Covenant Church

We left Sam some ten years ago. He was living in a fine middle-class neighborhood--good job, good health, and doing a lot of fishing. He knew about God, occasionally went to church, even had a Bible, but Sam had evolved a perspective of life that he did not need as much church-going as some folks. “The Man upstairs and me have an understanding. He knows where I am, and I respect him,” Sam would say.

In looking back over the years it seemed to me a good idea to go re-visit Sam. I have known so many Sams. They treat Sunday as if the day is their special gift from heaven full of blank spaces to be filled in with “what-dos” and pleasure. A weekend without sunshine is a bad weekend, because it prevents boating, fishing, etc.

One of the ironies of Sam’s casualness about God and church is that Sam is the kind of guy to give you the shirt off his back. He prides himself in being generous. Of course, since he only gives when he wants to, where he wants to, and to whom he wants to, he can recite the list. It’s a matter of pride that justifies him from putting more than a dollar in the offering when he goes to church. Well, that is not exactly true. Sometimes he gives a larger offering—-when it is recognized. Once he gave $500 to the building fund—-name on a plaque in the lobby--but all his giving would not be a fraction of tithes. Once he said: “I just make too much money to tithe!”

But we have not even arrived at Sam’s house and here I am still sharing background of the story.

Waiting -- I already rang the doorbell once. Must be patient. I think I hear someone. The door opens. A balding, white-haired man stands there. I wonder if Sam has moved. “Hi, I am looking for Sam,” I offered.

”I’m Sam.” He said. “Hi, Pastor.”

Being a nice fall day Sam ambled out on the porch. I did not remember him being so elderly. We sat down and talked. Mostly he talked.

The good years had passed. Sam’s wife had died of cancer. His work-related accident had left him with early disability, age 52, just when he had hit full stride with the company and was promised a six-digit income. He had counted on the last few years to really get ahead, thus had not laid up much for hard times. Unfortunately, he discovered that his disability was based on previous income, since his pay raise had not taken effect. Life became crimped. Finances were tight.

I noticed the boat was still in the side yard, needing TLC, and with a FOR SALE sign. The flower garden had lost its beauty, and the bushes lacked care.

Sam explained that one of his children was on drugs. One was a traveling salesman. One had done very well financially in the music industry, but she only came home for a couple of days at Christmas.

It seemed odd to me that Sam never asked about church. He did not ask about my family. He did not ask about folks in church that had brought meals to his family when his wife was sick. Nor did he mention about all his promises about how he was going to do better, give more to the Lord, and get his family in church. Oddly, it was as if his brain was just given out on matters that matter the most.

A strange feeling settled on me, a sadness which I could not fully explain. Maybe it was thinking of how many times I had visited Sam and his family. Maybe it was remembering that his daughter the musician would have been an incredible asset to the music team of the church. But she never came to church, because Sam just made church look unnecessary to his whole family.

I listened to Sam for nigh on to an hour. Oh, yes, I tried to talk to him about Jesus, but it was as if he was deaf to the subject. He would just pick up where he left off and keep telling his story. From time to time while I nodded my head to his woeful story, I wondered about other things. For example, I wondered where his fishing buddies were. I wondered if Sam remembered that his mother and father had taken him to church every Sunday and given him a good start in life. I wondered if Sam remembered the miracle healing of his first son born prematurely.

I did have prayer with Sam, but it did not seem to matter. There was no reverence on his part, just a patient waiting for the “Amen” so he could moan on about his misfortunes.

Down the walk and waving bye, I wondered how many Sams there are. I wept in my heart for the seeds of foolishness they are sowing in their families, neighbors, friends about church, and Jesus. I wept for Sam, and I wept for those whom Sam has failed.

Do you know a Sam? Please don't be a Sam.

Prayerfully,

Pastor Bare
Proverbs 1:25,26