I saw him in the church building for the first time on
Wednesday. He was in
his mid-70's, with thinning silver hair and a neat brown suit.
Many times in the past I had invited him to come to church.
Several other
Christian friends had talked to him about the Lord and had tried
to share
the good news with him.
He was a well-respected, honest man with so many characteristics
a Christian
should have, but he had never accepted Christ, nor entered the
doors of the
church.
"Have you ever been to a church service in your life?" I had
asked him a few
years ago. We had just finished a pleasant day of visiting and
talking.
He hesitated. Then with a bitter smile he told me of his
childhood
experience some fifty years ago.
He was one of many children in a large impoverished family. His
parents had
struggled to provide food, with little left for housing and
clothing. When
he was about ten, some neighbors invited him to worship with
them. The
Sunday School class had been very exciting!
He had never heard such songs and stories before! He had never
heard anyone
read from the Bible! After class was over, the teacher took him
aside and
said, "Son, please don't come again dressed as you are now. We
want to look
our best when we come into God's house."
He stood in his ragged, unpatched overalls. Then looking at his
dirty bare
feet, he answered softly, "No, ma'am, I won't-ever."
"And I never did," he said, abruptly ending our conversation.
There must have been other factors to have hardened him so, but
this
experience formed a significant part of the bitterness in his
heart. I'm
sure that Sunday School teacher meant well. But did she really
understand
the love of Christ? Had she studied and accepted the teachings
found in the
second chapter of James?
What if she had put her arms around the dirty, ragged little boy
and said,
"Son, I am so glad you are here, and I hope you will come back
every chance
you get to hear more about Jesus."
I reflected on the awesome responsibility a teacher or pastor or
a parent
has to welcome little ones in His name. How far-reaching her
influence was!
I prayed that I might be ever open to the tenderness of a
child's heart, and
that I might never fail to see beyond the appearance and
behavior of a child
to the eternal possibilities within.
Yes, I saw him in the church house for the first time on
Wednesday. As I
looked at that immaculately dressed old gentleman lying in his
casket, I
thought of the little boy of long ago. I could almost hear him
say, "No,
ma'am, I won't-ever."
And I wept.