My grandfather passed away several years ago. I often think about him. The memory that comes to my mind the most
often is one in which I was not actually present. Oh what I would give to have been there that
day.
My grandfather attended Bethlehem Primitive Baptist
Church. He was faithful to attend and
often spoke of his love for the church during our times together. I attended with him a few times, mostly out
of obligation, but never really had the attraction to it that he had. It would be several years later before I saw
in it what he did.
In his later years he had become very weak. It was becoming more and more difficult to
get out and about. It was in the summer
time…Alabama summertime. From what I
understand it was an extra hot day.
Singing started at 10:30…so the sun had plenty of time to get up and get
everything begging for a breath of wind.
This particular day, my grandfather was being chauffeured by Mrs. Annie
Sue Moss, as was usually the case. Maybe
it was the heat that day…or just his health…or a combination of both, but after
opening the car door my grandfather couldn't find the strength to step
out. I can see him struggling. I can see him grabbing his pants leg to try
and lift his shrapnel scarred leg out.
He was a determined man…a man that loved the church and the fellowship
of God’s people. I can see the sweat
beading up on his forehead as he fought to shift his weight towards the open
door. I can feel his sadness as he
begins to realize that he hasn’t the strength to step out of the car and enter
into the place he loved most. I cry
thinking about it. Who knows how many
services he had attended in all his days…how many times he had sang to the
Lord…but he can’t make it in today. I
know him. His heart was breaking. I’m sure he wondered if he would ever be able
to attend a service again. Even his
well-seasoned determination couldn't overcome the weakness of his 85 year old
body. What sorrow he must have
felt. It would be like saying goodbye to
the love of your life…knowing you may never see them again. I wish more people felt about worshiping in
God’s house like he did. Many people
need such little reasons to excuse themselves from attending church on
Sunday…but here was a man giving it all he had to get there. To most, he had a good reason to stay
home...but it wasn't a good reason to him.
Sadly, he would not be able to find the strength. I can see the defeat on his face. I can imagine his thoughts of ‘if I could
just make it one more time’. I am sad
for him.
I have always felt loved.
It is a grand feeling to know someone cares about you. It shakes something inside you. You feel gratitude. You feel humbled. It can overtake and overwhelm you in ways
that I can’t describe. I cannot imagine
how loved he felt as he raised his head to see the people of Bethlehem, young
and old, song books in hand, filing out of the church. Word had gotten to the congregation that Brother C.O. was struggling. I know the love he felt washed away any
embarrassment he may have felt for being unable. He wasn’t a proud man…but he was a determined
man, not willing to accept failure. What
love he must have felt as they all gathered around his open car door. I’m sure he scanned the faces, he saw the
infant, he saw the elderly that weren't too far from being in the condition he
was. He saw the young children that
loved him as much as he loved them. He
saw his friends and his beloved pastor.
He saw the whole body. Oh how I
wish he would have seen me. They
gathered around and sang the songs of Zion with him. It would be the last time. The heat or inconvenience didn't matter. What mattered was there was a dear brother
that couldn't make into the church building, so the church came to him.
I’ve often thought how this scenario would have played out
at most other churches. Truth is, it
would not be logistically possible to have accomplished what happened that day. People are so scattered from one end to the
other with all the programs and segregation.
The worship services take extravagant sound boards and video screens…it
is a production that rivals some secular concerts. Maybe a few people would have tried to help
but would quickly realize it would be best if he just went back home. I doubt that many would have been willing to
bring the entire church body, from infant to elderly out to sing with this dear
brother. I praise God for the simplicity
of the Primitive Baptist church. I am
thankful that we worship as one body. It
allowed my grandfather to hear the voices of the saints one last time. I am forever grateful to the body that was
there that day.
At that time I was not attending Bethlehem and was actually
in opposition to some of their beliefs. Today,
those same people that gathered around that car are some of the most precious
people I have ever met. I am thankful to
be a part of them. I hope someday I can
pick up my hymnal and go to where there is a dying sheep and sing with them one
last time. I hope I can take my bible
and bring to remembrance the beloved truth of God’s grace to them before they
close their eyes in death. I believe
that is what we should do…I believe it is a great expression of love.
“This is my
commandment, That ye love one another, as I
have loved you.” John 15:12
