"WHISTLING AT SNAKES" by Horace Sims
SECTION ONE: AT LARGE
Columns originally published in The Baptist Courier, 1996-1999
Part B
Orange Chair
I bought my son a student desk when he entered junior high school. I picked up a desk chair at the flea market. It was a swivel chair with chrome legs and a bright orange seat and back.
My wife didn’t like it to start with. She said the color was tacky. I soon found it in the garage with a lot of other junk. I took it back to the flea market, but he would not take it back. He said he could not resell that color. That’s not what he said when he sold it to me.
Well, my wife put it in a yard sale for $5. After the sale, the chair was back in the garage. At the next yard sale, it was priced for $3. Back to the garage it went. And at the last yard sale, the chair was offered as a bargain for $1.
This time, my wife refused to put it back in the garage. She sat the chair at the end of the driveway by the trash cart. She even placed a bag of trash in it so the trash collectors would be sure to see it.
I watched as the trash truck came. They emptied the cart and took the bag from the chair. They looked at the chair and drove off without it.
We sat the chair beside the street, with a sign taped to it which read, “Free chair.” This morning, I took the orange chair to the Salvation Army. They took my chair away.
That old chair reminds me of the sins we let get into our lives. And, try as best we can, we cannot get rid of them. That is, until we come to the Savior, who takes away all our sins and sets us free.
Duet with a Bird
A young minister can find a lot of help from some of our retired ministers. These men have already done what the young ministers are facing for the first time.
I remember the first time I was asked to conduct a graveside service. I had never done this, so I called a retired minister friend for advice. I told him I had also been asked to sing at the graveside. He said he could not help me with the song. But he did give me some pointers for the service.
I followed his pointers, and that part of the service went fine. I had decided to sing just before the closing prayer.
The song had to be a cappella, since there was no way to get a musical instrument to the graveside. I had been asked to sing the beautiful hymn, “How Great Thou Art.”
When I sang the words, and feel the gentle breeze, a cold wind blew through the tent. I could see the people shudder in the cold wind.
When I sang the words, and hear the bird sing gently in the trees, a little bird came out of a bush right at my shoulder and began to sing along with me. It was the first time I had ever sung with a bird.
A minister friend sitting with the family said that if anything else had happened, he was going to go to his car.
“You would have had to be right behind me,” I replied.
Wedding Mistakes
Preachers are called on to do a lot of tough jobs. One of those tough jobs for me is officiating at weddings. It is one of those times when no one wants anything to go wrong, especially the bride’s mother.
There was the time the soloist was to be the signal for the groom and me to make our entrance. The organist played and played. The ushers and bridesmaids took their places. The bride and her father started down the aisle. The groom and I hurried to meet them at the altar. The soloist had forgotten to sing. People said they had never seen a wedding like that. I hadn’t either.
And there was the wedding I sweated out. Just before time to take the groom out, my office phone rang. A lady said she had put a bomb in the altar flowers. I was sure it was a hoax and went on with the wedding. If there had been one popping sound, I would have been the first one out the door.
Well, then I was conducting a wedding in another church. The candles were high above us on the platform. The pipe organ was at full throttle. The vibration of the organ caused one of the candles to fall. It swished right by my ear and slid down my robe. I fully expected to burst into flames.
I had ragged one of my friends about one of his slips at a wedding. He told me that my day would come. Payday came at my own son’s wedding. I said to his lovely bride, “You may now put the fing on his ringer.”
Mama hasn’t forgotten. My friend feels justified. My son has begun to speak to me again. His lovely bride just laughs.
Stolen Robe
I suppose all churches have experienced some form of vandalism. We have had our share. Thieves have broken in and stolen cameras, a microphone, Cokes from the church kitchen and two pennies. The pennies were in two rice bowls on my desk.
The one big theft was that of my baptismal robe. My baptismal outfit was the gift of one of the couples in my church. I have always enjoyed using it.
Well, a city policeman came by my study one morning with my baptismal robe. He said the robe had been found in one of the streets of our community. Someone had told him that they thought it belonged to me. He said he was sure the thief was already in custody.
It was a cold, wintry night the night before. The thief had broken into the church seeking a warm place to spend the night. He sat on the pulpit platform and drank a bottle of cheap whiskey. He left the bottle behind.
Feeling the warmth of the bottled spirit, he suddenly felt called to preach. He found my baptismal robe in a closet and put it on. He then felt led to go into the community and preach to his friends.
Along the way, he gave up preaching as a bad idea. He discarded my robe in the street and fled. He was soon arrested by the police for public drunkenness.
He was brought to trial for theft and disorderly conduct. The police held my robe for evidence. At the trial, the judge asked if the robe had been identified. The officer stated that it had.
He said, “The robe belongs to the Rev. Horace Sims of Abney Memorial Baptist Church.”
“Is Rev. Sims’ name in the robe?” asked the judge.
“No, sir,” replied the officer.
