Giving Thanks for My Home Church

Giving Thanks for My Home Church

 Home church. 

That’s where I traveled this past weekend.  When you read those words, I bet you made a mental journey to somewhere special, too.  What is it that makes that church where you grew up, or where you first came to know Christ, such a happy holy place to return to in person or in memory? Let me tell you a few of the reasons why my home church is so precious to me. 

My home church, the East Park Baptist Church, is the only church my family attended together.  That white stucco building on the little side street of Ebaugh Avenue is the place where my father and mother, sister, brother and I shared the same Sundays, enjoyed or endured the same sermons, were touched by the same solo, and laughed at the same funny things that inevitably happen when a group of people work hard to be reverent.  Sometimes all five of us were involved in the same church event; a Lenten drama, a Christmas musical, a mission project.  When I moved my church membership to the first place I served on staff, the five of us were never at the same church again.  But we did, in our home church, create a treasury of memories we enjoy to this day. 

My home church is where I learned, through flesh and blood examples, what loving Jesus and living for Jesus means. I think of A.G. Vaughn, who wasn’t related to us (he spelled his last name with only one “a”), but who sat with me on the ride side front pew every Sunday for months so my parents could sing in the choir.   I remember the sisters, Sarah and Annie Beth, who never had children of their own, but taught three generations of our family in Sunday School.  I think of Lowell Sweat whose willingness to invest in the lives of rowdy boys to shape them into Christian young men led him to work with us in Bible study, Training Union, and Royal Ambassadors at the same time.  Jack Fulmer, our bivocational music minister, never had a part-time devotion to his ministry and taught me more music theory than I learned in any private lesson or band or orchestra in which I played.  Among the great pastors who served that church while I was there, I best remember Harry Floyd who called me down for running in the church building, counseled me when I professed my faith, baptized me as a believer, prayed for me in the hospital, served on my ordination council, and gave me part of his pastoral library when I was called to my first church.  Even today, my first pastoral reflex is to do what Harry Floyd did. 

Perhaps the greatest gift my home church has given me is encouragement.  East Park believed that young people could become Christian leaders.  On youth Sunday, practically every lesson was taught by a youth.  Every leadership role in worship was filled by a student who had been coached by a member of the staff.  Before I left my home church, I had led prayer in worship, taken up the offering, led congregational singing, shared a solo, and made my first clumsy attempts at preaching.  I wasn’t Billy Graham, but they couldn’t have praised my efforts any more if I had been.  My home church invited me to explore, discover and develop my ministry gifts.  What wonderful Christian people!

Due to some overwhelming building needs, my home church will close the doors of its present location at the end of June to merge with another Baptist church.  The work will go on and so will the influence of that holy place and those loving people upon my life and the lives of countless others.  I'm so thankful to call East Park my home church.  

By His Authority, You Are Free

Corrie ten Boom was a Dutch woman sent to the German concentration camp of Ravensbruck because her family harbored Jews in a secret room of their home which they called The Hiding Place. There, in that concentration camp where more than ninety-six thousand women lost their lives, Corrie lived for more than a year, suffering unspeakable abuse at the hands of her oppressors.  Her greatest pain, the death of beloved sister, Betsie. One morning, soon after Betsie’s death, Corrie stood outside in the freezing cold for yet another roll call. Her Nazi captors were very careful to make sure that no one had escaped that place of death during the night.  As she stood in the ranks of the condemned, a voice rang out over the loudspeaker, Ten Boom, Cornelia!  She had been known as a number for so long that she almost didn’t recognize her name. After a moment of shock, she stepped forward.  The guard ordered her to follow. As she walked behind the guard, she wondered why she was being singled out. She wondered if someone had reported the Bible she had smuggled into the camp. When she arrived in the administration barracks, she lined up behind several other women in front of an officer behind a large desk.  As she waited, she saw the officer stamp a piece of paper and hand it to the prisoner saying, Entlassen!  Released.  Corrie could hardly believe her ears. But when her time came to stand before the officer, he again filled out papers, stamped it with the seal of his authority and said, Entlassen!  You are released. 

Release was not easy.  Corrie had to spend several days in the camp infirmary to heal wounds she had received.  Outside the camp food was scarce and transportation was difficult.  But, in the end, clinging to that paper sealed by the authority of the one who could release her from her prison, she made it home--alive and free. 

Why was Corrie ten Boom released?  She later learned that a clerical error put her on the list of those to be set free, only a week before every woman her age at Ravensbruck was put to death.  But in another sense, she was set free because she heard someone call her name, she stepped out and followed, and believed the authority of the one who declared her Entlassen, released.  

