On Wesley’s Journey to True faith

I’ve been reading again about John Wesley – 5 feet 3 inches tall, 126 pounds, Oxford University Greek instructor, failed missionary to the New World, and father of Methodism. I’ve decided he deserves more attention than his spiritual children sometimes give him.

From his early 20s onward he was a man of what appeared to be great piety. This stood out in contrast to the widespread godlessness of his generation. He organized his days around times of prayer; along with companions he served the sick and the poor; he attempted to manage his time as a spiritual trust; and he even made the perilous journey to America, as he reports in his journal, to work out his own salvation. However, on the latter point, even the piety did not conceal his lack of evangelical faith.

His passage from England to Georgia aboard the Simmonds revealed inner uncertainties about his salvation. Even though he and three traveling companions carried out with great diligence religious duties daily aboard ship — conducting worship, teaching the children, giving Christian counsel — his journal shows that several times during a series of bad storms he felt afraid to die.

He became aware of this by the example of 26 Moravians also on board. These were devout Christians from a community called Hernhuth in Germany. On one occasion they had just begun a service of worship aboard ship when a storm broke over the vessel. The 26 German Moravians continued singing while many of the 80 or so English passengers screamed in terror.

This fortitude in the presence of mortal danger did not escape John Wesley’s attention and he inquired of their leader: Were his people not afraid to die? He was assured they were not. Were the women and children not afraid, he asked further? Again, he was told they were not.

When the ship arrived at Savannah, Georgia, Wesley approached the Moravian pastor, a Mr. Spangenberg, and engaged him in conversation. He asked him if he would tell him what he found wrong in him — like an accountability partner. Here was a further hint not so much of deep humility as of self-preoccupation.

The pastor responded, “I must first ask you one or two questions. Have you the witness within yourself? Does the Spirit of God bear witness with your spirit, that you are a child of God?

Spangenberg noticed that Wesley, this Oxford-trained clergyman, seemed perplexed. So he asked further, “Do you know Jesus Christ?”

Wesley paused and then answered, “I know he is the Saviour of the world.” To which Spangenberg replied, “True. But do you know he has saved you?” Wesley responded, “I hope he has died to save me.” Moments later Wesley tried to make his answer more convincing but of that effort he writes in his journal, “I fear they were vain words.”

In spite of his great learning, his apparent piety, and his willingness to go abroad on Christian mission, something was missing. He lacked that assurance of salvation which the Moravians had and which Spangenberg knew was a key witness to a genuine faith.

Assurance was something Wesley could not talk himself into. Nor could his closest associates have convinced him. This inner assurance could not be reasoned or argued into existence. It was a certainty to be given by the Spirit of God to his own inner being – his own spirit — in response to sincere repentance plus the full trust of himself to the saving mercies of Jesus Christ (Romans 8:14).

That conversation with Pastor Spangenberg took place on February 7, 1736. Not until May 24, 1738 did John Wesley fully understand and completely surrender to the truth that salvation is by faith alone – the renunciation of one’s sins and the full transfer of one’s trust from oneself to Jesus Christ. And when he exercised that faith the Spirit gave him the inner witness of his salvation and his ministry took on a new spiritual quality, sanctioned by God’s power in unusual ways.

The Little White Church on Third Street – Part 5

(Not the actual church.)

(Fifth in a series of reflections on the church of my boyhood)

When I was a boy, the annual Sunday School picnic was a highlight of the summer. From the time its date was announced I lived in expectation.

On one occasion as the date approached, I prayed in my boyish way that it wouldn’t rain. I would have viewed a rained-out picnic a tragedy.

Sunday School picnics are probably not enthralling to today’s children like they were to my generation seventy-five years ago.

Today there is so much more to create excitement – swimming lessons, little league baseball, after-school activities, sports events, to say nothing of personal diversions like cell phones, DVDs, texting devices, and even television and the Internet.

