On April 19, 1995, a bomb of hurricane force destroyed the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City. The explosion broke huge slabs of granite in half, twisted steel, disintegrated concrete, and destroyed lives.
Leadership contributing editor Brian Larson asked three pastors who ministered in the midst of this tragedy how it affected them.
DISTRESS AND URGENCY
One of our church members, Peggy Holland, 37, a married mother of two and a Sunday school teacher, died in the blast. I was with her husband and children while the rescuers searched for her.
Her husband was beside himself, not knowing her condition, yet feeling she was dead. His girls were confused. Their mother had taken them to school that morning but never came home. If it hadn’t been for the Lord, I don’t know what they or I would have done. Each time I left their house, distress filled my heart.
Before this tragedy, I didn’t think I could preach with more urgency. But this magnified it. At Peggy’s funeral, with the family’s permission, I gave an invitation to receive Christ, something I’ve done only a couple of times before at a funeral. Peggy’s husband is a correctional guard, so there were some fifty FBI agents and federal employees at Peggy’s funeral. The church was packed.
The tragedy reminded me that no one has any guarantees. I want to minister to people while I can, because the day is coming when I will not be able to do anything for them.
—Rick GoodmanKnob Hill Baptist ChurchOklahoma City
SERIOUS BUSINESS
When I saw the news footage of the bombing, I went into shock. I told our senior pastor, Bishop George McKinney, that I felt led of the Lord to go to Oklahoma City and help in whatever way I could.
With $100 in my wallet and no arrangements for lodging, I flew to Oklahoma City. When I arrived, the Lord provided housing, and for the next five days I made calls in the intensive care unit of the hospital nearest the bombing. I received clearance to work with other chaplains at the building site.
At the memorial service for families of victims, I stood for four hours and hugged people, one after another. The line seemed endless. For once in my life all the things I had been training for as a minister I was able to use. I was able to embrace people who wanted to be embraced. There were no distinctions of class and race; these were people who realized we needed each other.
I was strong while I was there, but when I got home and tried to talk about my experience, I couldn’t hold back the tears—not just tears, in fact, but hard-on crying.
God opened doors and gave me power to serve him. I’m determined to look for every opportunity to be of service to others. Faced with life and death, hope and despair, I was reminded that ministry is still the most serious business.
—Julian SmithSt. Stephen’s Church of God in ChristSan Diego, California
HOPELESSNESS AND HOPE
One man in our church was in the building when it was bombed, but he walked out with only minor cuts. I became intimately involved in the tragedy, however, counseling families outside our church.
In counseling, I saw the hopelessness of people without Christ. Their complete hope was wrapped up in their loved ones being found. Those who had Christ could say, “We hope they find our loved ones, but our hope is in Christ; we know we’ll see them again.”
Since then, I’ve become more concerned about the people around our church. They’re good people who live in nice neighborhoods, but no matter how many material goods they have, they have no hope. The church and I felt that before, but the tragedy intensified it. I am more conscious of the need to prepare people for the battle against evil.
—Roger WoodromeCherokee Hills Christian ChurchOklahoma City
1996 Christianity Today/LEADERSHIP Journal