The judge then asked how the robe had been identified. The officer held the robe up before the entire courtroom and said, “Your honor, you see the size of the robe, and I think you know Rev. Sims.”
“I accept that as sufficient evidence,” the judge said. With that, the thief got three years in jail.
I’ve always thought that this poor, cold, drunk thief got himself in trouble because he was not man enough to fill the robe.
Ball-Ball
Have you ever thought about church without children? They are the spice that adds life to a church. It is a poor church that does not have children. They rustle the bulletin, cry, talk, laugh, and move back and forth on the pew. These are the noises of life.
My favorite time in the worship hour is the children’s sermon. They come down the aisle with wide-open eyes. They are full of excitement and expectation. They will answer questions and enter right in the discussion.
After one children’s sermon, I started back up on the platform. One little boy tugged at my coattail. I stepped back down on the floor and asked what he wanted. “Pray for my dog,” he said.
“What’s wrong with your dog?” I asked.
“He has ticks,” he replied.
I told him we would pray for his dog.
“Right now,” he demanded.
So, I prayed for a dog with ticks right then.
Our new neighbors had moved to town from one of the northern states. Their little girl was about a year old when they arrived. She was a little afraid of me. She would not let me hold her. However, she made friends with my son immediately. He would walk around the yard with her in his arms.
He would rub the top of my head and say “ball-ball.” It wasn’t long before she was repeating his words. In fact, the whole family called me “Ball-Ball.”
The family made a visit to church. They sat right in the middle. The music began. The choir took its place. The music director and I took our places on the platform. Just as the music stopped, a small voice was heard from the middle of the congregation. “It’s Ball-Ball.”
And so the title stuck.
An Unscheduled Visit
“The pastor is coming to visit,” Mama would say. She would then put us to work cleaning the house and the yards. The pastor ate Sunday lunch at our house once every year. He usually made a return visit to check on the spiritual condition of the family. There was always coffee and pound cake.
On one occasion, the pastor and one of the deacons made an unscheduled visit to our home. We were in the back yard, playing baseball with a ball of twine and a broom handle. My sister hit Daddy with the ball of twine. He began to chase her around the house with the broom handle in his hand. As they came to the front yard, there stood the pastor and the deacon on the front porch.
It took a lot of talking to convince Daddy that he could go to church again.
While in my first pastorate, I stopped by a home for an unscheduled visit. It was raining, so I went to the carport door to get out of the rain. I drew my fist back to knock on the door. Just as I came forward, the man of the house opened the door. I almost hit him on the end of the nose.
He jumped backward and said, “Good Lord, preacher, you scared the devil out of me.” I felt a strong sense of satisfaction. My mission had been accomplished.
Small Town Politics
Small town politics can be amusing. They can also pit family member against family member and church member against church member.
One of our town’s personalities was always running for the office of governor. His speeches were exciting. He said, “My worthy opponent promises free textbooks for our school children. If I’m elected, I’ll see that they get four and maybe five textbooks.”
He also promised to get rid of detours. He pronounced them “daytours.” He said, “When a man is on business, he don’t have time to take a tour through the countryside.”
You could always tell when it was election time. All of the politicians would show up at church. They would stand out front and welcome everybody as they arrived.
You knew who they were from all the posters nailed to the power poles.
Now, my dad had one of the longest memberships in my home church. His dad was one of the early deacons who signed the note with the bank to build the original building. Dad was baptized when he was nine years old. When Dad died, he had been a member of the church more than 70 years.
It was during one of these election times when our family was entering the church. As we approached the front door, one of the candidates for town mayor shook Daddy’s hand and said, “We sure are glad to have you and your fine family visiting with us today.”
Daddy thanked him as we went inside.
Once inside, Daddy said, “He’s crazy if he thinks I’m going to vote for him. I’ve been here all my life.”
Good Clear Language
Children don’t always understand adult figures of speech. They have a tendency to take things literally. They just don’t understand what we mean.
I sent my son to clean his room. He played more than he cleaned. I said to him, “Come on, boy, shake a leg.” My wife looked into his room and began to laugh. He was standing at the foot of his bed, shaking his left leg as hard as he could.
I came into the house, soaking wet from a sudden rain. I said, “Boy, it’s raining cats and dogs out there.” My daughter climbed up on the sofa and looked out the window. “I don’t see any cats and dogs in our yard,” she said.
When my son was young, he went to spend the weekend with some friends. Of course, he went to church with them. The preacher used some very colorful words to describe what he was talking about. When he returned home, my son said the preacher had seen cars with gods on the back of them.
I asked him if he had seen any cars with gods on the back of them. He said no. He had ridden to church with someone else and they did not see any gods. I asked him if he had seen any cars towing motor boats. He said he had. I told him those were the gods the preacher had seen.
There is nothing like good clear language.
Kegs and Barrels
My wife came to the door just as I was taking my latest treasure out of the trunk of the car.