Not that the thirties of the last century were devoid of excitement. It was only that options to stir the imagination were more limited. Where I lived, in Estevan, Saskatchewan, during the Great Depression and the “dirty thirties”our parents were truly in survival mode to “make ends meet” and in summer months we mostly had to generate our own excitement.

For example, during one period of my childhood we boys found discarded automobile tires a challenge. We rolled them through the back alleys of Estevan, pumping them to keep them upright, running bare-footed alongside them. We must have imagined them as some sort of magic mount.

Another summer the device of choice was a metal hoop approximately ten inches in diameter that we rolled along with a special stick. The stick was about three feet long and shaped like an inverted T. The top of the T was at the far end of the stick to keep the hoop upright and rolling.

So, back then the Sunday School picnic was exciting and added novelty and pleasure to the summer. It was one of the most important events of the season for us.

One summer the picnic was held at Woodlawn Park beside the Souris River. The Park was in a wide, shallow valley and was two miles straight south of Estevan. It had swings, and teeter-totters, and a place to swim. On the bank of the river — which I remember as little more than one hundred feet wide — there was a diving board and in the middle of the river a raft, easily reached by swimmers. On a hot afternoon swimmers bobbed and splashed like corks around this raft.

The river and the park, set in a large grove of trees, was exceptional for the Prairies, and made an appealing setting for a picnic. It was like the gathering of a large family there. Some were enticed to come who only seldom attended church .

There were games (like three-legged, and gunny sack races) and other contests to try the skills of all ages. And there was pick-up softball. This was for the older kids and young adults.

There were things to laugh at – like the grunting, sweating, red-faced contestants who gave their all in an attempt to win the tug-of-war. Or the girls who fell in a heap while attempting to hop to the goal line with legs confined in a gunny sack. Even sedentary onlookers cheered as racers, each balancing an egg delicately on the bowl of a tablespoon, headed past them for the finish line.

Despite the hard times of the 1930s the food was good though simple. And the open air and brisk activity awakened hearty appetites. The minister prayed and we then pitched in. At the end of the afternoon we had ice cream which almost by itself made the event memorable.

It still seems to me that a picnic can do something for the church community that more spiritual activities can’t. That’s not to disparage services like prayer meetings. Each has its place. But, looking back, I would say that an event such as a picnic makes its own contribution to church life. Many become involved. The people mingle and bond in the outdoors. And the joy of believers eating together in God’s great out-of-doors refreshes both body and soul.

Children and younger people especially get two distinct benefits. It is good for children to make vertical connections to those younger and older. For healthy social development children need more than pals and buddies their own age. They need social interaction with the middle aged, the parents of their friends, even their chums’ grandparents.

And children benefit from being recognized by name in an embracing community, even chatted with by people of all ages. This helps them to become comfortable with their place in community. They belong. What could contribute better than a church picnic to their healthy social development in a positively Christian setting?

Maybe picnics such as I went to wouldn’t work today. But plan one like I’ve described here, and I’ll be there! Just don’t ask me at this point in my life to take part in the tug-of-war!

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The Little White Church on Third Street – Part 4

(Not the actual church.)

(Fourth in a series of reflections on the church of my boyhood)

I’m aware that childhood recollections become distorted with the passing of time. In memory, hills become higher than they actually were, people taller, big black dogs scarier, and happy moments more enthralling with the advance of years.

At the same time, for all of us there were moments of childhood that were so riveting –- either for better or for worse –- that they seem to be reasonably trustworthy memories, however far into our past they take us. It’s with those two realities playing against each other that I recollect events centered around the little white church on Third Street in my home town of Estevan, Saskatchewan.

My memory of the ministers of that period is, I think, reasonably clear. I can name several of them without turning to any reference material. There were C.B. Garrett (whom I believe I remember when he was a district elder and visited Estevan), D.S. Wartman, a Rev. McGugan, a Rev. Benny Smith, and a Rev. Ansel Summers. Tenure of ministers back then was quite short.

