streamed down their cheeks. Between the song’s stanzas, I would quote a reading that epitomized the old, godly woman, a reading which began “There she is, the dear old mother….” It was a Mother’s Day tribute to not only Melvin’s mother but to all of the dear mothers who had invested the labors and love of their lives in the service of their families.

So, Melvin, his life, his simple faith, his sweet family, his commitment to his vow, will, I hope, always be on my mind from time to time as I remember the privilege, the honor, the joy of being pastor to this special family.  I was blessed to attend the finest of schools in my ministerial studies and ministry preparation, but in the school of everyday ministering, God used the Melvins along the journey to teach me truths and applications of truths that could never have been learned in the classroom or clinic.  I will be ever grateful.

This weekend and on Monday, the 30^th, Americans will celebrate the 154^th anniversary of Memorial Day, begun shortly after the Civil War ended. We honor it annually through picnics, vacations, races, family fun and a day off work. It has become—a day when we remember not only the brave men and women who gave the ultimate sacrifice—their lives—for the cause of freedom, but when many “decorate” the graves of loved ones in their memory. Thus it is sometimes called “Decoration Day.”

Poets, preachers and historians have written and spoken eloquently about those who have fought for our freedoms. We do well to reflect upon the incalculable sacrifices made by men and women in and out of uniform, and their families, in the cause of securing our liberties.  Thank you, mothers, for sending your sons and daughters to serve at home and abroad in the greatest armed forces ever assembled.  Thank you to fathers and sons, brothers and husbands, wives and daughters, sisters and best friends who have waved good-bye to a G-I as he or she embarked on a journey not knowing when or whether they would return.  We pause, thankfully, to remember all who have bid that final farewell in the cause of “duty, honor, country.” May their memory live on!

A friend of mine prayed this solemn prayer: “Father God, as we pause on this weekend, I pray that You will move in the minds and hearts of all who profess to know You; Lord, make of us the men and women whom You are seeking to make a difference worth remembering if only in our own sphere of influence. Restrain us from personal compromise and corruption. Remove complacency and confusion far from us, and replace caution for self-interest and correction with courage.  May we be the people who know their God, display strength, and take action. And thank You, Father, for Your manifold and untold blessings upon this land. Forgive us for lack of gratitude for Your goodness, and our indifference to Your Person and Presence. Speak to our President and our leaders. Remind them that though they vainly boast transparency, a far greater accountability awaits them. Protect the men and women of our military, and use them for good. Keep between them and their families while they are separated by the call of duty. In whatever way You can, O God, and in whatever way You choose, awaken our people to truth and righteousness, and to You. And bless all to whom You are both God and LORD. Amen. (John Aker, retired military, and minister of the gospel).

No doubt you have been blessed by reading Psalm 91, called by some the “Soldier’s Psalm,” which begins: “He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.” In World War II, there was a brigade that recited the Psalm daily, so much so that they were given the name “91^st Brigade.” This unit was engaged in three of the bloodiest battles of the war– but did not lose a single soldier in combat. (From “the Father’s Business,” Birmingham, AL). We, too, are engaged in fierce warfare, every day, with principalities and powers of darkness.  Let us claim, through reading and mediation on Ps.91, God’s refuge, deliverance and protection.

When I think about Memorial Day, I usually recall the 1919 poem a young soldier penned shortly before his battlefield death on foreign soil.  You no doubt have heard or read it many times. The first, sad stanza reads:

 “In Flanders fields the poppies blow, between the crosses, row on row that mark our place; and in the sky the larks, still bravely singing, fly, scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the dead, short days ago, we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow; loved and were loved, and now we lie in Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw the torch; be it yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die, we shall not sleep, though poppies grow in Flanders fields.” (John McCrae) (Sorry, I could not stop with just the first stanza!)

If you know me personally, you are aware that I love great poems, so, I beg of you to read the conclusion of this Memorial weekend installment of “You and God,” with just the first stanza (promise) of an 1847 poem— a very sad one by Theodore O’Hara, titled “The Bivouac of the Dead,” in memory and honor of all of our fallen heroes and their sacrificing families:

“The muffled drum’s sad roll has beat,

The soldier’s last tattoo;

No more on life’s parade shall meet

That brave and fallen few;

On Fame’s eternal camping-ground

Their silent tents are spread;

But Glory guards with solemn round

The bivouac of the dead.”

*****************

Ellen and I wish you and yours a happy, fun, meaningful Memorial Day as you pause to “remember.”

“The memory of the just is blessed….” (Proverbs 10:7)

One of the most profound thoughts that could ever enter the human mind is this: that God loves me!

