A Few Well-Placed Words
When I first came to Mountain View Chapel, I was 21 and the church’s previous pastor, Jim Bates, 72, was eager to retire after many years of serving God. Jim thought it would be best for me if he and his wife Lucille stopped attending the church, affording the congregation the opportunity to acclimate to me without any interference from him.
I was only 21– a complete novice. I had only been involved with Bible-believing churches for five years and had come to a personal commitment of faith only two years before. I asked Jim to stay on – just for a bit – to show me the ropes and give me some guidance. Jim agreed to stay.
I have often recounted how the small congregation of 35 members voted me in unanimously as their pastor and the following Sunday most of them had left to join other churches. Only a dozen or so showed up on my first Sunday.
I was full of youthful fire and optimism, and I resented people who would vote me in as pastor and then abandon me and the church. I told Jim I was going to visit every home and find out why they had left. I asked him to accompany me, since he knew them better than I did. Jim seemed hesitant at first but finally agreed to accompany me.
If you think I lack tact now, you should have known me at 21! I made appointments and went into each home and said bluntly, “I’d like to know why you voted to call me as pastor and then left the church.” Everyone was kind but evasive. I left every home frustrated, never receiving a clear answer to my question. Each rejection left me feeling abandoned and alone. I expressed my frustration to Jim after each visit. He listened patiently but said little.
Finally, one woman advised me, “Some people may have bad memories that they’d rather bury than share. Let them bury the past. You’re young. Why don’t you just give the church a fresh start?”
This was not what I wanted to hear. In the car, agitated with the woman’s suggestion, I launched into a rant which Jim interrupted quickly and gently. “I don’t think you need to visit anyone else. You would be wise to take that woman’s advice.”
I don’t think Jim said much beyond that. He wasn’t one to preach or micromanage. He said his piece and then trusted me to think through it from there. I took the advice and worked on giving the church a fresh start.
Those were the days when boldness was virtuous (or so it always seemed to me). For me in my youth – and perhaps longer than it should have – that translated into “Be brazen and offensive.” After one sermon in which I had unintentionally but greatly offended a few visitors with poorly chosen words, Jim put his arm around me and said, “You’ll draw more flies with honey than with vinegar.” That was all – and it was great counsel.
And that’s how Jim always was – a few words or a little story or even a poem – and then he let you think about it. Those moments impacted my soul.
Jim and Lucille never left our church. Lucille’s wonderful piano-playing blessed our church for many years, and Jim was my dear friend and mentor until the Lord called him home. As I look back over the people that have molded my life and my soul, I recognize that their patience and care – and well-placed words – changed my life for the better.
I was only 21– a complete novice. I had only been involved with Bible-believing churches for five years and had come to a personal commitment of faith only two years before. I asked Jim to stay on – just for a bit – to show me the ropes and give me some guidance. Jim agreed to stay.
I have often recounted how the small congregation of 35 members voted me in unanimously as their pastor and the following Sunday most of them had left to join other churches. Only a dozen or so showed up on my first Sunday.
I was full of youthful fire and optimism, and I resented people who would vote me in as pastor and then abandon me and the church. I told Jim I was going to visit every home and find out why they had left. I asked him to accompany me, since he knew them better than I did. Jim seemed hesitant at first but finally agreed to accompany me.
If you think I lack tact now, you should have known me at 21! I made appointments and went into each home and said bluntly, “I’d like to know why you voted to call me as pastor and then left the church.” Everyone was kind but evasive. I left every home frustrated, never receiving a clear answer to my question. Each rejection left me feeling abandoned and alone. I expressed my frustration to Jim after each visit. He listened patiently but said little.
Finally, one woman advised me, “Some people may have bad memories that they’d rather bury than share. Let them bury the past. You’re young. Why don’t you just give the church a fresh start?”
This was not what I wanted to hear. In the car, agitated with the woman’s suggestion, I launched into a rant which Jim interrupted quickly and gently. “I don’t think you need to visit anyone else. You would be wise to take that woman’s advice.”
I don’t think Jim said much beyond that. He wasn’t one to preach or micromanage. He said his piece and then trusted me to think through it from there. I took the advice and worked on giving the church a fresh start.
Those were the days when boldness was virtuous (or so it always seemed to me). For me in my youth – and perhaps longer than it should have – that translated into “Be brazen and offensive.” After one sermon in which I had unintentionally but greatly offended a few visitors with poorly chosen words, Jim put his arm around me and said, “You’ll draw more flies with honey than with vinegar.” That was all – and it was great counsel.
And that’s how Jim always was – a few words or a little story or even a poem – and then he let you think about it. Those moments impacted my soul.
Jim and Lucille never left our church. Lucille’s wonderful piano-playing blessed our church for many years, and Jim was my dear friend and mentor until the Lord called him home. As I look back over the people that have molded my life and my soul, I recognize that their patience and care – and well-placed words – changed my life for the better.