Several years ago I was the pastor of a church in Rock Hill, South Carolina. A friend had invited me to York, South Carolina to hold a revival. "Brother Joe" was several years my senior, but had entered the ministry in his late forties, and had never received much education. He had started a small church in an old storefront that he renovated with his own money. To the more educated pastors, he was labeled as "The man who slaughters the King's English," but there was nothing pretentious about this man. For years, his little girl had gone to the altar every Sunday morning to pray for God to save her mother and daddy. When she was a teenager, her parents finally came to Christ.
Soon after that, this maintenance man in a cotton mill surrendered to preach the gospel. Most pastors wouldn't let him preach because he was "ignorant"; so Joe started his own church. Several people had joined, and he was just happy to be a part of it. That's when our paths crossed. I was a young pastor in an old, well established church and was invited to preach in a youth rally. Brother Joe heard me preach and asked if I would come to his church and hold a week-long revival.
As we drove through York one day, Brother Joe said, "Bill, how can we get the message to people who won't come to church?" I said, "We'll get some of the youth and praise singers from my church and have a street meeting."
"What do you mean?" he asked. "Our young people will sing praise songs and I will preach on this courthouse square!" "Why, they'll lock us up! You'll go to jail and your church'll run you off!" He continued, "Bill, they arrested a street preacher a few days ago in Laurens County and charged him with unlawful conduct." I said, "Brother Joe, I was born in Laurens County. That bunch of hoogies over there are crazy! That won't happen here in York County." "Don't bet on it. Bill, I don't want to do that." I agreed to just preach in the church.
That was a long time ago, and I never did preach on the streets of York, but I have preached on the streets in Mexico, and the jails and prisons of this country. I've preached to murderers, rapists, thieves, house burners and hoodlums. The hardest people I have ever preached to are preachers. But the "saddle bag" preachers preached on the roads, in barns, honky tonks and wherever else people gathered. Even today, I would rather hit the road with a young preacher who has a love for the gospel and a fire in his belly, than all the so-called reverends who ever trotted out of a seminary!
Where are all the "fire and brimstone" preachers who traveled the country, and fearlessly preached the gospel? The eletists, the intellectuals or the reprobates didn't intimidate them. They knew they had the message of salvation, and they would do whatever it took to preach it to everyone.
A story was told about an old preacher who was preaching in a little church in the mountains of North Carolina. One night the service was interrupted by an inebriated young man with a Colt 44. As he came in the door, he said, "Preacher man, put `at book down and shet up!" The preacher, who had fought the devil before, faced the man with the gun and said, "Son, yore standin' afore Great God Amighty. Holster ye gun an join us afore He strikes ye down."
Anger, fueled by alcohol, boiled up in the gunman, as he stuck the Colt into the preacher's chest and cocked the hammer. The three clicks could be heard all over the church. Women sobbed, children buried their faces in their mother's breast and grown men stopped breathing. They knew by the look on the gunman's face he would not hesitate to shoot, and they knew the preacher would not back down.
The preacher said, "Son, if ye keel me, ye might gota hell, but I'm shore I'll gota Heaven, so do whache gotta do." The trigger was pulled, the hammer fell, but the gun didn't fire. The young shooter, thinking the hammer had found an empty chamber, once again cocked the gun and once again, pulled the trigger.
(Now, Colonel Colt built very reliable guns and this gun had never misfired before.) The preacher and the gunman still faced each other. "Whas wrong, son?" said the preacher.
The young man's face had gone pale, his heart raced and fear ran through his veins. He looked at his gun in disbelief, then fell on his knees and started to sob. The preacher took the gun and the sobbing young man cried out, "Don't keel me, Preacher. Please don't keel me! I don wanta gota hell!"
Wrapping his arms around the young stranger, the man of God held him and said, "Son, I ain't gonna kill ye. I'm gonna tell ye `bout Jesus." The people started to breathe again as the preacher led the repentant young man to the altar and began to pray with him.
Later, the preacher examined the gun and found there were five live rounds in the cylinder. (Experienced gunmen who carried single action revolvers kept the hammer on an empty chamber.) The hammer had dented two cartridges, but they didn't fire. Friends, don't every underestimate the power of God!
Watch for our Circuit Riders on the road! We're riding for Jesus, and we'll tell you about Him. God bless you!
Bill Hamilton
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