You do not have to be old to come to that realization. Even little children can know that God loves them. Nor is it an assurance that is attained by graduating to higher levels of learning through prescribed disciplines. Yet is it profound: to think that a holy God; -a majestic and almighty God; – an omniscient, omnipresent, altogether righteous Creator God, who fills heaven and earth with His presence, and could destroy the sum total of His creation at any moment-it is profound that He loves the individual, and that you and I can say, “God loves me.”

But that’s exactly what the Bible teaches. It is said too often, and in too many different places and ways through His Word for us to doubt it: “But God commendeth His love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” (Rom.5:8) “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believeth on Him should not perish but have everlasting life.” (John 3:16) “Walk in love, as Christ also hath loved us, and hath given Himself for us an offering and a sacrifice to God for a sweet-smelling savor.” (Eph.5:2) “The Lord hath appeared of old unto me, saying, Yea, I have loved thee with an everlasting love: therefore, with lovingkindness have I drawn thee.” (Jer.31:3)

Yes, incomprehensible as it may seem, God loves you. God loves me. Paul, in Ephesians 3:17-19 speaks of this transcending love: “That ye, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all saints what is the breadth, and length, and depth and height: and to know the love of Christ which passeth knowledge.”

The breadth of God’s love. Its fountainhead is in the bosom of the Eternal Godhead and it reaches into the heart of the chiefest of sinners: “Look unto me and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth: for I am God and there is none else.” (Isa.45:22) His love is as broad as humanity and all of humankind lies within the compass of His loving reach.

The length of God’s love is “from eternity to eternity” an “everlasting love.”  However long and drawn out is my sin, His love surpasses it. He is the “eternal lover of every wandering sinner/soul.”

The depth of God’s love reaches to the deepest hell and raises from condemnation all who by faith will look to Him to be saved: “He brought me up also out of an horrible pit, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings.” (Ps.40:2) From heaven above to the earth beneath; from God’s throne to a manger; from the glories at the right hand of God to the grossness of man’s groveling depravity—that is the depth of the love of God.

The height of the love of God. God’s love can lift the sin-sunken sinner from the deepest gutter all the way to the heavenlies’ highest, wash him, clothe him in spotless righteousness and proclaim Him to be “in Christ, a new creation” so that, with the Apostle, he can exclaim:  “Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness which the Lord, the righteous judge, shall give me at that day: and not to me only but unto all them also that love His appearing.” (2 Tim. 4:8).

I apologize that I cannot credit the following, but I am sure someone who was basking in the blessedness of God’s wondrous love penned these words: “No eloquence lavished upon the love of God can do it justice; no picture of it can look anything but dull and poor compared to its reality; go to the gospels and behold it as He lived and wrought for you and me; go to Calvary and stand and gaze upon His disfigured form upon the rugged tree;  in all the mystery of Christ there is nothing more wonderful or past finding out than His love. In the final analysis, it defies analysis and ever escapes our definition. ‘Never man spake like this man,’ it was said of Him, but it could also be said, and rightly so, ‘Never man loved like this man loved.’”

The beloved song expresses the inexpressible as well as it could be said or sung: “The love of God is greater far, than tongue or pen can ever tell; it goes beyond the highest star, and reaches to the lowest hell; the guilty pair, bowed down with care, God gave His Son to win; His erring child, He reconciled, and pardoned from his sin. Oh, love of God, how rich and pure! How measureless and strong! It shall forevermore endure, the saints and angels’ song!” (Frederick Lehman, 1868-1953)

“In this was manifested the love of God toward us, because that God sent His only begotten Son into the world, that we might be saved through Him. Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us, and sent His Son to be the propitiation for our sins.” (I John 4:9,10)

“The blessing of the Lord, it maketh rich, and he addeth no sorrow with it.” (Provs. 10:22) Every believer is indeed rich, “blessed with all spiritual blessings in heavenly places in Christ.” (Eph. 1:3). Those blessings include such “unsearchable riches of Christ” (Eph.3:8) as forgiveness of sins, freedom from condemnation, adoption into the family of God with Him as our Father, objects of His love and unconditional grace (favor), plus peace with God through Jesus and the presence always of His indwelling Holy Spirit. If you are a child of God, you are rich in blessings, period!

F.B. Meyer said that “whatever blessing is in our cup, it is sure to run over. With our Father, the calf is always the fatted calf, the robe is always the best robe, the joy is unspeakable, the peace passes understanding…there is no grudging in God’s benevolence.”