When I was four or five, and as the congregation was leaving the Sunday morning service, I recall that at the door Rev. Garrett bent down to me, shook my hand and asked, “Donnie, do you love Jesus?” Who could forget that? The Wartmans were noted for their meticulous attire when in public — he always dressed in a black suit, a white starched shirt, a black tie, and well-shined black shoes; she in a black dress with a white collar. I’ve heard since that in those hard times suits got shiny from long wear. Even so, they kept their public attire impeccably neat and clean.

I remember Rev. McGugan (note the Irish name) for his unusual allusions when preaching. I recall his saying, “Some people are so low they could walk under a snake’s tail with a high-top hat on.” Or, “Some person could no more sing than a whipperwill could tune a banjo.” Why would that sort of thing lodge in a child’s mind? I have no recollection of what his sermons were about.

Rev. Ben Smith was from England which it seemed to me gave him special status. I was entering adolescence. His English accent made what he was saying seem important. As a boy, I remember only one thing he said. It was said in humor about a person that was so tight that “he could squeeze a nickel until the kings head had lockjaw.” (King George V was reigning sovereign at the time and his image was on one face of the five-cent-piece.)

Rev. Ansel Summers was near retirement when he was assigned to Estevan. I remember he was a happy man with frizzy white hair. His petite wife’s hair was a radiant white with a slight tinge of blue. She was quite lame because she had been stricken with polio before good medicines for the condition were available. She had a radiant countenance. It was she who invited me to the altar the night I was converted.

What I recall in general about these men is that they were earnest and they preached with passion. Given the severe limitations of the times they must have been filling the pastoral role out of a strong sense of calling. Seventy-five years ago on the Prairies they had no ministers’ pensions to look forward to.

As I try to compress into a montage my cherished but spotty memories of my church experiences when I was from five- to fifteen-years-of-age, especially with regard to the ministers of those years, here’s what I come up with: I remember those ministers best and with warmth who seemed most aware of my existence. I know now from decades of experience that some ministers have a greater knack at paying attention to children than others.

I remember also that I was taught to regard ministers with respect because they were important persons in my life and the life of the community. I think regard for authority figures was more pronounced then than now.

Perhaps my best recollection from those years is that the ministers made the Gospel of salvation clear. It was a simple gospel. I learned early that little boys do bad things for which they need forgiveness. Sometimes this created heavy conscience issues. I learned that Jesus had paid the ultimate sacrifice in order to cancel out my sins. Perhaps this was also brought home or at least enhanced by the very simple “flannel-grams” used in Sunday School. But it was preached too. I learned that I had the freedom to say “yes” or “no” to the gospel call but that each decision had long-term consequences. Freedom and responsibility were presented as heavy burdens to bear. I believe all this fed into my conversion at 16-years-of-age.

The fact that I can recall these minister’s names and something important about them indicates that they made a significant impact on a growing child’s life. That must still be one important way to measure a minister’s effectiveness.

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For Pastors Who Supervise Bible Reading in Church

We pastors need to refresh from time to time on some of the routine things we do in the leadership of worship. Agreed, a certain amount of routine is important to manage life well — we brush our teeth at the same times every day, carry our keys in the same pocket, etc. But in public worship, unmonitored routine can become drained of spiritual freshness and vigor. It needs to be re-examined occasionally.

Take for example the reading of Scriptures in public worship. We do it Sunday after Sunday. Or we assign lay readers the task. It’s easy to say (or think): There now, that’s over with; let’s get on with the next item.

But not so fast: reading the Scriptures in church must be seen as bedrock to true Christian worship. Dr. Carl Bangs, an authority on Arminius, once lamented to me about the drift toward liberalism in many churches. But he added this encouraging word: “So long as the Bible continues to be read in worship there is hope.” As a separate act of worship, Bible reading needs renewed attention in evangelical circles.

Here are some pointers to refresh us in this task, or to pass along.

I. It is not enough to read only a passage as a basis for our sermon. Separate from the sermon, but related to it, a portion from both Testaments should be read in Sunday morning worship. It’s a separate act of worship and a historic practice tracing back through church history even to the synagogues of ancient Israel.

