Date: August 23rd 2010

REFLECTIONS BY THE POND
August 23, 2010


THE ELOQUENCE OF A LIFE

A fiftieth wedding anniversary, celebrated one weekend in my home
town, in the current church building of my old childhood church
family, brought back many memories--not so much of the honored
couple, but of the two former pastors who were in attendance,
and, by extension, every other pastor I had while growing up in
that church.

The two men at the celebration are now "retired"--if it is
possible for anyone of that calling to retire completely. They
are more gray than before, a tad thicker around the middle, and
their attire less formal than it once would have been at such an
occasion. From across the room Linda and I were struck by the
aging that had occurred in them since we last saw them.

Up close, however, shaking their hands and exchanging memories,
we immediately saw that they were the same gracious men of
character and warmth we had known before. Time does not erase the
essentials of someone called by God to pastor His flock. And in a
moment we were reminded of all the many reasons these men had
held our respect for so long.


The Smell of Old Wood

I grew up in the First Baptist Temple, corner of Second and State
streets in Marshalltown, Iowa. I don't remember one word of any
sermon preached to me in that long-ago church building--that
majestic edifice filled with comfortable, worn oak and old
stained glass. During my childhood in that building now relegated
only to memories and faded snapshots, a succession of three
different pastors, unnumbered interims, and various visiting
evangelists held sway over my spiritual upbringing. To this day I
don't remember a word they said, but I do remember them.

Mom and Dad started me going to church while I was still cradled
in a woven basket. The smell of old wood and Sunday-go-to-meeting
clothes has papered my lungs since birth. While still young
enough to play with Dad's mechanical pencil (always carried
inside his suit coat) and be entertained by the string of paper
figures crafted by Auntie Norma's painted fingernails, I was
being influenced by the men behind the pulpit.

Not all were kind men, but all were men of God. All three were
great preachers, but only two were great pastors. As those men
and their ministry have passed into memory, it is not their
preaching I remember, but their pastoring.


Portraying Christ

The ability of a preacher to rouse the spirit and inform the mind
with brilliant oratory is a cherished gift from God. The value of
his or her ability to explain the word and ways of our heavenly
Father cannot be underestimated in the life and edification of
the church. We appreciate their practiced skill at holding our
attention while God's word is illuminated.

But a gift perhaps even more rare is that of the pastor. The two
gifts are not always equally combined in one man: One may be a
master behind the pulpit, but a miserable failure at the bedside;
likewise, one may be filled with compassion and empathy for
parishioners, but do a poor job of preaching the word. God does
not always give both gifts to one man.

I don't remember the stunning orations, the brilliantly crafted,
three-point sermons. I don't remember the logic and persuasive
arguments used to draw me to the Lord. What I remember are the
men: their kindness; their behavior, both at church socials in
the basement and on the street; their willingness to counsel a
troubled and confused teenager; their steady and dependable
presence at times of sickness and death; and, most of all, the
simple example of their life.

The sermons were important, to be sure. But my moment of
salvation came about because of many influences on a young life.
It came, first, as the result of living with Godly parents who
loved me and had dedicated their lives to raising me into the
image of the Son. It came because of Sunday morning devotions
after breakfast, and shining shoes on Saturday night with my dad.
My salvation came about as the result of sitting around patient
teachers in Sunday School, with their picture Bibles and
flannelgraph stories, from standing next to Dad's
pitch-shattering, yet earnest singing of hymns, as well as
listening to the more ear-pleasing sounds from Mom singing in the
choir, and all of us singing the "Doxology" over heaped offering
plates.

All these influences came together to fashion a life--a new
life--in Christ, but the pastor seemed to be the point at which
they all came together. In that holy, reverent setting of
dark-stained wood and old smells, the pastor brought together in
an orderly fashion all the pieces of evidence that, when in
place, smoothed the way for the supernatural touch of the Holy
Spirit.

The pastor's life holds the evidence for life in Christ. It
portrays Christ to a cynical and doubting world. It proves the
veracity and practicality of God's word. It speaks with an
eloquence lacking in even the most gifted orator.

Prescribe and teach these things. Let no one look down on
your youthfulness, but rather in speech, conduct, love, faith
and purity, show yourself an example of those who believe.
Until I come, give attention to the public reading of
Scripture, to exhortation and teaching. Do not neglect the
spiritual gift within you, which was bestowed on you through
prophetic utterance with the laying on of hands by the
presbytery. Take pains with these things; be absorbed in
them, so that your progress will be evident to all. Pay close
attention to yourself and to your teaching; persevere in
these things, for as you do this you will ensure salvation
both for yourself and for those who hear you.
1 Timothy 4:11-16

May God bless every pastor.

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Copyright 2010, David S. Lampel. All rights reserved.
Reflections: #0461
Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture is from the
New American Standard Bible (Updated Edition).
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