Sir Walter Raleigh was all the time submitting requests to Queen Elizabeth on behalf of convicts. On one occasion, the Queen asked Sir Walter when he would stop being a beggar, to which Sir Walter replied, “When your Majesty ceases to be a giver.” Our God has never, nor will He ever, stopped being a Giver!

Count your blessings, name them one by one: “Blessed is the man whose transgression is covered; blessed is the man who maketh the Lord his trust; blessed are they that dwell in Thy house; blessed is the man whose strength is in Thee; blessed is the people that know the joyful sound: they shall walk, O Lord, in the light of Thy countenance.” (Ps.32:1; Ps. 40:4; Ps. 84:4,5; Ps.89:15)

Oswald Chambers struck a chord in hearts when he observed that “the great difficulty spiritually is to concentrate on God, and it is His blessings that make it difficult. Troubles nearly always make us look to God; His blessings are apt to make us look elsewhere.”

Troubles: we as individuals and as a nation and world are deep into them on almost any day. “Everything is going up.” (Inflation!) Yet, rain is still coming down; birds are still singing; joy still costs nothing, and love is never in short supply from the heart of our heavenly Father. A smile is no more costly today than ever; a kind word, a timely touch, or a caring presence.  Yes, everything material, it seems, is going up today, but those things of eternal value are still moving from heaven to earth, and on earth from heart to heart, home to home, and the supply chain is unbroken!

A child described an elevator thusly: “When I got into this little room, the upstairs came down.” (George Gardiner) And, so it is, “Heaven came down and glory filled my soul.”

My friend, Evangelist Leon Foote, once shared what he called, “The biggest blessing of the year!”  His words: On a trip to Texas, “I stopped to see my older brother, Joe. He is a Marine from WWII.  I have prayed for and witnessed to him for over 40 years. I have prayed at the altar in some of your churches. Joe has cancer, and this time he was willing to listen to me. There in his home on a Friday night, Nov. 5, he prayed and asked Jesus into his heart. Amen, Amen!”  Talk about blessings!

What have you received of late, today in fact, for which to “praise God from Whom all blessings flow?” The blessing of salvation always tops our list, Eph. 2:8,9; then sanctification, I Thess. 4:3; service, Luke 18:29,30; soul-winning; Ps.126:6, supplication, Matt.7:7; and stewardship, Luke 6:38, among a multitude of others.

So, yes, the blessing of the Lord, it maketh rich! Stop with me now and bow your heart, casting all your burdens on the Lord, and just thank Him for the riches of His grace. In Christ, the pauper is rich; without Christ, the prince is a pauper.

In the mid 1700s, Robert Robinson’s father died when he was 17. His mother sent him to London to learn a trade, but while there he fell into drinking and gangs. But Robert once heard the mega voice of Evangelist George Whitefield preaching on the subject “O generation of vipers, who hath warned you to flee the wrath to come?” Robinson felt as though the message was directed right at him, and in faith he responded, calling upon and falling upon the grace of God for salvation. He would later write of God’s amazing grace and abundant blessings:

“Come Thou Fount of every blessing, tune my heart to sing Thy grace; Streams of mercy, never ceasing call for songs of loudest praise.” (Robert Robinson, 1735-1790)

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who hath blessed us with all spiritual blessings in heavenly places in Christ.” (Eph.1:3)

I hesitate to pen this post because it is about a personal experience, and I would rather talk about what happened to you or someone else than myself. But what I am about to share did happen and I am still trying to make some sense of it, so I am going to put it out there and, in so doing, would welcome your response if you have any thoughts to pass along.

One day in late April, I was alone in our driveway planting a few flowers in some flower boxes. My back was turned toward the street, and I was facing the house, when, though not aware of any other presence, I turned to face the street and discovered that a late model suburban vehicle had eased into our driveway and was parked a few feet from where I was standing.  The driver, when our eyes met, quickly said, “I am from Dubai and I have lost my billfold; I need help getting to California.”  He had a pretty thick accent, looked like he was from the Middle East, and he was well dressed.  Immediately, as I walked toward the car to talk with him, he held up a gold necklace and, on the necklace, a beautiful gold ring.  He said, “I need money to get to California. I lost my billfold.  Here, you take this (the gold jewelry), and when I get home, I will send you the money and you can send this back to me.”