In 1910 The Free Methodist Church published what may have been its most successful hymnbook. On an introductory page a printed order of worship is posted, suggesting there be readings from both Old and New Testaments. Back then it was expected that our churches everywhere would give the Scriptures that sort of prominence. When Paul admonished Pastor Timothy to “Give attention to reading” this is undoubtedly what he had in mind.

II. If you use lay readers for this task, encourage them to read the passage over several times the day before to become well acquainted with it. Ask them to sit near the microphone so they will not need to walk from some distant place in the sanctuary. On this occasion they are sharing leadership in worship. Also, assign yourself the reading task from time to time as a way of modeling the exercise and showing its importance.

III. Choose lay readers carefully. Not everyone in the congregation has the talent to sing a solo because solos require a special gift. In the same way not every member can read Scripture with the care and skill the task deserves. Choose lay persons whose lives are in tune with the Scriptures, and who have good voices, who articulate well and who read with understanding.

IV. If you use young people as readers, go over the passage with them beforehand. Make this a teaching moment. Teach them that they are being given an important assignment. I conducted a funeral at which two young nieces of the deceased were asked to read Scripture. Both raced through the passage as though to show what good readers they were. I regretted not going over the task with them beforehand.

V. Speaking generally, whether pastor or lay person reads, the pace of Scripture reading in church is usually too fast. Read slowly and thoughtfully. As one authority advised: read as though you yourself were listening to the passage, not as though you wrote it.

VI. Use the Bible version that is in the pews, or the one the congregation is most familiar with. When a version is used that’s different from the pew Bibles and the people are admonished to follow along, sometimes the different vocabulary or phrasing creates a slight dissonance which distracts or even irritates serious worshipers.

There is a place for paraphrases and a variety of versions but that place ought not to be in this part of worship. When, for example, people hear the words of Jesus again and again from the same version they are more likely to retain them in their memories. Alternate renderings can be introduced at other times, like in the sermon where comments or explanations may show their relevance.

VII. If the hymnbook in use has a section of responsive or unison readings, engage the congregation in their use from time to time. The advantage is that the congregation is actively drawn to participate in this act of worship. During my days as a local pastor responsive readings were used every Sunday quite generally.

VIII. It is good to end each reading with the words. “The word of the Lord,” or “This is the word of the Lord.” If the congregation is trained to respond, “Thanks be to God,” all the better. At this time in Western history, authority in general is diminished, and biblical illiteracy is much too common even in Christian congregations. At the same time, relativism is rampant. We must do everything we can to root our congregations in the authority of the Word of God. Closing the reading with these words is just one of several ways we can elevate the authority of our Christian Scriptures.

In my opinion, the pastoral task is an unusually great challenge at this time in history. God’s people need shepherding. In most cases they are eager for direction, if given by a leader who has won their trust and one who shows evidence of knowing what the pastoral task is all about.

I hope any reader who comes across this blog will make a way to put it’s truth into practice, either as a pastor who leads with intelligence and vigor or a lay person who passes the instruction along.

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A Success Story Involving An 80-Year-Old Pastor and His Wife

The little town of Warrensburg, New York, has to be one of the prettiest towns in the Adirondack Mountains, even though located three hours drive east and north from Syracuse, it is in a sense off the beaten track. But for a small but growing Free Methodist congregation there, it is a center of exciting growth and development.

This story begins in 1997, 12 years ago. Living 40 miles away, retired superintendent, Dick Leonard, and his wife, Ruth, were completing their second year of retirement after superintending the Centenary Conference (now the New England Conference) of the Free Methodist Church for 27 years – a record in the denomination.

One day a concerned lay person phoned to ask retired superintendent Leonard if he could come and give a hand to the Warrensburg church. It was down to 8 in attendance, several projects of previous years were unfinished, and the church was on the verge of closing its doors for good.

The pull was instant. It was Ruth’s home church and the Leonards had been married in that church now 61 years ago. For sure there was sentimental attraction.

