Sermon

Sermon

It was another bleak November morning, but it was a special morning. It was Raymond Thomas' first opportunity to preach. Well, actually, he had preached several previous sermons, but they were all in his home church. This was his first sermon where his own pastor wasn't overseeing him and he was filled with thanksgiving at the opportunity. Raymond Thomas, looked like a million dollars in his new three hundred dollar suit. He was barely twenty-two years old, but he stood confidently behind the pulpit. He was ten weeks into his first year of Bible school and already he'd been invited to fill the pulpit at Great Hope Baptist Church. He was certain he'd been born to be a preacher, and in no time at all, he'd be ready to move beyond these inner-city churches to his own suburban congregation. He stood tall, with an assurance that approached cockiness. He listened absently to the rapping of the rain against the cracked, fogged windows of the faded, too long neglected building and carefully recited his first words. "On Palm Sunday, two thousand years ago," he proclaimed with bold enthusiasm, "Jesus entered Jerusalem riding on the back of a young donkey, and multitudes of people lined the street, cheering, praising and thanking Him for all the wondrous miracles He had preformed. I can feel their excitement this morning, just four days before Thanksgiving." he declared, "Every Sunday should be a day of praise and appreciation for the blessings God has bestowed upon us." It was a grand start, he thought to himself before continuing, "Before I begin my message, I'd like to pray a prayer of thanksgiving on your behalf." He scanned the prayer he had prepared. It was a genuine reflection of his gratefulness. God had truly blessed him with every luxury life had to offer.

For just a moment the pounding of the rain gave way to a clamor of movement as the impoverished inner city congregation rose to their feet, but as each member reverently bowed their head, only the monotonous tapping of the rain broke the silence. Raymond turned again to his notes and began to read, slowly and methodically, the prayer he had prepared especially for this occasion. "We thank You, Heavenly Father, for the miracle of our design; eyes to see the beauty of Your handiwork, ears to hear the singing of the rain, legs that we might joyously walk and run through Your wondrous creation, and hands that we might touch the bounty of all you have provided for our enjoyment." As he read, he looked out over the congregation. In the third row he saw five year old Rachel swaying back and forth to the rhythm of his words. He had met Rachel before the service and knew that her hazel brown eyes were blind. In the row in front of her stood Mr. Evans, a godly sixty year old man who always sat up front because his hearing was almost gone. Then, in the isle, way in the back, he saw a man he hadn't yet met, sitting in a wheelchair with is head bowed.

"We thank you, Father," he read, "For protection from sickness and the blessing of good health," but even as he spoke, his eyes fell upon Jimmy, a teenager who shook with the spasms of cerebral palsy. Next to him sat Esther, a saintly grandmother who did not stand because the pain of her arthritis was too great. Beside Esther he saw Sadie Miller who had asked the congregation to pray for her Christian father who had suffered a stroke the night before.

He prayed, "Thank You for the love of family and friends," but the words just served to remind him of the widow Mrs. Marley who had shared with the church, how lonely and empty her life has been since her husband died. Raymond's voice began to crack and a tear welled up in his eye blurring his vision as he read, "Thank You for our homes, and jobs and food to grace our tables." The congregation perceived it a sign of his sincere appreciation. With their eyes closed in prayer they could not know it was the thought of homeless families he had passed on the way to the church that morning, that caused his voice to crack. His voice wavering, and his confidence shaken, the young preacher could no longer read his notes through the tears that trickled down his cheeks from the corner of disillusioned eyes. He whispered a tentative, "Amen," and stood empty, leaning on the pulpit for support. He tried to collect himself and focus his eyes upon the congregation, but he could not. How could he preach to these Christians? He knew nothing of the suffering they had to endure.

He stood alone for only a few minutes, but the silence could have filled an hour. Barney Sage stepped up beside the young preacher and placed a gnarled callused hand on Raymond's shoulder. "It's okay, boy, I been a deacon for thirty-six years now, and I'd be plumb petrified if I had to preach a sermon. Just take your time, and collect your thoughts, we all love you here and we know a first sermon can be unnervin'.

Ol' Barney, as everyone called him, was almost seventy years old. He was more than a fair representative of the kind of people who filled the pews of Great Hope Baptist Church. His wife had died the previous year and he lived alone in a tiny third floor apartment in a run down building. He had no family outside the church and his health was beginning to fail, but there was a twinkle in his soft blue eyes, and unquestioned wisdom in his words. Here was a man who had experienced first hand the trials of hardship, poverty, loneliness and ill health, yet the love of God glowed beneath his furrowed skin.

"How," the youth asked in a shaky barely audible voice, "Can these people praise God when they are struggling with blindness, crippled legs, diseased bodies, poverty, pain and loneliness?" It was a private question, not meant to be heard by the congregation, and the young preacher was not aware that it was carried to them through the p.a. system.

"Listen, lad," O' Barney said with gentle firmness, "No where in that Bible of yours does it say life 'ould be painless. Life is hard!" He emphasized the word hard. "Now, I don't know about anyone else," he continued, "But I could na made it as long as I have if I didn't have God to lean on? If you gonna be a preacher, you study 'bout them first disciples. They were beat and thrown into prison, then killed by burning or the worse, but you won't read nothing 'bout them givin' up the faith." His language would make an English teacher cringe but the message he spoke was delivered with the authority of firm conviction. "Life ain't easy," he continued, "It's filled with heartache and hardship. This ain't heaven, there's too much of the devil here. That's why the good Lord gives us preachers." He paused and looked deeply into Raymond's eyes. "To help us struggle through the hard times and show us how to find victory in spite of the devil's harassment. Now, I know you got a fine sermon prepared, and these people come to hear you preach it. The question is, do you believe what you wrote?"

By now, the young preacher had regained much of his confidence and realized his conversation with Ol' Barney was being shared with the whole congregation. "Yes," he said, speaking directly to the congregation, "God has been good to me, and I'm truly appreciative. I guess I just never before realized the degree to which He's blessed me, and I'm humbled by the faith of you who have endured so much. If you'll permit me, I do have a message and it applies to both the wealthy and the poor ... and everyone in between."

"Go ahead and preach!" Came a voice from the back of the church, "But keep it short, we already got one sermon from Ol' Barney."

END