What if It Had Been YOUR Church?

[The author of this article has been a staunch supporter of this cause for many decades. He here sets forth some things worthy of our consideration as we seek to add to the appeal and enjoyment of our forms of church service and personal witness among our neighborhood friends.—Eds.]

On Tuesday afternoon she brought her husband to see me, a man obviously confused and very ill. He was unable to carry on a telephone conversation effec­tively or to express himself with his usual clarity. Even though he had been a success­ful contractor, a cursory medical examina­tion gave evidence that he was no longer mentally competent. The lesion most likely involved the central nervous system.

He was immediately hospitalized and placed under the care of an experienced neurologist. On the following Sabbath he died. In my practice of many years I have seen no equal to this woman's grief. Shortly before her husband's death, she literally beat upon my chest with her fists, as she screamed out her demand that we as physicians restore her husband. Later that evening she telephoned my home and told me she knew no funeral director. I sug­gested one near where she lived. After she had gotten in touch with the funeral home I again received a call from her.

"They have an organ, doctor, but I know no one I can get to play it."

I offered to play for the service.

"But I don't know anyone who sings for funerals."

I assured her my wife had a fine voice and would be willing to sing.

There followed a long pause.

"I'm sure you cannot conceive of such a thing, but my husband was not a church member, nor am I. In fact, I don't know enough about religion to say I am even a Christian. I don't even know a minister. I don't know who to call."

I suggested that my minister call on her, and so he did within the hour. During the interview he learned of her husband's helpfulness, his happy cooperation in neighborhood activities, his aid with a broken lawnmower or an unpainted doll­house.

As the hour for the funeral drew near, I worried little about the music to be used, but I wondered much about the task of my minister-friend. What could he say? How could the comforting messages of the Bible apply to a life that had never recognized the true mission of man's Redeemer?

But I listened with amazement as the text was read: "Who went about doing good." As the talk progressed I heard the subtle overtones taken from Paul's letter to the Romans: "For when the Gentiles, which have not the law, do by nature the things contained in the law, these, having not the law, are a law unto themselves."

That evening the widow called again.

"Doctor, this has been both the saddest day of my life and also the most beautiful. I'm coming to your church."

Therefore I have asked the question that is also the title of this article: "What if It Had Been Your Church?" Would the last sermon you preached from your pulpit have met a like situation? Would this woman have entered a place of holy quiet­ness? Would she have found order and dignity in all parts of the service? Would she have been fed spiritually? Would she have left the house of worship with a belief "that he which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ"?

Many devout and dedicated Adventist physicians feel a strange uneasiness when their patients express a desire to attend our church. They recall the noise and bustle, the lack of reverence, the rostrum decorum that leaves something to be de­sired. They bring to remembrance also the number of discourses they have heard that, although well intended, often suggested a zeal but not according to knowledge.

One such incident comes to my mind. A sister-in-law, long a public school principal and  teacher, had shown little interest in our religion, although she had been daily in our prayers. When visiting us in our home she suddenly announced one Sabbath morning that she was going to church with us. It was late in August and time for church school promotion. The sermon de­voted to Christian education was biased and unfair. The public school was de­nounced while our own school, although not accredited, was pictured as a city of refuge.

Sabbath dinner in our home that day was a tense and silent affair. Never again has she expressed anything but hostility to­ward our denomination. Yet this result with a different setting occurs all too fre­quently, only to be excused on the ground that "we must warn the world."

But one takes a second look when it in­volves his own family circle. And a second look in this case indicates that it need not have happened. The positive position in our theory of education is what is impor­tant, and when that is presented no offense can be taken. We become offensive only when we compare. If due credit is given the public school for the excellent job it is doing, we will be listened to as we insist that the child also be schooled in religious matters, a thing usually forbidden in pub­lic schools by both State and national law. Lest I be judged unfair, may I mention that our two children have had a total of thirty-five years in Adventist schools.

Ellen G. White, in the Review and Her­ald, April 14, 1885, wrote, "Is it not your duty to put some skill and study and plan­ning into the matter of conducting reli­gious meetings—how they shall be con­ducted so as to do the greatest amount of good, and leave the very best impression upon all who attend?" (Italics supplied.)

The emphasis here is on skill, study, and planning. No casual or routine approach to so important an event as divine worship on God's holy Sabbath is acceptable. Skill must be developed, study given, and above all, careful planning must be evident. Now, it is obvious that a pastor's approach to the Sabbath morning worship service would be relatively uncomplicated were he to ad­dress himself to a group consisting of church members only. But visitors are al­ways present, and many members in the congregation are eager to have their friends, patients, or relatives included in this group of visitors. And this brings into focus a problem that is not often clearly solved.

To which group should the pastor direct his message and plan his program? He is fully aware—and the weekly product of the mimeograph machine leaves no doubt on that score—that he must devote much of his energy toward organizational objec­tives. He must support "the program." He does it well too, for he is at home in church missionary activity, book sales, bar­gains in group periodicals, church school painting, hospitality for visiting workers, clothing for the needy—is all this unneces­sary? Of course, if he organized the elders and deacons, and assigned each of them a list of members to visit, the result might be accomplished without taking pulpit time; but he is not sure the officers will be reliable, and besides, members respond much better to the pastor's plea.

What about the visitors—the patients the doctors have invited, the widow sitting in the pew? Only this week she heard twenty minutes of comfort spoken when her husband was buried. They were words of life to her, and she wanted more. That is why she sits there in the pew. Although not a member, she had a need, and did not Isaiah say, "Mine house shall be called an house of prayer for all people"?