Today, you may find yourself in the death camp of sin and separation from God.  You may be imprisoned by the lie that your sins are too terrible for God to forgive, chained to a life sentence of paying off your guilt, or haunted by the question of whether God really loves you. 

Listen. 

Someone is calling your name. 

He wants you to step out of the ranks of the dying, the condemned, and follow Him. 

He wants you to follow in faith to the foot of a cross where He, by the authority God has given Him, wants to make a mark upon your life, to place His seal upon your heart, to declare---It is finished. 

Release, though real, will not be easy.  Some wounds must heal.   Some days you will hunger.  Sometimes you will not know how you will go a step further.  But the promise of Jesus Christ, the One who died that you might live, is this: in the end, clinging to the seal of His saving love upon your life, you will make it home--forever alive, forever free.  

God Does His Greatest Work in Frightening Costly Places

Ken was one of my closest high school friends.  We played ball together, played brass music together and generally enjoyed life’s journey together.  Ken grew up in the Salvation Army Church.  Soon after high school graduation, Ken entered training to become a Salvation Army Officer, a minister in that church.  He served for about fifteen years before a sudden illness struck him and ended his life at a young age.  When I spoke to Ken’s family, I learned what he had been doing with his life.  Ken served in the inner city, where gangs ruled the streets, drugs were rampant, and many young men were gunned down or went to prison before having a chance to live their lives.  Ken made it his ministry to save some of these young men.  He knocked on doors, went to meetings and asked people of means in that city to give money to get young men in decent schools and give them a chance to succeed.  Ken marched into the offices of Ross Perot, boldly asked for support and got it. 

          When Ken died, most of his pall bearers were young men he had rescued from the streets.  Two of them were playing in the NFL; one, Kenyon Martin, in the NBA.  Martin told Ken’s family, “I feel as though I’ve lost my own father.” Margot Perot, Ross’s wife, attended the service to honor this very stubborn beggar.  Ken spent his brief but beautiful life doing what Jesus did-- in his Jerusalem.  The journey was frightening.  The work was costly.  But there, my friend saw God do amazing things.

Jesus is still leading His people to Jerusalem, the places where service is frightening and costly, but where God does His greatest work.  

Remembering My Uncle Jack

Each of us will remember and give thanks for Jack Hester is his or her own unique way: husband, father, father-in-law, grandfather, great-grandfather, pastor, mentor, broadcaster, evangelist, neighbor, encourager, friend.  For me, this man is Uncle Jack, my mother’s baby brother.  Let me tell you how I’ll remember him and why I’ll always thank God for his life. 

Jack was our family chaplain.  I believe this is the first family funeral I’ve attended at which Jack didn’t minister.  His parents.  All but one of his six brothers and sisters.  Nieces.  In-laws.  We called upon him in times of deep need and he faithfully brought the comfort of his presence and a word of hope from God.  He taught us to be there for each other and, in the storms of life to stand upon the rock of our faith in Jesus. 

My Uncle Jack was also our family instigator.  When our family got together, Jack was always the ring master.  He always had some kind of foolishness going on to lighten our spirits and fill the room with laughter.  He enjoyed seeing other people enjoy their time together and he had a gift for helping that happen. 

Jack was our family instigator in another way I’ll always cherish.  He challenged us to make memories while we were together.  He would draft some combination of his sisters to recreate the Hester Sisters’ Trio, to sing one of the songs of the faith as they did so often for their father, Rev. W.R. Hester, Sr. during his ministry.  I have sweet memories of hearing my mom and aunts lifting a song in three-part harmony with Aunt Shirley accompanying them on the piano. 

My cousin Joy faced significant health challenges her entire life.  She was one the world might overlook.  But time and time again, Jack would call her to the front of the family and give her confidence to share her beautiful song and her beautiful spirit with all of us.  Jack never let us go through the motions of being together without celebrating and sharing what matters most.  We need to shoulder that mantle and make Godly memories when we are blessed to be together. 

Jack was a natural entertainer.  When you spotted him in a group of people, they were always smiling and probably laughing.  I remember hearing of him going to McDonalds with a group of his minister friends.  Jack wore a pair of very dark glasses and, claiming he could not see, asked the employee at the counter to read the entire menu to him to help him make a selection for lunch.  After he finished his meal, Jack, still wearing his glasses, took the wheel of the car, drove through the drive through and thanked the staff for their good service. 