“What is that?” she asked.
“A wooden nail keg,” I replied.
“And what are you going to do with a wooden nail keg?”
“Every man needs a wooden nail keg.”
When I came into the house, I told her the story of my first nail keg. My great uncle gave me a keg when I was nine years old. I thought it was the best gift I had ever gotten. I wouldn’t let anybody play with my keg.
It finally came apart. I tied two of the staves to my feet and pretended to ski. Daddy nailed one of the hoops to the chinaberry tree for a basketball goal. I later sanded two of the staves and put confederate soldier decals on them and hung them in my bedroom as plaques.
My wife said, “I hope you are not planning to do anything like that with this keg.” I told her I was going to put some of my walking canes in it and sit it in the corner of the den.
“Wrong,” she said.
I reminded her of our visit to Carl Sandburg’s house in Flat Rock, North Carolina. There was a wooden nail keg full of walking canes sitting right by the grand piano in the living room. Without changing her expression, she looked me face to face and said, “You are no Carl Sandburg.” So my nail keg is in the garage and my canes are in a ceramic churn.
Well, the other day my daughter met a pastor friend with a truck load of trash. In the truck was a large wooden barrel. She asked him what he was going to do with the barrel. “Take it to the dump,” he replied. She told him she sure would love to have it. He took it to her house and sat it right at the end of the drive.
When her husband came home, he asked what she had that big wooden barrel for. “Every woman needs a wooden barrel,” she said.
Now that’s a girl after her daddy’s own heart.
Chapel Speaker
I was a young, inexperienced pastor at my first small church. Not many important invitations come to young, inexperienced pastors. However, I received what I thought to be a very challenging invitation. The invitation came from the chaplain at the Baptist Hospital. He wanted me to speak on the closed circuit, televised chapel program. The service could be seen on every television in the hospital.
The big day came. I made sure my only suit was well pressed and my shoes shined. My wife trimmed my hair so that I would look neat. I went to the study to put the finishing touches on my message. I had no doubt that this would be one of the most important messages I had ever delivered.
I left the study in time to drive to the hospital. Just as the study door closed and locked, I remembered my car keys were still lying on the desk. Our building was constructed of cement blocks. The doors and door frames were made of steel. I beat on the door. I ran into the door and almost dislocated a shoulder. The door would not give.
I decided to go outside and try one of the study windows. Just as I got outside, a cloudburst came. The church door had locked behind me. The study windows were also locked.
Panic began to set in. I knew that I was going to miss my big chance to do something important. In desperation, I took a small rock and pecked a hole in the window glass just behind the lock. With a small stick, I pushed the lock open. I climbed over the window sill and got my keys from the desk. As I passed the men’s restroom, I saw myself in the mirror. My soaking wet suit was covered in white paint from the collar of my coat to the cuff of my pants.
I rushed home to change clothes. I put on whatever I had that was dry. Nothing matched. I looked like a clown. I made a mad dash for the hospital. I arrived at the chapel 15 seconds before the service was to begin. The chaplain asked, “Where have you been?”
I replied, “You really don’t want to know.”
With that, I stood before the television camera and delivered the most important seven-minute sermon in my young career.
Locked In
Our church has been burglarized many times. We have tried many ways to prevent this. We installed solid wooden doors. We replaced glass with shatterproof Plexiglas. We covered all windows with storm windows. We installed outdoor lighting that comes on at dark. We finally placed the best deadbolt locks on all the doors.
At last, we seemed to be successful. We made our building secure. In fact, we may have made it too secure. One member thinks this may be true.
One of the deacons had an early afternoon tee time at the Star Fort Country Club. It seems he brought his golfing clothes with him. He went into the men’s room after the service to change.
I walked down the hall and rapped on the men’s room door. “Lights out,” I yelled. When no one answered, I stuck my hand in the door and cut off the lights. I continued out the outside door and set the deadbolt.
The deacon groped in the darkness until he found the light switch. He rushed into the hall and yelled, “Wait on me.” No one heard him. We had not only locked the crooks out; we had locked a deacon in.
He went through the building until he found one small door without a deadbolt. He escaped just in time to hit the ball.
Bible Truth
How correct are the Bible stories you teach your children? I grew up wondering why Mama let us eat apples if they were so bad for Adam and Eve. I later found out that the Bible does not say they ate apples. The Bible states in Genesis 2:17 that they ate of “the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.”
Now, what about Daniel and the lion’s den? The lion’s den is the habitat of the lion. He may or may not be home. The Bible states in Daniel 6:16 that he was thrown into a “den of lions.” That’s a big difference. In a “den of lions,” the lions are at home, waiting for supper to be thrown in.
As a boy, I heard an old-time evangelist talk about the time God knocked Paul off his horse on the Damascus Road. However, Acts 9:4 states that “he fell to the earth.” This was in reaction to the bright light that shone about him. There is a difference in falling and being knocked down.
