The high-pitched comment from the five- or six-year-old girl was so unexpected that Christopher burst into laughter, followed by all the rest of us.
“Sally, you are exactly right!” Christopher said. “You’ve been paying attention better than anyone! I’m going to talk about that very thing this morning.”
Christopher waited for the laughter to gradually die down, his along with everyone else’s. Then he returned to his sermon.
“The second area,” he said, “which I will discuss next week, is this: What is the nature of faith? Once we know who God is, what does it mean to believe in him, to have faith in him?
“And the third area will concern itself with the question, What is God’s purpose in our lives? When we know God and have faith in him, then what does God want to accomplish with us? What is the work he wants to do within your heart and mine?
“When I say the words, I, Christopher Braxton, am a Christian, what I mean is based upon my answers to these three questions: Who is God? What is faith? What is God’s purpose in my life? I hope our discussion of them will help you clarify what you mean when you say that you are a Christian.”
Christopher paused and took a breath.
“All right,” he said with a smile, “any questions so far?”
He paused and waited.
“Sally’s shown she’s not afraid to speak up. How about the rest of you?”
But no one said anything. The congregation just took the opportunity to shuffle themselves about again in their seats.
“Well then, let’s begin, shall we?” Christopher went on. “This morning let us look at the first of these three questions: Who is God?
“I said at the beginning that I want to try to explain to you what I believe. At the very core of my faith, I believe that the central truth in all the universe is simply this: God is our good and loving Father.
“Now, we know that God is love. We have been taught and have heard those words all our lives. But what else is he?
“He is our Father.
“If there is one thing I will undoubtedly speak to you over and over about it is this one foundational fact of existence—God’s Fatherhood.
“So I would answer the question, Who is God? by saying that he is our eternal heavenly Father, our loving Creator.
“Discovering this personal loving Fatherhood within each of our own hearts is the mountaintop of Christianity. There is nothing else the Christian faith is about. By his own admission, this was the reason Jesus came, the reason he taught, the reason he shed his blood—to show us what the Father is like and how to live as sons and daughters of the Father and how to enter into his presence. Jesus came to take our hands and lead us on an upward quest into the high mountains of faith where Fatherhood dwells.
“You see, God is love can remain a little abstract for us, mainly because the words are so familiar. Even the word God is a high and abstract word. But father . . . there is a down-to-earth word that is anything but abstract.
“Now, as I explained to you last week, coming into this realization that God is a good and loving Father was extremely difficult for me. These things I say about God’s goodness are no mere platitudes, but truths I have had to fight and struggle to make my own. That is why I now believe them with such passion. For the majority of my life, as I told you, the word father conveyed anything but goodness. I equated the word with tyrant.
“Now I know otherwise. Now I know that it is the tenderest and most loving word in all the world. And this is exactly what we must discover about Fatherhood, whatever has been our response to the word father in the past.
“God is not merely our Father in the abstract, as I said, but in very practical and personal ways. We are to be his children. We are to look up to him and call him Father—the most intimate and personal and warm address that the human tongue can whisper.
“Do you want to know this Father who is more father to you than you yet have any idea? Do you want to learn how to look up and call him Father?
“It takes spending time with him. Call it prayer, call it dialogue—I wish you all could have heard old Alkali Jones talk to God, simply, just like he talked to any of us. Call this sort of conversation anything you wish. I call it just this—talking to him, developing my relationship with my Father just like a growing child does with his parents, talking things over, telling him my struggles and frustrations, sharing with him my doubts and confusions. Who better to tell than my Father? As I told you last week, just learning to say the word was difficult for me at first. It is no different than a child learning to say mama or papa. It takes practice. We must learn to address God in this father-child intimacy.”
Christopher paused, then a smile spread over his face.
“Sally,” he said, “would you come up here please?”
The dark-headed little girl who had spoken earlier was obviously surprised to hear her name called in the middle of the sermon. Her boldness turned to bashfulness, and now she tried to melt into her seat. Her mother leaned over and whispered to her, urging her to go on up and stand by Christopher. Slowly she stood and walked forward. When she got up beside Christopher, she turned around, saw the congregation, and giggled. Everybody else started to laugh a little too.
Christopher got down on one knee beside the little girl and put his arm around her.
“Sally,” he said, “where’s your daddy?”
She looked at him with a puzzled expression.
“Where is he, Sally?” he repeated.
“You can see him,” she said finally, “—he’s right there!” She pointed as she spoke, then started to laugh.
The whole church was enjoying this!
“Bill,” said Christopher, glancing in the direction of Sally’s finger, “would you come up here and get your daughter?”
The bearded young man looked over at his wife, then smiled, stood, and walked forward. He reached out his arms, and little Sally ran forward and grabbed on to him. Her father clutched her and picked her up in his arms.
“Folks,” said Christopher, motioning toward them, “this young girl now feels safe in her father’s embrace. And this is exactly the Father-child intimacy I am speaking of when I say this is what God desires with each one of us.
“Thank you, Bill—and thank you too, Sally,” he added. “You may sit down again.”