Our patients and other visitors have need of an effectual religion: a vital, com­forting, and problem-solving religion. A religion that deals convincingly with the present as well as with the future. Such is the faith we hold. It is therefore impera­tive that we always present a true, a bal­anced, and a representative message to those who might be attending one of our Sabbath morning worship services for the first time.

As we lay in juxtaposition the two con­flicting objectives—a partisan zeal for a nu­merical showing and a less definite, but more important, program of Christ-inspired helpfulness, we come to the conclu­sion that we can perhaps unwittingly cre­ate a false standard of success. And be sure such a standard exists. As a one-time mem­ber of a conference committee I was re­peatedly shown figures to indicate the ef­fectiveness of various ministers. The num­ber of baptisms, along with other numeri­cal totals, was usually employed as the basis of comparison. Were that a safe rule, Peter would have outshone Christ, for when the Redeemer died, "they all forsook him, and fled," but a few weeks later one sermon by Peter resulted in three thou­sand baptisms!

There should be and there can be a solu­tion to this vexing problem. As we returned from a meeting where we both had taken part in a discussion panel, the conversation between a very successful young minister and me centered upon incidents in our lives that had greatly influenced us. His "high moment" occurred as he entered the pulpit for his first sermon. As a new minis­terial intern he had been directed to speak in a church built in a timber area! The building was rustic, the congregation small, yet he was eager and dedicated. His material was well in mind. But an indivi­dual—perhaps a half-starved saint—had let­tered on the pulpit molding, where only the speaker could see, these words: "Sir, we would see Jesus." Perhaps the solution to the whole problem is to be found here.

To some of us who are physicians there seems at times to be a lack of taste or judg­ment shown in the selection of sermon ma­terial. A good friend of mine, another phy­sician, had tried to persuade the husband of one of his patients to attend our church. He was a manufacturer of small jewelry items. These persistent urgings finally re­sulted in a visit by this husband to his doc­tor's church. But when the service ended the visitor expressed no enjoyment or a de­sire to return. And why should he? The sermon's main emphasis that day was on the sinfulness of wearing jewelry. Now a little study should have made the minister realize that only a minority of those seated before him needed such a denunciation. If he had had a bit more courage, perhaps, he might have solved the jewelry problem in his congregation with a personal visit or two, or a letter, or even a telephone call. As it was, this doctor's conscientious efforts on behalf of a prospective convert had been completely nullified.

Not only that, but his first visit to one of our churches had resulted in an entirely erroneous concept of our religion. I write this in order to reveal a need for skill, study, and planning. The same applies to personal evangelism. In my office sat a man to whom I was giving what you might call a brief Bible study. He listened intently and I was encouraged to continue. Sud­denly a change came over his face, and he spoke abruptly: "Just a minute, doctor, are you speaking to me in this manner in order to get a new member for your church, or because you love my soul?" As I look back upon it, the rebuke was well merited, for I had thought of him as a prospective new member. The truth is I hadn't used skill, nor had I planned well. I needed study also, for study would have revealed Christ's method.

Christ dealt, first of all, with the matter which to the individual seemed most im­portant. He, of course, recognized the pri­mary importance of His divine mission, yet He dealt lovingly with lesser matters in order to hold the interest and loyalty of the individual until opportunity pre­sented itself to give a more far-reaching truth. The widow of Nain did not receive from Him scriptural evidence in support of the state of the dead, the millennium, or even the resurrection. Her evident an­guish was met with the simple words, "Weep not."

The woman of Canaan, living under the influence of nearby Tyre and Sidon, with­out question needed many corrections or additions to her theology. These were known to Jesus, yet there is no record that He attempted to make her doctrinally cor­rect. Instead, he dealt directly with the problem she thought most important. "And her daughter was made whole from that very hour."

The infirm man by the pool of Bethesda no doubt could have benefited much from a restatement of material given in the Ser­mon on the Mount, yet the One who loved him most recognized a more pressing need. For thirty-eight years he had hoped for healing of the body. Each disappointment had intensified his frantic efforts to be the first to enter the pool. How thoroughly in keeping are the simple words of Jesus: "Wilt thou be made whole?"

And would anyone seriously doubt the continuing interest of these three recipients of Christ's compassion? Having a son returned from the dead, a daughter res­cued from a living death, and a body made whole, would these three witnesses of di­vine power go on as they had before and never again think inquiringly of their Benefactor? It is far more reasonable to be­lieve that these three and hundreds of others like them found their way into that company which comprised the first fruits of Pentecost. And did not Ellen G. White say that if we would "be kind and cour­teous and tenderhearted and pitiful, there would be a hundred conversions to the truth where now there is only one" (Testi­monies, vol. 9, p. 189)?

Remembering the fact that it was per­haps the last book in the Bible to be writ­ten, how significant are the closing words of John's gospel! Having before him the three Synoptic Gospels, the aged saint makes no attempt to repeat in detail what Matthew, Mark, and Luke had written. Rather, he sought to lend emphasis to omitted incidents, such as the experience of Christ with Nicodemus, the Samaritan woman at Jacob's well, and the bewildering discussion on the "bread of life." Signifi­cantly he closes his Gospel by relating the conversation between Christ and Peter after a fruitless night of fishing. From the lips of the forgiving Master came a thrice-uttered command, "Feed my sheep." Is that not also a command to us every time we enter the pulpit? Remember a broken­hearted widow might be present in that sanctuary for the first time.