When asked to name four apostles, most will say, “Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.” These are the four gospels, but Mark was not an apostle. He was a fellow worker with the Apostle Peter.
I had the opportunity, with several other young preachers, to sit and talk with the great Methodist preacher Charles L. Allen. We were engaged in a lot of lighthearted talk. Dr. Allen looked at me and asked, “How many of each species of animals did Moses take on board the ark?” I said, “You are not going to catch me on that one. The Bible states in Genesis 6:19: ‘Of all flesh, two of every sort.’ The answer is two.”
Hey, wait a minute. Did he say “Moses”?
Junk Food
I sat by Mama’s bed at the health care facility. We talked about all the food she used to eat. She’s now at that point in her life where she will not eat.
I asked, “Did you ever eat possum?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“How about poke salad?” I asked.
She always liked both of them together.
I asked her about rabbit, squirrel, turtle and frog legs.
“That’s all good eating,” she replied.
Then I asked, “Did you ever eat coon?”
“Did I ever eat what?” she asked.
“Coon,” I said. “You know, when your brothers went coon hunting, did you eat any of the coon they brought back?”
“No, I never ate any junk like that,” she said.
I wondered about all that other stuff if coon was junk.
Poke salad is the young leaves from the pokeberry plant. The big leaves and the berries are poison.
A possum looks like a big rat to me. I read once that when you had prepared the possum to be baked, you should slip it into your neighbor’s oven because it stinks.
I have never eaten any of these delicacies. I eat beef, pork, fish and chicken. I’m not fond of rat-looking animals.
Well, the children in Sunday school were talking about their grandparents. They each took time to brag about what their grandparents owned. My son, not to be outdone, said, “My Nanny has two possums frozen in her freezer.”
When he told Mama what he had said, she said, “Well, I’ll never come back to your church again.”
Hungry Bum
The main job of the preacher is to proclaim the gospel. It is telling the old, old story of Jesus over and over again. The old, old story must be told as fresh as today’s news.
There are many ways this can be done. It can be done through music, drama, dialogue and monologue. I was introduced to the effective use of dramatic monologue by the Rev. Earl Vaughan.
I have written several monologues on Bible characters for my own use. I usually do these in full costume. I was once asked to come to one of our local schools and read the Christmas story to the students before they left for the Christmas break. I asked the principal if I could do a costumed monologue instead. I dressed as one of the shepherds and told the story of Jesus’ birth. After my program, the principal asked the students the name of the character who had spoken to them. Several Bible names were given. One little boy said, “It wasn’t any of them, it was Preacher Sims.”
One of my favorite monologues is one about Christmas on a mill village in 1930. It was written by C.M. Bissell of Saxon Mill in 1930. I dress the part of a mill hand of that period. I have presented this monologue many places.
One invitation for this monologue was to do it at the banquet the night before the Foreign Mission Board commissioning service at Clemson University. I was told I could change into my costume in the football locker room. I was then to wait in the hall to be introduced.
Now, this hall was the same one that the catering service had parked all of the food trays and cabinets in. A waiter came out to get a tray of food and saw me standing there in my costume. He thought I was a bum from the street. Another young man came out and placed himself between me and the carts. I asked him if he would get me a glass of tea. He said, “No, you are not even supposed to be in here.”
I assured him I was a minister who was going to do a monologue. He replied, “Oh, yeah.” I opened my old mill hand’s lunch box and showed him my script and my name tag. He asked, “Do you want sweetened or unsweetened tea?”
I don’t really guess I should have been surprised to find the football locker room locked when I went back to change into my dress clothes.
I Like Ministerial Students
I like ministerial students. There is something exciting about students who have grasped great truths for the first time. Their enthusiasm is catching.
Ministerial students know the value of studying church history. They read Augustine, Luther, Calvin and Zwingli. They find inspiration as they meet these great men through their writings.
These students study Baptist history also. They know the importance of our history. Test your skills as you ask them about Keach, Bunyan, Gill, Fuller or Carey.
Ministerial students have the fire of evangelism in them. They know that Jesus Christ is the answer to the world’s problems and they want to let the whole world know. They have not given up on lost souls being saved.
Ministerial students love to preach. They are usually good preachers. They still realize their sermons must be bathed in prayer. They may not be polished speakers, but they can be powerful in their messages.
Ministerial students pray. Their prayers are sincere and fervent. They have not gotten beyond dependence on prayer. They are not so self-assured that they feel they can go it alone.
So study and pray and preach, young man. Don’t be hindered in your conquest for the Lord by us older fellows who have grown cynical and cold from battles fought and lost.
Hot Tomatoes
Senior citizens are a fun group to be around. The majority of them are still excited about life.
Senior citizens are divided into three groups. The first group is the No-Go group. They are the ones who always stay at home. The second group is the Will-Go group. They will go if you come and get them. The third group is the Go-Go group. They are standing at the door, with their bags packed, waiting for the next bus.