As they returned to their seats, most eyes followed them, and not many missed the smile on Sally’s face as she climbed into her daddy’s lap.
Christopher took a couple of breaths and waited a few seconds to allow the mood to grow thoughtful once more.
“If I am to know the Father,” he went on at length, “I need to spend just as much time listening to him as I do talking to him. That’s how to get to know him. That’s how we acquaint ourselves with what kind of Father he is . . . by listening to hear his still small voice as it speaks to our minds and hearts.
“Teaching you how to call him Father, as I myself will all my life long be learning more and more intimately to call him Father, taking hands, you and me, as we make this pilgrimage together up the mountain—such will be the purpose of my ministry among you. If you have no interest in becoming sons and daughters to a God who wants us to call him Father, then I fear we will not be able to do much spiritual business together. Because to this and no other purpose is my life dedicated.
“Now along with the fact that God is our Father, I believe that there are certain attributes which define his character. The foundational of these are love, goodness, and trustworthiness. None of these will sound new or radical in your ears. I am sure you are all very familiar with these words.
“However, we do not customarily go very far in truly believing these things about God. Most of us, if we admit it, are afraid of God, afraid of his punishment, afraid of his anger. Furthermore, we don’t trust him when things go wrong in our lives, and we question his goodness when difficulties arise.
“Why? Because we have not deeply considered what it means that the Father is, in fact, co
mpletely loving, completely good, and completely trustworthy.
“This, then, will be another aspect toward which I will attempt continually to point—that there are no circumstances in which God is not fully loving, fully good, and fully to be trusted.
“It may sound at the outset as though this will not be so taxing a truth upon the intellect. But believe me, before we are through considering the implications of the words I have just spoken, you will find many of your previous notions about God shaken to their very depths.
“When your crops fail, when the gold in your mine runs out, when your cattle all take sick and mysteriously die, when illness comes to your family and children, when a loved one is taken from you in death, when your wife dies in childbirth . . . what will you then look for from your minister? If at such times you want only dour-faced condolences, then do not look to this pulpit for them.
“I will sympathize in your grief. I will pray with you. I will offer what comfort I am able. I offered myself earlier as a man willing to be employed as a laborer in your community to put bread on my table. I will go ever further. If you cannot afford to hire my time but have work for me to do, I beg you to give me the opportunity to work for and beside you with my own hands without pay in order to put bread on your table. Truly I will seek to be your servant. But through all adversity, no matter how severe, I will always remind you that God’s goodness reigns supreme. After praying with you in your loss, therefore, I will make you look up into the face of your Father, and say to him, ‘Thank you, Father, that you are good . . . that you love me . . . and that I may trust you!’
“The natural human tendency is just the opposite. The first one upon whom we usually vent the anger of our weakness is God himself. He to whom we should immediately run in the midst of our trouble is the one we instead blame for our circumstances.
“What small-minded creatures we are. Curse God and die is the cry of unbelief in the midst of adversity. Yet there may come times when you will want to curse me, your pastor, for continually saying, ‘God is good and we may trust him in all things.’ We would often rather wallow in our sorrows than stand up, cast our eyes toward heaven, and thank him for being a good, loving, and trustworthy Father.
“It is not easy to believe such truths in the anguish of bitter heartache and disappointment. But believe them we must if we are to grow into intimacy with him. Believe them we must if we are to become his mature sons and daughters.
“I said last week that I did not subscribe to the theory of let the buyer beware. Perhaps I should emphasize that I do believe, in our present circumstances, in the theory of let the congregation beware! Perhaps my former parishioners were correct in labeling me a radical. I am a radical believer in God’s goodness, and if you will be uncomfortable with your minister reminding you of it every week, then you will do well to beware!”
Slight laughter filtered around the room.
Everyone knew Christopher was being serious, but they appreciated his sense of humor at the same time, and his ability to point the finger at himself too.
“Well,” he said, “I am also a believer in sermons that go no longer than the point of usefulness. They should be short enough to be digested and acted upon, not so long they will be ignored and forgotten. Therefore, I think I have covered all I intended today.
“Shall we pray . . .”
When he was through, everyone rose, not quite able to believe the service was already over.
It was still fifteen minutes before noon!
Chapter 22
Leaving the Rock by the Side of the Road
The people filed out of the church, shaking Christopher’s and my hands and saying all the kinds of things people say to pastors at the doors of churches. But an older man named Mr. Henry stood a few seconds in front of us after he’d shaken Christopher’s hand.
“Say, I got some work fer ye, Reverend,” he said, a little hesitantly. “Ain’t much, maybe a couple days’ worth—I’m digging me a new trench from my stream over toward the house. I wouldn’t mind paying ye a fair wage to help me. This old back o’ mine ain’t what it used t’ be.”
“I’d be very appreciative, Mr. Henry,” said Christopher enthusiastically. “When would you like me to start?”
“How ’bout tomorrow mornin’?”
“Couldn’t be better,” replied Christopher. “I’ll see you over at your place bright and early.”