When I was on one of my first dates as a teenager, my date and I happened to run into my Uncle Jack.  I introduced him as the minister in our family and thought this would make my stock go up with my date.  Jack looked at us and said, "Remember that puppy love leads to a dog's life."  I didn't marry that woman, if you were wondering. 

When he served Nine Forks Baptist Church a few years ago, Jack heard that one of his members had worked for hours pruning some fruit trees on his property.  That night, Jack slipped

into that member’s yard, took the pruned branches off the pile at the road, and stuck them back on the trees, weaving them into the remaining branches. 

And I can’t count the times I heard him tease my Aunt Shirley by telling a group he had found the perfect place to hide her Christmas presents, the oven in the kitchen. And you always took it as a good sport, Aunt Shirley. 

I don’t know anyone who needs to be reminded that life is hard.  I know many people who need to be reminded that life is good, that we were created to enjoy life’s journey, and that a good laugh, as one wise person said, is a first cousin to a prayer.  My Uncle Jack was a minister of joy who lifted the spirits of countless people and reminded us all that life is wonderful because God is wonderful.  He brought to life the words of Paul when he wrote,

(Philemon 1:7) Your love has given me great joy and encouragement, because you, brother, have refreshed the hearts of the saints.

Jack was a visionary.  He saw the power of media to share the gospel with many people and in new ways.  Many of you remember his daily radio broadcast, “The Gospel Dynamite Hour.”  One of the great joys of my first years in ministry was when Uncle Jack invited me to fill in for him on the radio for a few days. 

In an inspired act of creative genius, Jack saw a way to tell the story of Christ’s return as though it were actually happening through the recordings he directed, “The Rapture” and “The Tribulation.”  How many churches and Sunday School classes and families listened to those dramatic portrayals and thought about their faith and their future.  Jack knew that the God who created everything wants us to do His work creatively too. 

Jack was a pastor to thousands of people in several churches.  Grace and Cannon Memorial and Powdersville First and Nine Forks and many other places he served in one way or another.  Jack was a shepherd to his people, a friend to his fellow Christian, an example to the flock. 

But if you asked me to sum up the essence of my Uncle Jack’s life, who he was in the marrow of his bones, I would say this. 

Jack was an evangelist.  He lived to tell the good news of salvation through faith in Jesus Christ.  I heard him say so many times, “Some people may not understand why I get a little bit excited.”  We understood, Uncle Jack.  The focus of your ministry, the purpose of your life, your greatest joy was leading people to Christ. 

The Bible says so clearly that our human minds can’t begin to grasp heaven, so our frail words always fall far short.  But in my imagination, I see Jack being led through heaven by the Lord Jesus.  And at a certain place in that journey, they pass through a great multitude of people.  And Jack realizes that these saints, these citizens of heaven are not only looking at Jesus with joy, they are looking at him with smiles on their faces and joy in their eyes.  And Jack, never slow to speak up, might ask his Savior, “Lord Jesus, I know why these dear people are looking at you in worship and wonder, but why are they looking at me with such smiles?” 

And I hear our Lord saying, “Because Jack, my child, my servant, they know that they would not be here if not for you.” 

God bless you, Uncle Jack.

Welcome home.

You go with our blessing, our admiration and our love.  

You Will Love Others as You Love Yourself

When Linda and I were first married and living at Southeastern Seminary, my brother, Barry, came for a visit.  Our little duplex was next to the tennis courts, so we had the idea to find a fourth and play doubles.  Our friend, Mike, was happy to join Barry to take on Linda and me in a little friendly competition. 

You need to know that, at this stage of my life, I had never used the words “friendly” and “competition” in the same sentence, especially when my brother was involved.  I put a great deal of pressure on myself to win, criticized myself mercilessly for every mistake and, generally, suffered through the match, which we lost. 

That was not the true tragedy of the match.  The worst thing about that day was that I was as tough on Linda as I was on myself.  The same high-pressure, “Why can’t you do it right?” “The value of my life depends on how well we hit this little fuzzy ball across the net” things I said to myself, I said out loud to her.  I hurt her feelings.  I ruined what could have been a fun time.  In fact, I had a nightmare in which I heard an emergency room doctor ask Linda, “Mrs. Vaughan, before I remove that tennis racket from your husband’s body, can you tell me how it got there?”

What I saw so clearly and painfully that day was that the cruel way I treated myself in competitive situations set the tone for how I treated others.  I began to realize a great truth. 