I have spoken to many senior groups across the state. They love a good story and will give a hearty laugh. It is also a good place to get a good home-cooked meal.
I was invited to speak at a congregate meal site in Greenville. My mother and dad ate there each day. I think that probably had something to do with the invitation. My director of missions went with me. We planned to visit another association meeting that evening.
Now, the people who eat at these sites are not supposed to bring any food with them. But they don’t seem to know that. After the trays were passed out, the ladies got plates of biscuits, jars of jam and pickles.
One little lady had a jar of pickled tomatoes. She offered me one. Now, that is not one of my favorite things, but I was the guest, so I took one. I sliced the tomato in half and popped one half into my mouth.
I had never put anything that hot in my mouth before. My director of missions said I turned pale, and my eyes set. He thought I was having a stroke or something. I felt like I was on fire from my mouth to the bottom of my feet. I gulped down several cups of cold tea in an attempt to get relief.
The little lady asked, “Are those hot?”
“Hot is not the word,” I replied.
“Well, I took the peppers out before I brought them,” she said.
I think I shall be eternally grateful that she did not bring the peppers to that lunch.
Christmas Tree Rodeo
Well, it’s time to decorate the church for Christmas. The ladies always do a good job of getting the sanctuary ready for the season.
Red poinsettias are placed on the pulpit platform and in each window. They are also placed in the vestibule. The communion table is covered with the advent wreath. Different groups light the advent candles each week until all are lit.
A beautiful crismon tree stands just to the right of the platform. The ladies hand-made all of the crismons for the tree. It is always a live tree and fills the sanctuary with a sweet smell.
Our first tree was quite an experience. It was a big tree. It completely dwarfed the truck that brought it to the church. It took several men to bring it into the church. A stand had been constructed by the men to place the tree in. Everything was ready. It was time to stand the tree upright in the new stand.
It was so large that it needed to be counterbalanced from the top. A rope was secured to the top of the tree. Mary, a lady in the church, and I were given the task of pulling the rope to help the tree stand upright.
The tree slowly rose to a standing position. The men were guiding the bottom end of the trunk into the stand. At that moment, the tree bucked out of the stand and began to fall across the sanctuary. Mary and I were holding on to the top rope.
The tree fell across the sanctuary, almost hitting the lights. Mary and I held on for dear life. We rode the tree across the sanctuary like two rodeo riders. There are a lot of things I had rather do than ride a cedar tree bareback across a church sanctuary.
Each year since, I have been busy when it’s time to raise the crismon tree in the church.
I Like Preachers
I like preachers. I have always liked preachers. My boyhood pastor was my idol. I liked the way he preached. I liked his gestures while preaching. I liked him because he liked young people.
Preachers are different. They are under a call from God. They must always be ready to speak a word for the Lord. They must always be ready to pray. They are never off work. They are on call 24 hours a day.
Preachers are a lot like magicians. They must take the gospel story and weave it into a sermon that will reach young and old alike.
They can see a sermon rejected and trampled on, and yet build a new one for next Sunday.
Preachers who are really great are humble. They do what they do for the glory of God, not for themselves. They can see someone else get credit for what they have done and join the praise themselves.
Preachers have large emotional reserves. They cry with those who cry and laugh with those who laugh. They mourn with those who hurt and celebrate with those who rejoice. And they have to change from one emotion to the other with the snap of a finger.
Preachers appreciate hearing “That was a good sermon, preacher” from one of the deacons.
And they appreciate the little lady who says, “Thank you for your prayer, pastor.”
And they are filled with joy when they feel the tug at their trousers leg and look down into the face of a smiling child who says, “Hey, p’eecher, I love you.”
Signs of the Times
Signs offer a lot of interesting reading. A sign at a car lot near my church reads, “Good, clean cars. We finance. No credit check. 24-hour wrecker service.” I believe if you buy one of these cars, you will need the wrecker service.
While visiting a hospital, I saw this sign: “Pediatric floor. No children allowed.” I guess if a child once gets off this floor, he can’t come back.
There was this sign on the gate to a motel swimming pool: “Pool open 24 hours a day. No swimming at any other time.” I suppose this was for people who liked to swim after hours.
In 1982, a banner across the front of the Spartanburg Auditorium welcomed the South Carolina Baptist Convention. Below, another banner announced a coming attraction. The two banners read, “South Carolina Baptist Convention, Ain’t Misbehaving.”
A few years earlier, the marquee on the Greenville Auditorium was in the process of being changed from the wrestling matches to the convention. It read, “South Carolina Baptist Convention, Return Grudge Match.”
Each year our convention has a theme banner. This year it is “Strengthening Churches for Kingdom Growth.”
That’s a lot better than a return grudge match.
My Resolutions
A resolution is a course of action determined to be seen through to completion. If not seen through to the end, it is worthless. Most New Year’s resolutions are worthless.
I have made some resolutions that I can see through to completion.
