Because of our conversation in Bible study this morning, the old gray-haired Baptist-Appalachian-American preacher is thinking about Brother Paul’s word in I Timothy 3:6. He writes that a church leader should not be a new convert, lest he develop a dangerously overinflated ego and “fall into the condemnation of the devil.”
My old Southern Railway conductor friend “Cowboy” Mintz, now in the great cloud of witnesses and one of the most delightful friends I ever had, said: “Every one of the Southern Railway operating rules is written in blood. There’s a story behind every rule in that book.”
I guarantee you there’s a story behind Brother Paul’s words about the qualifications of church leaders. That’s clearly the case in the letter to Titus, where Paul counsels Titus on cleaning up somebody else’s mess in Crete. We would have a much thinner New Testament were it not for epistles written to deal with conflict and destructive behavior.
We don’t convene an ordination council immediately just because someone is convinced that he or she is called to preach.
Nonetheless, there are many things new converts can do as they grow in the grace and knowledge of the Lord, things that will actually help them mature in the faith.
Of course, this reminds me of a story. When our oldest daughter was about 12, she rolled her eyes and said, “Daddy, you’re a preacher. Everything reminds you of a story.”
Here’s the story:
Years ago, before my former Southern Baptist denomination commenced its crusade to purge its ranks of any church that dared call and ordain a woman to gospel ministry, a bright and gifted young woman, a Master of Divinity student at Southern Seminary, was called to pastor a tiny rural church in Kentucky. She had a sharp mind and a pure love for Jesus and people.
She was a powerful preacher who weighed maybe 100 pounds. She might have topped five feet in heels.
A man who didn’t usually come to church, whose wife and children were there every Sunday, came one Sunday with his family after hearing about the new preacher, only to find the “little lady preacher.” He’d never seen one.
As she was preaching, the young seminarian could see that this big, burly man who worked as a carpenter was hanging on every word she said.
After the service, as he towered over her, he said, “Good sermon, Preacher, but I’m gonna come over here Saturday and build you a little platform to stand on so we can see more than the top of your head above that big ‘ol pulpit.”
He did what he promised.
The platform was nicely finished, stained to match the pulpit and communion table, with carpet covering the top. The platform raised the preacher about six inches so she no longer appeared to be standing in a hole.
The following Sunday, the brother who built the platform was present, and the diminutive but now elevated young pastor thanked the man who built the platform behind the pulpit.
This man continued to come with his family Sunday after Sunday. His wife told the young preacher that the man, who was usually off fishing or hunting by the time they got up on Sundays, had started getting up every Sunday to cook breakfast and had it on the table when she and the children got up.
He helped get the children ready and took pleasure in doing it. The novelty of a “little lady preacher” only accounted for his first visit. The gospel message, the Spirit’s work, and the preacher’s and congregation’s warmth and kindness brought him back.
When the young preacher gave the invitation one Sunday, this man followed his children down the aisle to profess their faith in Jesus and desire for baptism. It would be the young minister’s first baptism. She was confident in her ability to baptize the children, but admitted that she would need help to baptize a man who towered over her and would make two of her with change left over.
The baptismal candidate’s father-in-law, a long-time deacon elated over his son-in-law’s heartfelt conversion, was a large, physically strong man in his seventies. He volunteered to help baptize his son-in-law and grandchildren.
The date was set, a Sunday in August. It gave the church the excuse to put a big spread of food on those canopied concrete outdoor tables. At about 2:00, everyone walked down the hill to the cold spring-fed creek where the church had baptized for over a century.
The older deacon joyfully helped baptize his grandchildren. Then, he and the preacher waded to a deeper place to baptize his son-in-law. It was a struggle, but they did it.
As they waded back to the creek bank, the newly baptized man told his father-in-law, “Pops, I love you and ‘preciate you helpin’ baptize me, but you don’t need to be doin’ all that heavy liftin’.” Then he told the diminutive pastor, “Preacher, you need an assistant baptizer.”
Right there on the creek bank, as this brother was dripping holy water and hugging his wife and freshly baptized children, the church unanimously conferred upon him the title of Assistant Baptizer.
Lamar Wadsworth is an old gray-haired Bapto-Appalachian-American preacher living near Rockmart GA where he was born and raised. A graduate of Jacksonville State University and The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, he has served churches in Alabama, Kentucky, Georgia, and Maryland.