I will love others as I love myself; as much or as little, as graciously or as critically, as affirming or as condemning as the way I relate to myself.  So will you.  If you don’t love yourself, you won’t love others very well either.  

Love God With All You Are

Tomorrow will mark a year since my mom left this life to go home.  In the last few years of her life, my mom’s memory, especially her ability to recall new things, got very weak.  So, more and more, we found ourselves talking about old times and very good times. One of the subjects she enjoyed most was recalling her service as director of several dramas presented at our home church.  She talked the most about the church’s presentation of Earnest Emurian’s “The Last Supper.”  My Mom, with the persuasiveness of a salesman and the persistence of General Patton, enlisted sixteen men from our small church to play a part, to dress up in a costume, wear a beard, by growth or glue, wear knee-high hose so their white feet wouldn't shine, and, each in his turn, recite a page-long monologue as one of Jesus’ disciples.  Here is her finished product. 

          What Mom remembered and cherished most about that experience was the difference that brief time on stage made in the lives of those men.  Several of them had been part-time long-time pew fillers, present in worship but doing little else in the church.  But, she said, with great joy and satisfaction,

“When we got them to play a part in that drama, they never went back to the back pew.  They became leaders and servants.  They became the heart of our church.”

          If I dare paraphrase my Mom, the director, when these men experienced the joy of loving God with more of themselves, putting more of their hearts and souls and minds and strength to work in God’s service, they never again wanted to offer God the minimum payment.  They loved God with more and more of who they were and tasted the truly abundant Christian life.  So can we.  

My Christmas Copernican Revolution

My Christmas Copernican Revolution

“What did I get?”

That’s the question on every child’s mind as he or she awakens on Christmas morning and races to the Christmas tree.  That journey of Christmas morning discovery is joyful, exciting and memorable.  I was looking through some old family pictures and saw picture after picture of my sister, brother and me on Christmas morning in front of the tree, surrounded by Santa loot.  Judging from the looks on our faces, we had found a pretty satisfying answer to the “What did I get?” question. 

“What did I get?” was pretty much the meaning of Christmas for me during those early years of my life.  Yes, I knew the story of the birth of Jesus and could tell it in great detail and with deep personal meaning, but honestly I was more excited about what I would get for Jesus’ birthday. 

My attitude changed one Christmas morning.  I don’t know if I had grown up enough to see things differently or if a new thought just popped into my mind.  On that Christmas morning, my attention momentarily shifted away from taking inventory of my Christmas treasure and I noticed my father sitting across the room watching his three children enjoying the big event.  What I noticed for the first time that Christmas was that Santa, as I understood how Christmas happened, hadn’t left much of anything for my dad.  He opened a gift from my mom, a painfully practical gift by my standards, but not much else.  This realization so gripped me that I spoke up, “Dad, you didn’t get very much for Christmas!” He smiled a knowing smile and answered, “I got everything I wanted.”  I didn’t understand his answer that day.  I didn’t understand how he seemed to enjoy watching me wade through my Christmas goodies as much as if he’d been given such a bounty himself.  But, on that Christmas morning the seeds were planted that led to a revolution in my young mind. 

I’ve heard folks say of self-centered people, “He needs a Copernican revolution!”  Copernicus discovered that our earth is not the center of the universe.  When that discovery is applied to people, it means that we all need to learn that we are not the center of the universe.  Not everything in life is about me. 

My Christmas Copernican revolution was the realization that my Dad measured his Christmas by a question that was the polar opposite of the one I innocently but childishly used.   He didn’t approach Christmas asking “What will I get?” but, instead, “What can I give?”  His Christmas joy came from giving joy to his family.  A few years ago, I wrote a song about my Dad, what I remember about him and learned from him.  Part of that song is based on the lesson I learned that Christmas.

Christmas morning magic;

That top of the wish list toy.

I didn’t notice there wasn’t much for you.

But you just wanted happiness for your daughter and your boys

And a chance to make our Christmas dreams come true. 

Dad came to Christmas asking, “What can I give?”  That attitude is much more harmonious with the meaning of the season.  Christmas happened because God looked upon this world, in need of hope and salvation and asked, “What can I give?”  He gave His best.  He gave His Son.  He gave to make our dreams come true. 

Many years later, writing this as a father and a grandfather, I fully understand how my father, without many gifts to open, got everything he wanted for Christmas.  He received the joy Jesus promised to those who know that the world is bigger than them and that giving, not getting, is the Christmas thing to do.