I held both hands up, palms facing the stranger, indicating that I would not do what he had proposed. He rolled down the back passenger window and I saw a teenage girl with a phone or computer in her hand; there appeared to be others in the car, his family, though I did not carefully look at each person. The girl looked well dressed, never took her eyes off the phone or computer in her hand, and the man continued to plead. “Here,” he said, taking a gold Rolex watch off his wrist, “Take this; this is a $25,000 watch.” Again, I held both hands up, pushing back, saying as I did, “I cannot do that.” He said, “I need $300-400 dollars; you can give me that. I just need to get to California.” He continued “begging” me to give him some money, and if I understood him correctly, he even mentioned that I could give him a credit card to use.  I was adamant in refusing to touch the gold chain or watch. I have to admit, the man, in a beautiful late model suburban Yukon, looked every bit legitimate, and I really thought at that time that his story was real.

Of course, I have thought that on other occasions, such as the time I received a call one afternoon from a man who, in a dead earnest voice, and an Irish accent, said he was in the library of the University of Indianapolis (close to our church) reading the gospel of John, and he wanted to know if I could tell him how to be saved.  I made arrangements to pick him up, brought him to my church office, and explained the gospel to him. On our knees, he prayed, even with a tear or two, and I was sure he had accepted Christ as Savior.  He was well groomed, with a suit and tie. It was not until I was taking him back to the library that he told me he was a clock master, and the clock he had been working had taken him longer than he had anticipated. He was, consequently, in a bind for money as his rent was past due.  I asked him how much he needed, and it was $125.  This was probably 20 or 25 years ago and I did not usually have an extra $125 at the end of the month, but I did on that day. So I went to the bank, made the withdrawal, took him downtown where he said his landlord had an office, accompanied him to the 4^th floor of the downtown Indy office building and then, acquiescing to his request that I let him talk to and pay his landlord alone, I waited. When he returned, I took him back to the library, got his home address and made arrangements to visit him that evening for a Bible Study. I had barely gotten back to my church office when it dawned upon my feeble mind that maybe I should drop by the address he gave me, also close to the University, just to confirm that I could find it.  A sick feeling began to take over my stomach when, yes, you are probably ahead of my story, I could not find the address.  I had been conned and what a slick job it was, compete with suit and tie and tears!   As most pastors have probably likewise experienced, that was not the first time that I had been taken, nor the last; but I think it hurt so badly because he was such a good actor.  It just hurt!  And, still does to think about it!

Back to the Dubai gentleman.  After prayer meeting the night before, Ellen had come home and we discussed the Pastor’s midweek Bible study. It was on the subject of love and how we can and should demonstrate Christ’s love to a needy world. I had not heard the lesson because of my semi-quarantine due to cancer chemo treatments, so she shared with me the essence of the lesson, and we had a good discussion.  How do you consistently, biblically, and in the spirit of Christ, demonstrate God’s love to a needy, hurting world?

So, the next morning, the aforementioned incident occurred. Was it a test? I have not doubted that for whatever purposes, known only to Him, it was ordained of God. It happened so suddenly. There was no way that I could have contemplated what I would do or what and how I should respond. It was split-second decision-making time. No friend, no counsellor, no wife to consult.  Bang. There he was, a foreigner in a strange land if one could believe his story, desperate, pleading for help.  I told him that to give him hundreds of dollars was not something I could do.  I also told him I was a preacher, and he said, “Jesus will help you.”

So, there you have it. You may be wondering about now, “OK, Pastor Slutz, what did you do?” Well, that’s what I wanted to ask you. What should I have done?  What would you have done, if you could somehow recreate in your mind the same circumstance?  A well-dressed, Middle Eastern man who said plainly as he pleaded, “I am a wealthy man,” and buttressed his claim with a supposed $25,000 wrist watch? You are a Christ one.  Do good to all men, Paul admonished.  This stranger knows you are a follower of Jesus.  You make the call. 

I do distinctly remember praying that morning, at the breakfast table before eating, asking God to guide us and to give us wisdom in all that we would do during the day.  I distinctly remember that because I do not usually ask God for wisdom at the breakfast table before eating!

So, what would you have done?  What should I have done?

“For he shall have judgment without mercy, that hath shewed no mercy; and mercy rejoiceth against judgment.” (James 2:13)

The year was 1921. The place was downtown Indianapolis. The largest building of its kind at that time in the U.S., a religious center, had just been dedicated. Known as the Cadle Tabernacle, it could seat 10,000 guests along with a choir of 1,500. British evangelist Rodney “Gypsy” Smith preached the dedication service to a capacity crowd, while another 10,000 people were turned away.  Smith had, that same year, led a month-long revival meeting in the Circle City with 140 churches participating, which was estimated to be half of the city’s churches, the majority of which were Methodists.  There were 15,000 professions of faith recorded before Smith’s meeting concluded, and when he later returned to preach the dedication of the Tabernacle, one of the city’s leaders said it “has been a Great Awakening,” and “our city can never be the same again.”