Mr. Henry hadn’t lived in Miracle Springs more than about a year. He had no wife or family and lived alone in a small place a couple of miles from town where he raised some cows and bulls. He was kind of a crusty man who kept mostly to himself, the kind of fellow little children might be afraid of. I imagined him to be fifty or fifty-five, and I didn’t really know anything about him. In fact, I’m sorry to say, I’d hardly noticed him before.
Christopher went to his place the following morning and they worked all day together with shovels and picks on Mr. Henry’s water line. A little before noon, Christopher told me later, Mr. Henry got real quiet for a while. They’d been talking quite a bit as they worked, and then all of a sudden Mr. Henry didn’t say a word. They kept right on whacking away at the dirt and shoveling it out of the trench, but after a while Christopher started to get worried that maybe he’d said something to offend the older man. Before too much longer, though, he realized the reason for the man’s silence.
“I ain’t hardly been able to sleep a wink since yer last two sermons, Reverend,” said Mr. Henry all at once as he tossed a shovelful of dirt aside. “I reckon I might as well just tell ye ’bout it, though it ain’t the kind o’ thing I ever talked about to nobody afore.”
“I would be happy if you would tell me about it, Mr. Henry,” said Christopher. “I promise, whatever it is, nothing you say will make me think any less of you.”
“I don’t reckon I’m too worried about that. It’s just the kind o’ thing that’s hard fer a man to say, if ye know what I mean.”
“I think I do.”
“Well, the long an’ the short o’ what I’m tryin’ t’ git at is just this—my pa was as mean a cuss as I reckon there is, mean through and through.”
As he spoke, Mr. Henry sat down on the ground, feet hanging over the edge of the trench, still holding his shovel but expending all his energy at the moment in thought.
“I don’t mind tellin’ ye,” he went on, “when I was a kid I hated him. I know it ain’t right, but I couldn’t help it. So when I was listenin’ to what them kin o’ yers done to ye, Braxton, I knew jist what ye was talking about, ’cause my pa done worse. I thought about it all week since that story ye told ’bout when you was a kid an’ how that blamed grandma an’ aunt o’ yers wouldn’t give ye no lunch. Made me right mad, I gotta tell ye. Made me feel the same sort o’ way I do when I think about my pa and what he done.”
“Is your father still living, Mr. Henry?” asked Christopher, still shoveling out some loose dirt a few yards away.
“No, he’s been gone fer years now. But like I said, as I was listening to ye yesterday, when ye was talking ’bout God being a father too and how we gotta not let our own past stand in the way o’ being able to git ourselves right with God, something dawned on me that I never thought of afore.”
“What was that?”
“Just this—that my pa’s dead and gone and he lived his life good or bad, and God’s gonna do with him what he wants, in the good place or the bad place. Ain’t nothing I can do ’bout none o’ that. That’s all God’s affair—ain’t I right?”
“I would agree.”
“The only person I can do something about is me, ain’t that so?”
“That’s right, Mr. Henry.”
“An’ I don’t want the good Lord to say to me when he meets me at them pearly gates, ‘Why did ye keep hanging on to all that hate so long when yer life could have been so much happier if ye’d just let go of it?’ Ye think that’s the kind o’ thing the Lord’ll say to us when we see him after we’re dead?”
&
nbsp; “I don’t know, Mr. Henry. But I do certainly think it’s the kind of thing he says to us now.”
“So ye think it mighta been him sayin’ it to me?”
“I’m sure it was.”
“I reckon that’s a pretty amazing thing when you stop t’ think of it, that the good Lord’d say something to an’ old nobody like me. And when I thought o’ him asking me that question, Braxton, I got a picture in my mind o’ me walking around all my life lugging a great big old rock that weighs half a ton.”
He glanced over toward Christopher, then spoke again.
“That’s kinda like what hate’s like, would ye say?” he said.
Christopher nodded.
“And that’s what I’m doing. But I don’t have to, do I? I can let the blamed thing go and let it sit there by the side of the road and then I can keep going my own way.”
“I like your analogy, Mr. Henry.”
“Well, yer a minister, and I don’t know what an analogy is. All I know is that maybe if it was the Lord putting that picture in my head, it’s likely high time I got rid of this rock o’ hate that’s been weighing me down. And that’s what I wanted to ask ye, Braxton, if you’d tell me what t’ do.”
“You mean about letting go of the rock?”
“Yep. I figure you said you done it—you let go o’ yer rocks—so maybe you could help me git rid o’ this one o’ mine.”
“Nothing could make me happier, Mr. Henry.”
“All right then, tell me what I gotta do.”
“Well, the first thing I would say is to forgive your father.”
“How can I do that when he was such a mean cuss? Ain’t no way around it. Forgiving him’s not gonna make it go away, or make him different than he was or make it so he didn’t do what he done.”
“You’re right. Forgiving him’s not going to change a thing about what happened. All it means is that you’ve decided not to hold it against him anymore.”
“How’s that?”
“You see, when someone hurts you, nothing you do can change the fact of what they did. But you have a choice whether to hold it against them or not. If you hang on to it, then that anger remains inside you. But if you don’t, then you just let it go and don’t worry about what they did. That’s your choice and doesn’t really have anything to do with what the other person did at all.”
A New Beginning Page 11