I resolve not to smoke, chew tobacco, or dip snuff. I never have and I don’t plan to start now.
I resolve not to go on a diet. I certainly can keep that one.
I resolve not to eat rice pudding. I made that resolution in the second grade and have kept it ever since.
What good are these resolutions? There is no challenge in them. I don’t do those things anyhow. It doesn’t take any determination to keep these resolutions.
The Apostle Paul offered us a four-part resolution in Hebrews 10:19-25. It is written in perfect parliamentary style. He offers three “whereas” statements and then the four-part resolution. He resolves to draw near to God, to hold fast to the hope we profess, to encourage one another to love and good deeds, and not to fail to meet together.
Each of these will take a lot of determination, but the rewards for doing so will be tremendous.
The Way I Am
“What makes you the way you are?” someone asked me the other day. “You seem to be able to laugh with ease,” he said.
“Well, I grew up so poor you either laughed or cried,” I replied.
Since laughter is easier than crying, I chose to laugh. I guess I also learned to laugh in the school of hard knocks.
I walked about three miles to grammar school each day. One day, a friend’s dad gave me a ride in his pickup truck. As we rounded a curve, the door flew open and I fell out. I rolled down the side of the road, hitting my head on several rocks. I got back into the truck, laughing so my friend would not see me crying.
Well, walking home from high school, I stumbled over a rock and fell head first into a rock wall that surrounded a neighbor’s front yard. I knocked a hole in my head.
Now, my dad was a great inventor. He made most of our toys. We had things that could not be bought in the store. Somewhere Dad came across a large spring. He tied one end of it to a limb on the chinaberry tree. He hung another piece of rope from the other end of the spring. He tied it around a broomstick at about two feet from the ground. You could stand on the broomstick, hold onto the rope, and bounce up and down.
I was taking a good ride on this contraption when the rope around the tree limb broke. The spring hit me on top of my head. I woke up in my uncle’s Model A on the way to the doctor and his needle. My crying soon gave way to laughter.
Proverbs 17:22 reads, “A merry heart does good like a medicine.” It may be that a merry heart can even make an old sorehead laugh.
The Glowing Crucifix
There is something about the darkness that is both exciting and foreboding. I like to sit by the ocean and watch the sun set and the moon rise. The moon shining over the ocean is a beautiful sight.
But I don’t like to be by the ocean on a real dark night. There is a feeling of danger there without the moon and the stars. The pounding of the waves is an uneasy sound in the dark. I guess I just like to be able to see in the dark.
When I was a boy, I spent a lot of time at my aunt’s home in the country. They did not have street lights like we did in the city. It was really dark at night there when the moon did not shine.
One night, my cousin asked me to spend the night at her house. I wasn’t used to having a bedroom all to myself. My brothers and I shared a bedroom at home.
After the lights were turned out, I saw a figure glowing in the dark. Trying hard to breathe, I found the light switch and turned on the light. There was nothing there. I repeated this several times. I finally realized the glow was coming from a crucifix on the wall. I kept my eye on it the rest of the night.
As the years have gone by, I have thought a lot about the message of that glowing crucifix. It lets me know that no matter how dark the journey of life may be, Jesus is always there to light the way.
A Stopping Place
How long should a sermon be? I suppose that would have to be answered by the preacher and the listener.
The preacher wants to be sure he has said it all. The listener says, “You have said enough.”
Those who teach preaching among Southern Baptists have suggested that a sermon be made of three points. A poem could be added to the end for special effect.
One of the best British preachers always used seven points. He usually quoted a couple of poems or hymns also. His sermons were expositional.
During one of the interim periods at our church, the preacher had been preaching for about 45 minutes.
One of the ladies said, “That was a long sermon today, preacher.”
He replied, “I couldn’t find a stopping place.”
“You didn’t ask me. I could have shown you at least three good places,” she said.
One Sunday, I guess I had passed a good stopping place. I gave an emphasis to the sermon by asking, “Are you ready to go?” I meant, are you ready to stand before God.
One little fellow stood up on the pew and said very plainly, “I’m ready to go home!”
I thought that was a very good idea. So we stood, had prayer and went home. We had found a stopping place for my sermon.
My Nativity Set
It was a cold and windy day as we drove the winding road from Jerusalem to Bethlehem. A light snow was falling as we arrived in the little village.
We quickly walked across the courtyard to the Church of the Nativity. We entered the church by crawling through a very small door. Our guide led us down a staircase to a cave below the church. Here, in this grotto, we were told, was the birthplace of Jesus. The church had been built over the site some centuries later.
God had chosen to enter human history in this little village of common people. It was a village of simple shepherds. God came to a people who lived with faith in the promise of a coming Messiah. God always comes to those who live by simple faith.
As we left Bethlehem, we stopped at an olivewood shop. The craftsmen here made gifts out of the wood of the ancient olive trees. I purchased a beautiful nativity set made completely out of olivewood. The shopkeeper put it in a large, purple box and tied it with twine.