But the Leonards saw the challenge as divine marching orders. They began driving the 80-mile round trip each Sunday and sometimes during the week to encourage the small company of discouraged believers. The numbers began to grow slowly and soon the revived congregation began talking about finishing projects – remodel the fellowship hall downstairs, complete the refurbishing of the foyer, re-roof the church building, pave the parking lots on both sides of the church, erect better signage, etc. When one task was completed they made sure it was paid for before starting another, but the funds came in quickly and with a measure of excitement.

Building a parsonage was a bigger challenge. But they found the lot one mile from the church and now a commodious parsonage valued at $200,000 is a home for the Leonards. This project was completely paid for in four years.

I visited the church twice early on in this story when a congregation might number 10 or 15. So, I naturally ask, has the number of worshipers matched the development of the church property? Worship attendance has gone as high as 150 to fill the church, and this past September the average attendance for the month was 90. That’s some increase over the original 8!

Looking toward continuing ministry to the community and continuing growth, the congregation’s latest project is the recent purchase of the four-bedroom house next door to the church which gives them 10.5 acres of land for development, with 1100 feet of the property on the Schroon River. The series of providences are amazing that made this purchase available at a cost the congregation can reach. Now they can provide the parking needed for the growing congregation. Several other options for the property are under consideration.

Six-foot-five Pastor Leonard and his wife Ruth are modest about their part in the rebirth of this congregation. But the growing congregation knows that their dedication and skilled leadership has given the congregation courage to stretch and achieve beyond expectations. Their easy love for people draws others to them and the gospel. And the congregation’s working together on this string of projects has enriched the fellowship of the developing body, and their stretching to meet the financial demands has deepened their faith.

Meanwhile, this 80-year-old pastor and his wife are open to the future. They’re not laying further retirement plans but are living with the challenge of growing along with the congregation, all the while staying open to whatever marching orders the Lord of the Church may give. Pastor Leonard writes, “We are just thankful to be doing what we enjoy the most. The church people are the best anywhere, and it is a joy to serve here for the past 12 years.”

Graduation Memories

Last Sunday afternoon, I watched our grandson Zachary walk across the platform of the Greenville College field house and receive his B.A. degree, magna cum laude. Greenville College is located in Greenville, a small midwestern city of 7,000 in Central Illinois. It’s about 250 miles south of Chicago, and Zach has attended there for four years.

It was a joy to greet and congratulate Zach, degree in hand. He has been a gift from God to my wife and me from his earliest breath. His parents, Robert and Janice Bastian, have shared him with us generously, and he and I are close. His next stop is medical school.

That the greeting took place at Greenville College only adds luster to the moment. The college is a small Christian institution affiliated with the Free Methodist Church. It has a total enrollment of approximately 1,400 students. Both the college and the city of Greenville have a mystique that still draws us.

And well it should. Fifty-eight years ago my wife and I and our little two-and-a-half year-old, Carolyn, arrived in that same city where I myself hoped to complete the final two years of a bachelor’s degree. We had arrived there more by risk and daring than by good sense. We were cash-strapped from the start, and the first of the two years was especially precarious. Most of that first year we lived hand-to-mouth, on the brink even so far as money for groceries was concerned.

But we came under the influence of several professors, the memories of whom we cherish to the very present — Professors Tenney, Kinney, Tidball, Brentlinger, and others — men and women who themselves were teaching there as a calling and who seemed eager to share their own academic conquests freely. Classroom experiences were enriching and private conversations memorable.

Then, after three years at Asbury Theological Seminary and five years of pastoring in British Columbia, it was back to this same Greenville community, in 1961. We were invited to return as pastor of the Free Methodist church there, across College Avenue, from the college. The return introduced us to another 13 years of the special Greenville qualities. We came to know administrators and faculty, scads of students, community people, businessmen, and farmers from Bond County.

