He had just paid the cashier and was heading out the door when Stuart, one of the church members approached him. “Hey, parson, good to see you.”
“It’s nice to see you, too, Stuart. Not working today?”
“Not today. I had a little comp time coming so I took it to catch up on some chores.”
“Well, you’re not any younger, Stuart. Don’t over do it or else you’ll be talking to me in the hospital.”
“Speaking of talking to you, do you mind if I walk over to the church with you. I’ve got something I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Sure, Stuart,” said the parson. “Join me.”
The parson and Stuart headed across the four lane highway, pausing in the painted medium, for some west bound traffic to pass. When they reached the church side of the highway and turned to walk the block up the street Stuart spoke up.
“You know, parson, I may have told you before; I got saved at the Shingle Roof Campground not too long after Evelyn and I were married.”
“You have told me, Stuart. I’ve known a lot of people who have fond memories of that campground. It must have been quite a time for you.”
“It was, parson. You may remember old Charles Allen. He was preaching that night and when he gave the altar call I felt the power of the Holy Spirit just churning up my soul. I couldn’t get to the altar fast enough. Preacher Allen prayed with me and I was saved. It was a night I’ll never forget.”
“You know, Stuart,” said the parson, “you should always hold on to that memory and the feelings you had that night. Some folks have not had such an experience.” The parson reached for the door to his office which they’d reached. He pulled the door open and said, “Come on in, Stuart.”
The parson had been working in the study all morning, so its warmth was a welcome from the chill. The parson motioned Stuart to a chair. “Want some coffee, Stuart?”
“Well, that would be nice, parson. Just black will be fine.”
The parson poured Stuart a cup and sat in the arm chair across the coffee table.
“Have you been back to Shingle Roof since that night, Stuart?”
“Well, we went back often when we lived down that way, but nowadays, at our age, we don’t go much. But we keep in touch with folks who still have tents there.”
“It must have been a wonderful time,” said the parson.
“It was, parson. It was.”
“What did you want to talk about, Stuart?”
“Parson, what I wanted to talk about is the facts that I don’t think some of the folks in the church have had a real conversion experience.”
“What in the world are you talking about, Stuart?”
“Is this confidential, parson?”
“Yes, Stuart, it is.”
“Well, Ben Jenkins, teaches the Bible Study Sunday School class I attend. Mildred and I have been going to that class for over ten years, since just after he started teaching it. In all that time, he’s never talked about a conversion experience. I asked him about it; I shared my salvation moment with him. He just looked at me; but he didn’t share any of his experience. Over time, I’ve realized he hasn’t had one.”
“This is a problem for you, Stuart?”
“It is, parson. Without a conversion experience how are we to know a person is saved? And, if a person hasn’t been saved, should he be teaching the seekers? And Ben Jenkins is not the only one. There are lots of folks in this church that can’t tell me when they were saved.”
“Oh, Stuart. Oh, Stuart,” the pastor lamented. He paused a moment looking at this good man who loved his church so much. He felt an ache in his heart as he watched them man who had truly met Jesus at the altar so long ago. The pastor paused for a long, long moment. Then he said, “Stuart, what day did you find Christ at the altar of the Shingle Roof Campground?”
“It was June 5th, 1967,” said Stuart with pride in his voice.
“Did God abandon you after that service, Stuart?”
“No! God did not abandon me after that service. Why would you say such a thing?”
“Stuart, all you talk about is June 5th, 1957; has God not done anything in your life since that day?”
Stuart stared at the parson for a long moment, tears began to form in the corner of his eyes.
The rest of the story is private.
Am moved by this post. Have always wondered what it must be like to have that watershed moment. Lots of us don't. We just grow into faith on a day by day basis. Sometimes I think that makesthe journeymore difficult; buteven so,it's no less rewarding.For it is a journey, and not a destination.
Posted by: An Observer | February 02, 2007 at 07:16 AM
I don't remember the day of my salvation but I know that God has been working in my life and His presence is real to me.
It is sad when we compare and judge others' conversion experiences. One of the things I have especially noticed from reading many diverse blogs is God comes to us in all different ways and yet is still real to us even with our different theological backgrounds.
Posted by: Carolanne | February 02, 2007 at 01:36 PM