From a human vantage point, the driving force behind what I have just recapped was an enigmatic figure, E. Howard Cadle, born to a praying Christian mother and an alcoholic father in a log cabin in Fredericksburg, Indiana, in 1884.  When Cadle was as young as twelve he took on his father’s wanton ways and continued in them, drinking and gambling with friends who were not a good influence, until, sick with Bright’s disease and pretty much “busted” financially and physically, he ended up back home on his parents farm in Fredericksburg in 1914 where, after much prayer and Bible reading by himself and with his mother of faith, he had what he considered a conversion experience that he later described as “All the beauty of heaven seemed to burst into the windows. The old, dead apple tree seemed to be in full bloom and I could hear the rustle of wings of angels of mercy. My sins were washed away!”

Cadle was a man of contradictions with a powerful personality–an entrepreneur par excellence, a salesman that could, as one friend said, talk you out of a pair of shoes that you were wearing if he wanted them, and a business man with an uncanny sense of timing coupled with a gargantuan vision. Through business exploits leading up to the early 1920’s Cadle became quite wealthy, building a chain of twenty or so shoe repair shops across several communities, and all the while speaking at church gatherings of his conversion experience.  Having built a 1,200-seat tabernacle in Louisville in 1920, Cadle moved his dream to downtown Indy in 1921 and built the worship center that would stand until wrecking crews would bring their bull-dozers onto its demolition site in 1968. 

Strangely, though, Cadle was not in control of the Tabernacle many of those intervening years. In fact, two years after the gala dedicatory service in 1921, he lost control of it and moved to Florida, resuming business ventures successfully (real estate) until coming back in the mid-thirties to revive the preaching center (thanks to the help of a local bank which then held the mortgage) and his evangelistic ministry. 

Unique about Cadle’s ministry at that point was his use of the air waves as a medium to get out his message.  Cincinnati’s WLW had a 500,000-watt signal in 1933 and the government estimated that WLW could be clearly heard by two-thirds of the then 90 million people who lived in the United States.  Cadle broadcast a daily fifteen-minute program over this powerful outlet at 6:00 a.m. each weekday, and in the many rural communities in southern Indiana, Kentucky, and Tennessee, when farmers were doing chores and eating breakfast, his program was a staple. In time, Cadle would place Crosby transistor radios, set on the WLW station, in pastor-less churches in these rural areas, and church folk would gather, if the roads were not muddy on Sunday, to hear the Cadle Tabernacle preacher, whether Cadle himself or another one of his many guest speakers. It was for its time a phenomenal strategy that made the Cadle name a household word and built a ministry that made the visionary a wealthy man. Hundreds of letters poured into the Tabernacle mailbox weekly from people in the “hinterlands” who listened religiously to the daily and Sunday broadcasts, attended the one-night rallies that he would have his son, Buford, fly him to on the plane bought for that purpose, and considered him their spiritual leader.

After Cadle’s passing in 1942, at the age of 58, the ministry fell onto hard times.  People were moving from the downtown to suburbs.  Cadle’s wife, Ola, continued to supervise the ministry and various pastors would try to keep it afloat. But in time, the once majestic building that teemed with spiritual fervor became abandoned until its final day of demolition in 1968.  The ministry did go on for a while but eventually, ending up in a small office on the north side, it ceased.

So, Indianapolis had experienced during the 20’s, the depression years, and into the ensuring two or three decades the unique impact of a compelling gospel witness, led by a “free-lance” evangelist who was skilled in communicative endeavors and gifted with a personality that was magnetic. But, alas, the city that “would never be the same again” became, in time, much the same again. Indianapolis, Indiana, with its rich heritage, has “backslidden” into a city full of crime, gambling that has been legalized, daily homicides and, like most large cities, a metropolis plagued with drugs.  This is not to say Indy does not have its appeal; conventions consider it an ideal place for their large gatherings, and it is known as the amateur sports capital of the world.

But the Cadle days, for better or worse, would not last.  Only He who judges the worth and works of those who labor in His name knows what the ministry accomplished.  From this pastor’s point of view, its eventual demise was built into its foundational structure.  God’s method has from the inception been administered in this church age by and through the local church.  Interestingly, when Cadle began conducting great Sunday afternoon meetings in the Tabernacle, churches begged him not to because of their concern that his meetings would infringe upon their local church ministries.