He asked me what I was going to do with the nativity set when I got home. I told him I would use it as part of my Christmas decorations. “Why only at Christmas?” he asked. “Does it not mean anything the rest of the year?”
I took my nativity set back to my hotel in Jerusalem. I had been told that it would fold to fit in my suitcase. But the wood was glued together and could not be folded.
The only way to get my nativity set home was to carry it in the big, purple box tied with twine. I could not check the box as luggage. The box would not fit in the overhead luggage rack on the plane.
So, I flew from Tel-Aviv to Athens, Greece, with the purple box in my lap. I flew from Athens to New York to Atlanta to Greenville-Spartanburg with the purple box in my lap.
All the way home, I thought of the shopkeeper’s question: “Why only at Christmas?” God’s gift of salvation is a life-changing gift for all of eternity.
Have a very meaningful Christmas as you celebrate the unspeakable gift that God has given you.
In the Name of Progress
The definition of the word “progress” is “to develop to a higher, better, or more advanced stage.” Sometimes you wonder if everything that is called progress really fits this description.
I remember when a church that had a piano and an organ was a progressive church. It took someone with a lot of talent to play these instruments. Now, in the name of progress, we play tapes for our music.
I remember when my pastor preached that the Bible was literally true. He preached that hell was a real place of eternal punishment and that heaven was the home of the redeemed.
Now, in the name of theological progress, we are told some of the Bible is true, and some of the Bible is myth and legend. One progressive preacher said hell was simply the loss of self-esteem.
When I was a boy, Mama would wash the clothes in a tin tub on the wash bench in the back yard. After she finished with the clothes, we boys would strip off and take a bath right out there in the yard. We later got an indoor tub where we could take our baths in private.
Now, my neighbor has put his tub out on his deck. He gets in it right there before the whole community, and, in the name of progress, he calls it a spa.
Just Pondering
To ponder means “to weigh mentally.” It also means “to meditate on” or “to consider carefully.” Some things take a lot of pondering. You should practice that ancient art from time to time.
In the past few weeks, I have had time to ponder some of the issues of life. These may not have been great issues, but I pondered them anyhow.
I pondered why my hair grows thicker on the left side of my head than on the right. My hairstylist brought this to my attention. I don’t think it really means I am a half-wit.
I pondered why my right foot is larger than my left. My left shoe slips on while the right one requires a shoe horn. I guess the large right foot offsets the weight of the thicker hair on the left side of my head.
I like to ponder nature also. Why doesn’t the quack of a duck have an echo? A duck can stand on the mountain all day quacking, but never an echo. And ponder this: Would thunder sound the same if there were no one to hear it?
A little theological pondering is needed also. When Peter saw the sheet let down from heaven, was it full, queen or king-size? Was it flat, or fitted?
I seem to be getting a headache from all of this pondering. It could be that the college advertisement is right: “A mind is a terrible thing to waste.”
Getting Things Right
Getting things right is important. After all these years, I still have to rely on the Sunday bulletin to get the order of worship right. It seems that I always get something out of place or just forget something.
A music minister friend of mine had some of this kind of trouble. Their morning service was broadcast live over radio. Now, there is no room for mistakes on a live broadcast.
The choir came out for the call to worship. The pianist began to play a hymn while the organist began to play a different hymn. The choir was singing yet a third hymn. Much to my friend’s embarrassment, he stopped the music and got everybody on the same song. They finally got it right.
I had been inviting a friend to church for some time. I never really expected him to come. He said, “I’m going to show up some Sunday and surprise you.”
Well, one Sunday I was singing a solo when my friend came into the vestibule, smiled and waved at me. I forgot the words to the song I was singing. I couldn’t even hear the piano.
Years later, I noticed in the newspaper that my friend had died. The obituary said he was a member of a Baptist church. It reported that he was the teacher of the men’s Bible class. I had messed up the song, but … I guess I got it right after all.
Hospital Thrill Ride
I don’t like thrill rides at carnivals or amusement parks. They seem to send my stomach spinning in a disturbing way.
You can get a thrill ride outside the amusement parks. They can take place in what may seem like an ordinary daily activity.
I was being moved from test room to test room on a flat cart. I was lying flat on my back, covered with a white sheet. I’m sure that I looked like a Sherman tank coming down the crowded hallway.
Two young men were in charge of my cart. We left the second floor by elevator to go to the fifth floor. When the elevator opened, one of the young men said, “What are we doing in the basement?”
The other young man said, “Sorry about that, sir.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “I would not have seen the basement any other way.”
They returned me to the fifth floor. When we rolled off the elevator this time, we rammed a cart parked in front of the nurses station.
“How long have you boys had your drivers’ licenses?” I inquired.
“Are you a highway patrolman?” one of them asked.
“No, I’m a Baptist preacher,” I replied.
“That’s just as bad,” he said.
With that, they delivered me to my room and helped me get into my bed.
