Monday, July 15, 2013
Pastorgraphs: “A Bum Breaks Up Church”
July 15, 2013
Pastorgraphs: “A Bum Breaks Up Church”
[Excerpts
from my book “The Kudzu That Ate Yazoo City”, 2004, Xulon Press]
Many of my childhood experiences
revolved around church and music. Not only did my parents want us to get a good
education, they wanted us to get a good sense of values. Don’t get me wrong, no
one is claiming moral perfection here. I’ve made enough mistakes for three
lifetimes; but at least I know they were mistakes.
My parents
did not subscribe to the notion of allowing us to grow up and choose which, if
any, religion we wanted to select, any more than allowing us to grow up before
deciding if we wanted to take baths, brush our teeth, go to school, do our
chores and finish our homework. Today, I realize that having a firm faith
foundation is about as important as anything a child can get. Too bad some
modern parents don’t see it that way. If parents are fearful of damaging their
children by giving them religion, just think how damaged they will be for not
having it. So church attendance, thank God, was not an option.
In order to
join the Assured Brethren Church, you first had to pass a physical just to
persevere through the schedule. Sunday school and morning worship was followed
by training and evening worship. It was not unusual for us to be in church six
hours or more each Sunday. I never understood why I was so tired after the
Sabbath day of rest. Then there were midweek prayer meetings, church outreach,
choir practice, mission groups, and weekday boys and girls clubs. Bobby David
Roberts, my best buddy who also attended Assured Brethren, once said, “Sunday
school starts at 9:00 a.m. Sunday, and gets out about…Tuesday.”
Assured
Brethren Church was located near the railroad tracks in Yazoo City.
Occasionally, we would have a hobo pass by along the railroad tracks, visible
through the open church windows. There was no air conditioning back then.
Watching the hobos provided momentary distraction from Rev. Goodbody’s sermon.
Once, we even had a hobo wait outside the church until services were over. He
asked for food. Food was never scarce at church, and the ladies located some
cold biscuits and jelly left over from the men’s breakfast that day. The hobo
gulped them down with a mayonnaise jar of water before setting off again on his
rambling journey. As long as the hobos kept their distance, and didn’t disturb
worship, we kept a peaceful coexistence with them.
On one
particularly bright Sunday, we arrived at church for our weekly infusion of
Bible study, singing, sermonizing, and fellowship. About halfway through the
sermon, we heard the church door open. At first, I thought it was my dog Topey,
the righteous wonder dog, coming in from making a necessary stop at the fire
hydrant outside the church. Then, I heard whispered voices. Boy, someone was
going to get a whipping when they got home, because one thing you never did is
talk during the sermon. I turned to see who had experienced this lapse in moral
turpitude. My eyes became as big as saucers. It was a hobo, a bum, who had the
audacity to come into our church.
Aunt Minnie
began fanning herself faster and faster with her Stricklin-King Funeral Home
fan as the bum worked his way up the aisle, stopping to ask a question to the
startled worshipers who had the misfortune of being seated next to the aisle.
“Wilburn! Do something, quickly! Wilburn!” she said. Rev. Goodbody tried to
continue the sermon, but realized he had lost the attention of everyone to the
stranger. The ushers composed themselves in time to grab the hobo and began
escorting him out of God’s house.
“The nerve
of some people!” one particular Assured member said out loud.
“Wait a
minute,” Rev. Goodbody said to the ushers. “Bring that man down here.”
The ushers
turned and walked the bum to the front of the church, right in front of the
pulpit. His clothes were relatively clean but very shabby. He looked like he
hadn’t shaved in two weeks. “Sir, in all my years in the ministry, I have never
seen such a display of rudeness,” the pastor said. “Don’t you know I can call
the Yazoo County sheriff and have you thrown in jail for disturbing a service
of public worship?”
“I don’t
mean no harm,” the hobo said apologetically, holding his tattered hat in his
hands. “It’s just that…” Rev. Goodbody interrupted, “Yes, we know, you just
wanted some food, but you couldn’t wait outside until we were finished. You had
to come in here and ruin our service.”
“No sir,
that ain’t why I come in here. I ‘et a good breakfast of bacon and coffee this
mornin’,” the hobo said, managing a small smile for the good fortune of a meal.
Rev.
Goodbody quickly responded, “Oh, so you want money. I should have guessed. We
just took up the offering, and you thought you were going to get a share of
it?”
“No sir,
that ain’t it neither. You see, I hain’t been feeling too good lately. I run
into a doctor man who looked me over and told me I have somethin’ pretty bad.
He said I don’t got much time left. I saw yore church sign, and read where it
said, ‘Looking for the Lord? Inquire within.’ So, I just thought I needed to
find the Lord, and that’s what I been asking your good members. Can anyone tell
me where to find the Lord?”
Silence,
followed by more deafening silence. Then tears, hot burning tears running down
the faces of everyone present. Then there came the shame for our quick judgment
of the man.
Rev.
Goodbody broke the silence. “Sir, I am sorry for misjudging you. I think I can
tell you where to find the Lord.” He stepped down from the pulpit; put his arm
around the poor man, and the two men talked in soft tones. I couldn’t
understand what they said, but Aunt Minnie began singing, and others joined in.
“Softly
and tenderly, Jesus is calling.
Calling
for you and for me.
See
on the portals, he’s waiting and watching.
Watching
for you and for me.
Come
home, Come home.
You,
who are weary, come home.
Softly
and tenderly, Jesus is calling.
Calling
for you and for me.”
(Softly
and Tenderly, by Will L. Thompson)
After Rev.
Goodbody and the hobo prayed quietly together, the Reverend said, “I think God
sent a different sermon this morning than the one I prepared.”
Over the
years, I have often recalled the day the bum broke up church. It needed
breaking up, and so did our stony, Assured hearts. Sometimes, I wish he would
show up at my church, and remind me and the whole congregation that pointing
people to the Lord is much more important than making it through the service
without interruption.
“Then the
righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or
thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and
invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or
in prison and go to visit you?’ The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth,
whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for
me.’” (Matthew 25:37-40)
(Epilog:
This really happened and was the best “Sunday school lesson” I ever received. It
changed the way I think worship, ministry and service should be connected, not
isolated from each other. It is a timeless message, and applies even more in
the United States in 2013. So let’s all get out there and give a cup of cold
water to a neighbor in need today. That hobo might just be the Lord in
disguise!)
Bless you,
all, Bill Jenkins
From the
Quote Garden:
“The greatest man in history was the
poorest.”
~ Ralph Waldo
Emerson ~
[Image
credit: Fotolia, royalty paid]
Christ United Methodist Ministry
Center
“Christ
in the Heart of San Diego”
3295
Meade Avenue - San Diego, CA 92116 - (619) 284-9205
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