Indianapolis, in the decades following Cadle’s influence, was a place like many other Midwestern cities, ripe for post-war evangelism. Scores of independent Baptist churches were started, many of which still thrive today.  One national fellowship of Baptists had a goal in 1958 to start 408 local churches. Someone estimated that there are, or at one time were, 100 independent Baptist churches in the greater Indianapolis area.  Does Cadle’s impact live on today?  God is the judge.  But, one thing is certain: There is now today a need, a desperate need, not only in Indy but in America, for another “Great Awakening.”

“Hold fast the form of sound words which thou hast heard of me, in faith and love which is in Christ Jesus.” (2 Tim. 1:13)

(Note: This post was written from information in an award-winning article written by my son, Theodore, published in TRACES, winter of 2005, by the Indiana Historical Society.  Ted is a free-lance writer, and at the time the article on Cadle appeared he was pursuing a doctorate in history at Yale University. He received a master’s degree in history from Indiana University and wrote his M.A. thesis about the Tabernacle. For further reading on this subject, see his article at https://images.indianahistory.org/digital/collection/p16797coll39/id/1253

Paul the Apostle, who himself had been before his conversion anything but weak, said that “not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called: But God hath chosen…the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty.” (I Cor. 1:26,27)

Had anyone been able to peek into the mid-depression era to get a look at the life of the subject of this post, one would have concluded that of the four sons born to this western Pennsylvania wife and her alcoholic husband, none of them would stand anything but the slimmest of possibilities in amounting to anything that would contribute much to the needy world into which they had been born.

The years were deep depression years. Poverty, abject poverty, characterized the situation this little family found itself in. Whatever few nickels and dimes the father of the four boys and their sister, was able to scrape together, he spent propping up his addiction to alcohol.  His sweet wife and children felt the harsh blows of his beatings when he came home drunk. There was often no heat in the house, no food and little possibility of getting help except when a kind relative, knowing of the critical needs, would drop by with whatever assistance could be rendered.

Dr. Larry Hufhand, born in 1934 into that sin broken family circle, is the “weak” thing, along with another older brother, the late Rev. Leland Hufhand, that God reached down and with His mighty hand, lifting up two brothers out of the dire depression that had swallowed up a nation leaving hardly any household unscathed, to make of them, along with their two other brothers and eventually their mother and one-time drunkard dad, trophies of His grace.

Whenever rent came due, it seemed the family had to move again. The children were in so many different schools they lost track of the number.  Some were in Pennsylvania and some in New York State where their dad had moved them into a tin shed shanty to spend a cold winter while he returned to Pennsylvania to live in warmth with some of his family, with food and shelter.

It was a childhood with memories etched forever into one’s mind, soul and upon the body itself. But God! In His merciful grace, a loving heavenly Father built a hedge around those boys, and to a great extent, their sweet mother, so that they were able to reach adulthood in time to enlist in the armed forces as drumbeats of World War II, followed by the Korean War, were sounding through the nations.

Larry, as a high school student, in the summer of 1952, at the invitation of his older brother, Lee, who had come to know Christ as Savior and was, on a GI bill, living in a trailer court with his bride just off the campus of Bob Jones University where he was studying in preparation for ministry, accepted Lee’s invitation to pay them a visit.  Armed with maps of several states on the eastern seaboard, Larry set out to hitch-hike from western PA to Greenville, SC, where he would spend a few weeks with his brother before entering school for his senior year.  It was during that visit that Larry heard clearly for the first time the claims of Christ upon his life and the gospel invitation that “whosoever will may come.” He was gloriously converted and has never gotten over it. Finishing his senior year, he had enlisted in the Air Force, and while waiting on a call from them was employed at the Ford Stamping Plant in Buffalo, NY.  Someone suggested to Larry that he consider attending Bob Jones College, whereupon, without any means and nothing much more that a heart full of faith, he applied, was accepted and made his way to BJU in time for the opening revival services. While Dr. Bob Jones, Sr., preached as only he could, the Holy Spirit was speaking softly yet earnestly to Larry, and when the invitation for full-time service was given, from his seat in the back row of the balcony in Rodeheaver Auditorium the 18-year-old young man, whose life had been in large part a living night-mare, made his way as fast as he could to the front of the auditorium to surrender to God’s will whatever it would be.  That life-changing night made the difference not only in Larry’s life, but in thousands of lives his life would impact over the next 69 years to this present day.

Dr. Hufhand graduated from BJU, then attended Grace Seminary in Winona Lake, but not before marrying his sweetheart and life’s helpmeet, Marion Dinus.  The Hufhands would in time be the proud parents of four sons, all who know and serve their Lord and Savior.

