Several years ago, my five-year-old son was not settling down for his nap, so I offered to tell him a story. “How about Daniel in the lions’ den?”
“Nah, I’ve heard that one.”
“Well, how about Noah and the ark?”
“I’ve heard that one, too.”
So I changed course. “David, you were born in Texas. Have you heard the story of the Alamo? No? Well, that’s a story every native Texan ought to hear.” So I told him about General Santa Anna and the six thousand Mexicans. I described the Alamo, with the Texans and Davy Crockett inside. I pictured the Mexicans scaling the wall, the cannon blasting, the muskets firing, and the grisly hand-to-hand combat. David was getting interested. “And, David, not one of the Texans survived!” His eyes got so large, you’d have thought he was in the middle of the battle.
Then I told him how several months later Sam Houston surprised the Mexicans and overran them in the Battle of San Jacinto. “Those Texans charged into that battle screaming a blood-curdling cry. Do you remember what it was?”
He looked at me innocently. “No.”
“Oh come on, David-you’ve heard it before. I’ll give you a hint. The first word is remember.” He still couldn’t figure it out, so I said, “Well, there are three words-Remember the . . .”
Suddenly his eyes sparkled. “Now I know, Daddy! Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy!”
I about fell off the bed. Growing up in a preacher’s home was slowly but surely rubbing off on my son.
-Bill Sherman
Woodmont Baptist Church
Nashville, Tennessee
One Sunday morning a Sunday school teacher came up to me with a picture depicting Christ in agonizing prayer in Gethsemane while his disciples slept in the background.
“I showed this picture to my class today,” she announced, “and one of the students said, ‘That reminds me of Pastor Winger.’ “
Naturally, I was quite overwhelmed. While searching for an appropriate comment, I must have failed to catch the twinkle in the teacher’s eyes. After I stammered a moment, she asked, “Want to know why this picture reminded my students of you?”
“Yes, of course,” I said, trying to sound suitably humble.
“Well, Ronnie pointed to the sleeping disciples and said, ‘You see, Jesus was praying so long, just like Pastor Winger does, that the disciples fell asleep!’ “
-Walter Winger
Browncroft Community Church
Rochester, New York
While they were in college, Scott and Chris both volunteered to be advisers for our high school group. Later they became paid interns, getting some hands-on ministry experience as they prepared for ordination.
Like the other advisers, they had an abundance of ideas and even criticisms that they were not shy in voicing: “Why don’t you do something about Terri Wilson? She’s such a problem,” or “Why isn’t the youth group more spiritual?” The barrage seemed incessant.
Both Chris and Scott are now ordained and minister on staffs of large churches. I talked with each of them in recent months, and both reminded me of all the criticisms they had voiced with such freedom and confidence when they weren’t “in charge.” They’re in charge now and wanted me to know their volunteers were asking “Why don’t you say this?” and “Why aren’t you trying that?”
Now, they say, they understand. Ah, sweet music to my battered ears.
-David Wilkinson
Trinity Presbyterian Church
Oroville, California
Several years ago I visited a man who had stopped attending our church. Joe was getting up in years but was in fairly good health.
He greeted me at the door but hesitated to let me in. “Joe,” I explained through the screen, “we’ve missed you in church. Is there any problem I should be aware of?”
“No,” he replied. “I’m getting older and am having some trouble getting around. It’s just too difficult for me to make church anymore.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. There are a lot of steps here and at church. I know you don’t have a car, and it’s a good mile from here to church. Is there any way we can help?”
“I don’t know who I’d ask for a ride,” he said, and I detected the implication: And I don’t want you to arrange one, either.
“How about if I visit you regularly as a shut-in, instead? I could come to your house each month with Communion and a tape recording of one of the services for you to listen to at your convenience. How would you like that?”
Joe’s face drooped suddenly and his eyes averted mine. “That wouldn’t work out because I’m gone so much. You’d seldom find me at home.”
-John E. Kassen
Mount Olive Lutheran Church
Lockport, New York
On my way home for dinner I stopped by the grocery store to pick up a few items. As I started down an aisle, I met a mother and her seven-year-old son from our congregation. The boy stared at me and blurted: “What are you doing here?”
His embarrassed mother jumped into the conversation and quickly redirected it, but I had to chuckle. This boy knew me only as the imposing figure in the black robe on Sunday morning. For all he knew, I lived at the church, never venturing out of its stained-glass sanctity. There in the grocery, I was definitely out of context among packaged soups and pinto beans.
I could understand his feelings. I was always amazed as a child to see my schoolteachers anywhere but in a classroom. I assumed they never left the school grounds. To this boy, I belonged in the sanctuary, not in the real world.
It was an amusing way to begin his education about the church in the world.
-Ted Mattie
First Presbyterian Church
Port Angeles, Washington
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