“We hope everything goes well with you,” one of them said as they left the room.
“Take care of the cart!” I exclaimed.
Hit It
It was a clear, hot day. We planned a trip to the Baptist Book Store in Greenville. We ate lunch at a fast-food restaurant before we left. We really did that to keep the children from saying “I’m hungry” all the way there.
As we left the restaurant, I waited for a chance to get into the traffic. When the break came, my son, who had just gotten his driver’s license, leaned over the seat and said, “Hit it.” Just to let him know I wasn’t too old to know what that meant, I stepped down hard on the accelerator.
The car jumped and then backfired. It began to skip and knock. Black smoke boiled from the exhaust pipe. I tried to get it to settle down, but it got worse. We would have to have a mechanic to check it out.
Our mechanic was about four miles away. We knocked, skipped and smoked all the way there. Just before we got there, the tail pipe and muffler came apart and began dragging the road.
The mechanic asked what had happened. “I hit it,” I said with my head down.
“I believe you knocked it out,” he replied. The car would not be ready until the next day. The trip to the Baptist Book Store was off.
Since we lived five blocks away, we decided to walk home. It was at least 100 degrees. Several church members passed by and honked. They thought we were walking for our health.
One lady stopped to offer us a ride. She had a very small car. We could not all fit into it. I told my wife and children to go home and come back and get me. My son came back to pick me up in his old Jeep. I crawled into it and he started off with a jerk.
“That’s what I meant when I said, ‘Hit it’,” he said. I took one good look at him and thought to myself, if he says “hit it” one more time, I’m going to hit something—but it’s not going to be the car.
Passing Through the Doughnut Hole
The last few weeks have been exhausting for me.
I have been x-rayed from head to foot. I have become a fixture in the scan department.
A CAT scan is a big machine that looks like a giant, sugar-coated Krispy Kreme doughnut. Your body lies on a small, steel table while it passes back and forth through the middle of the doughnut.
Now, I had at least a foot overhang on each side of that little table. My arms had to be held in an unnatural position to keep from having them jerked out of their sockets.
After spending hours in this contraption, I thought of a way to make it more bearable. It should be labeled in giant, green letters which read, “Fresh-baked doughnuts.”
Can’t you imagine the joy of passing back and forth through a giant, jelly-filled doughnut?
While I was lying on this table, the room filled with medical personnel. They began to attach different pieces of equipment to me.
It seemed I was going into surgery right there on the CAT scan table.
A doctor walked up with an eight-inch-long needle in his hand and asked, “Have I explained to you how I do a biopsy?”
I took a good look at the needle and just don’t remember a lot after that.
My Beliefs
We live in a day when we are all expected to have a creed or a confession of faith.
We use these creeds to judge our fellowship with each other.
So, let me tell you some things I believe.
I believe that we must love everybody. The Bible says, “For God so loved the world.” This is an all-inclusive love. No one can be left out.
I believe that we must have compassion on everybody. The Bible says when Jesus saw the multitude, he was moved with compassion on them. The church that puts any program ahead of compassion is a failure.
I believe we must meet the physical, as well as the spiritual, needs of the world. Jesus said when we feed the hungry, clothe the naked, give water to the thirsty, visit the sick and those in prison, we have done it unto him.
I believe we must preach the gospel of salvation to all the world. Jesus said we were to go into all the world. We are to win, teach and baptize.
I believe in prayer. Paul said we ought to pray all the time. The only real Christian is one who believes in prayer and practices it.
And I believe we ought to laugh. The Bible says the one who sits in the heavens shall laugh.
So, judge me by what I believe, if you wish.
I believe our faith is seen in more than our words.
Just Talking … Forever and a Day
However you say it—tempus fugit, tide and time wait for no man, time’s a wastin’—they all mean the same thing: Time flies.
We are at the changing of the year. We are almost at the changing of a century. Ready or not, here it comes. The year 1998 is gone and, with it, all its hopes and dreams.
It has been said, “We grow too soon old and too slow smart.” How did I get here so fast? It seems like only yesterday I was a barefoot boy in City View. And now I am almost three-score years old with a wife, two married children, and three precious grandchildren.
Once along this journey, due to a series of near-fatal heart attacks, I arrived at the gate to eternal life, but the good Lord sent me back. Now, having been diagnosed with inoperable kidney cancer which has spread to the lungs, I am on that journey toward the gate again.
The big question is, “Would I have done anything differently?”
The answer is yes. I would have prayed more. I would have spent more time with my children. I would have walked in the fields with my Lord and talked as old friends. I might have even gone fishing and maybe tried hunting.
God has been good to me. He gave me a wonderful, supportive family. He let me spend 28 years already at the sweetest church in South Carolina. He even allowed me to meet and know Baptist people all across this state and beyond.
Do I have one wish left? I would love to sit in a quiet corner with my loving wife, sipping coffee and just talking … forever and a day.
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