Our three children were marked by Greenville and the college, too. They went to public school, high school, and college in Greenville. They made lifetime friends there. Although two of the three returned to Canada for their professional lives, we see in all three the conservative influences of the midwest and the Christian influences of Greenville College. And in our moving about as servants of the church, Greenville has been as much a home to us as anywhere we have lived.

All this comes flooding back whenever we return to Greenville, as we did last weekend. The campus has changed — it’s bigger, prettier, with more educational facilities, dormitories, and parking lots. But the spirit of the place seems much the same. And it’s obviously still giving, to students like Zach, quality opportunities to dig for and discover truth within a Christian perspective.

Why Does the Church Ordain for Ministry?

Do you wonder why the Church ordains to ministry?

Does it seem like a waste of energy for someone who is truly called of God — like jumping through hoops?

If so, check this link. (It’s a PDF by the way.)

www.freemethodistchurch.org/PDF%20Files/Leadership/Bishops/Ordination.pdf

Just Call Me Pastor

I am pleased to be writing this new blog for pastors, church workers, and rank-and-file Christians – to anyone concerned about the great challenge of the pastorate.

Why have I called it “Just Call Me Pastor”? This memory from my days as an active pastor answers that question.

One Sunday morning during announcement time in the worship service I said to my new congregation, “Just call me pastor.”  Then I explained:

• Call me pastor for my sake — I need to be reminded of the special reason I’m in this town.

• Call me pastor for your sake, so that you will be aware of the special relationship we have.

• And call me pastor for your children’s sake so that they will have access to one more person who is special in their lives to help them through the sometimes difficult years of youth into a purposeful Christian adulthood.

For me, “pastor” was an honorable biblical title, meaning shepherd — a title which Jesus himself took when he said, “I am the good shepherd, the good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep” (John 10:11). Back then, the increase of secularism had not yet taken the edge off the term.

The time was 1962. The place was the Free Methodist Church in Greenville, Illinois. I was new to the congregation, having come just a few months earlier into this pastoral appointment in this small midwestern city. Sunday morning attendance ran at about 600 worshipers, half of them students from the Christian college across the street. Culture-wise, it was the beginning of the youth revolution, that upheaval that brought into question all traditional standards in a way that was very destabilizing to society as a whole.

One feature of that revolution was an easy jettisoning of titles. It was an authority issue. One had to be careful about any conscious or intended display of authority. When youth sat on the floor to rap, I sat on the floor with them. It was the era when the use of first names became common regardless of the situation. The sense was that authority figures for sure should keep their heads down.

During that period the word “share” began to take a prominent place in much of public discourse. I recall that in college assemblies even if a renowned authority was to give an address in an area of her proven expertise she was introduced as having come to “share.” The word became tiresome to those of us who understood why it was used as it was, but nevertheless it held unchallenged sway.

Yet there I was, at about 36 years of age, asking a Christian congregation, including many my senior in age or credentials, to call me pastor. Was that audacious? Foolish? Swimming upstream against a raging current? Although 47 years have passed since then, I have never regretted making that invitation. It defined in one word both for me and the congregation what I was there to do.  It described a primary relationship.  It tended to restrain both me and members of the congregation when serious disagreements arose as in church life they often do.

At that time, there seemed to be a growing number of church personnel who were of a different mind-set from mine. They argued that titles, even “pastor,” get in the way of authentic relationships.  I could not agree. I found that under one set of circumstances I could exchange hearty laughter with former schoolmates who were now members of the congregation and under another set participate in soul-searching conversations about issues of life and death. As I see it, being real is not helped or hindered by titles. Being real is a state of being that develops out of the bumps and bruises of life.

Yesterday I received a phone call from that midwestern community. It’s been 35 years since I left. A longstanding member had died and the family wanted me to know. That family now crosses four generations. The phone call was from the married daughter of a couple at whose wedding I had officiated — a mother of three growing children herself. It is not lost on me that, after 35 years of absence from that community, to all four generations I am still given that honorable title, Pastor.

I welcome your thoughts, memories, and dreams about pastoring.