Larry Hufhand, as a student at BJU, struggled with a severe speech impediment, that of stuttering. He was tutored in special speech classes by professors who were the best available, but after years of trying to help this handicapped would-be preacher, they advised him that his case was hopeless and that they could not help him. That did not deter a man who had the call of God upon his life, and Larry continued on with his ministerial training in Winona Lake, where, in a barber shop located across from the famed Billy Sunday tabernacle, Larry would hone his barbering skills on many of the well-known preachers attending the summer Bible conferences, including Myron Cedarholm, Alva McClain, John Whitcomb, Walter Wilson, Vance Havner and others.  He was able to support his family through this work, and, upon graduation, the Hufhands would move to Freeport, IL, to begin a church plant mothered by the historic First Baptist Church of Freeport in 1960. Five years later, accepting a call to pastor another historic church, First Baptist Church of Tipton, Indiana, Larry, Marion and family tearfully bid farewell to the thriving congregation of Calvary Baptist Church in Freeport to assume duties in Tipton where, on the Sunday that Pastor Hufhand candidated, Palm Sunday, 1965, tornadoes ripped across central Indiana leaving 350 people dead in their wake.

Pastor Hufhand, with Marion and the boys, accepted the new challenges before them and it was not until 41 years later that Dr. Larry Hufhand, known to most everyone in Indiana, Illinois, Michigan and Ohio as the pastor of a vibrant, soul-winning church where revival was on-going, where young people went away to Christian colleges, such as the newly constituted Maranatha Baptist Bible College, founded by Dr. Myron Cedarholm in 1968, and where children could attend summer camp at Michiana Baptist Camp in Shipshewana, Indiana, where they would enjoy  fun, food and friends for a wonderful week. This writer volunteered to speak at one of those junior camp weeks and it was not yet lunch-time on Monday when I was assigned the job of counsellor in a cabin of eight-year-old boys.  When Larry Hufhand stepped onto the Michiana Camp grounds, it was as if a personality transformation had taken place.  He was all kids, all camp, all Christ all week and when it was over, everyone went home exhausted but exhilarated for having spent a week on a lake in northern Indiana with scores of other kids, all the while loved, fed, bedded and coached by a dedicated team of volunteers from First Baptist Church in Tipton.

Dr. Hufhand has been “retired” now since 2008, but in his retirement, he has accepted another call to pastor the Pleasant View Baptist Church in Noblesville, IN. He also publishes a weekly blog, the Hufhand Report, that reaches thousands with timely truths. At age 87 he is still promoting world missions and evangelism. When pastoring in Tipton, he was vitally involved in the forming of the Indiana Fundamental Baptist Fellowship of Churches, and often served as its president and later as its state representative.

All who have known this “weak thing” of this world have marveled at the grace of God and His ability to shape a once-stuttering young preacher-boy, who by the way was instantly and miraculously delivered by God from that affliction, into an under shepherd whose life would be used in the mentoring and molding of scores of others, young and old, into men and women who would in turn impact multitudes for Christ’s kingdom.

(Larry’s life story has been featured on Moody Radio’s “Unshackled” where this story of God’s amazing grace can be heard in a dramatized two-part version)

“But by the grace of God I am what I am…and His grace was not bestowed upon me in vain….” (I Cor. 15:10)

Built for us in God’s own heart,
	She would love us from the start;
Watching o’er us like none other,
	We would cherish our dear Mother.

In her arms she drew us near
	There would chase away each fear.
Through her loving, soothing voice,
	We knew we were hers by choice.

From her eyes there shone rare grace,
	Love was written on her face.
With her hands she met each need,
	All our calls and cares did heed.

She was our first loving teacher,
	Doctor, nurse and even preacher;
Words of kindness she would say,
	Coaching us along life’s way.

Her wise lessons were our rule;
	Ere we set a foot in school.
She would teach us by her life
	How to cope with stress and strife.

One could see her angel eyes,
	When we called with coos or cries.
She was ever quick to come,
	Caring ‘til the day was done.

Lull-a-byes and sweetest song
	We could listen all day long.
Darkest room with heaven’s light,
	Mother’s presence would make bright.

With a word or touch we’d know,
	All was peaceful here below.
In her warm and caring arms,
	We were safe from fears and harms.

So, on this her special day,
	We would simply pause to say:
“Mother, Mother, Mother dear,
	You have brought to us such cheer!

We thank and praise you for your love,
	You’re a gift from heaven above!
From our earliest infant cry,
	To the day that we shall die,

We’ll thank God for you forever,
	Nothing from your heart will sever,
‘Til we draw our life’s last breath,
	We will cherish you ‘til death.”

We will honor our dear Mother,
	For she loved us like none other;
Built for us in God’s own heart,
	She has loved us from life’s start.

Anthony Slutz

With Mother’s Day coming, I would just like to use this opportunity to pay tribute to mothers and motherhood, quoting from various sources.  I hope it will be a blessing to all who read.

“They talk about a woman’s sphere as though it had a limit; there’s not a place in earth or heaven, there’s not a task to mankind given; there’s not a blessing nor a woe, there’s not a whispered “yes,” or “no;” there’s not a life or death or birth, there’s not a feather’s weight of worth, without a woman in it.” (unknown)

“I did not have my mother long, but she cast over me an influence which has lasted all my life. The good effects of her early training I can never lose. If it had not been for her appreciation and her faith in me at a critical time in my experience, I should never likely have become an inventor.” (Thomas Edison)

The great preacher G. Campbell Morgan had four sons. They all became ministers. At a family gathering a friend asked one of the sons, “Which Morgan is the greatest preacher?” The son looked at his father and promptly replied, “Mother!”

Our church, Thompson Road Baptist Church in Indianapolis, has supported Bible Tracts, Inc., for decades, a ministry founded by the late evangelist Paul Levin who preached and traveled with his blind singer Bob Findley.  Paul eloquently wrote once about his darling mother: “My mother went home to glory March 21, 1959, at age 91. To this day it is impossible for me to adequately describe her godly life and all her memory means to me. She gave me to God before I was born, and as soon as I was able to understand the plan of salvation, she led me to the Savior. My mother never graduated from high school, but she taught me many things I could never have learned in our highest institutions of learning. She never sang in our choir, but at home—where it really counted—her life was a constant song. She was sweet, cheerful, and supremely happy in the Lord.”

Song writer John Peterson said of his mother, “I could always count on my mother’s prayers. When I was a small boy, she would take me by the hand and say, ‘Let’s pray,’ then she’d start—and I mean she would pray! Many times I’ve watched the tears stream down her face as she’d intercede for the salvation of her children. She loved the Bible…she wasn’t perfect. No human being is. I never heard her swear. She did not read dirty books or magazines. I heard her pray. I heard her feed on Scriptures. She took me to Sunday School and church and made me sit still. Mother took me to church Sunday nights, too, and also to the midweek prayer services…and when there were special meetings…while mother didn’t leave us a lot of worldly goods, she left behind something that all the bulging bank accounts of all the world couldn’t buy—faith in God as taught by a sweet, godly Christian mother.”

Some of these choice testimonies I have copied from sources probably 50 years or so ago, and am not sure of the credits; this one is from a publication that was known as “Back Country Evangelism.” I think you will find it interesting:

“Amazing Grace” was written by John Newton, who was known as “London’s sailor
preacher.” He reached Thomas Scott, a cultured scholarly, moral man, who through
his tongue and pen swayed thousands for Jesus. He in turn reached William Cowper, the reverse of Scott: young, dyspeptic, melancholy, —who wrote ‘A Fountain Filled with Blood.’ He in turn reached Wilberforce who inspired the empire to free its slaves. Wilberforce touched a man who was a vicar in the Church of England by the name of Richmond, who knew the story of a milkman’s daughter who had the unusual touch of the power of God. He wrote the book, “The Dairyman’s Daughter” which was translated into forty-odd foreign languages, reaching into peasant’s huts and king’s palaces. All of this came about because an old gray- haired, bent back washer woman prayed for her wayward son John’s safe return from the sea.

Well, there are many more special tributes that could and should be paid our mothers, but I will close this post with this one:

A builder builded a temple, He wrought it with grace and skill;
Pillars and groins and arches, all fashioned to work his will.
Men said, as they saw its beauty, “It shall never know decay;
Great is thy skill, O Builder! Thy fame shall endure for aye.”	
A mother builded a temple, with loving and infinite care,
Planning each arch with patience, laying each stone with prayer.
None praised her unceasing efforts, none knew of her wondrous plan,
For the temple the mother builded was unseen by the eyes of man.
Gone is the Builder’s temple, crumpled into the dust;
Low lies each stately pillar, food for consuming rust.
But the temple the mother builded
Will last while the ages roll, 
For that beautiful unseen temple 
Was a child’s immortal soul. 
Hattie Vose Hall              

“Honor thy father and thy mother; (which is the first commandment with promise); that it may be well with thee, and thou mayest live long on the earth.” (Eph.6:2,3)