Preacher Luke
In the days when sugar was five pounds for twenty-nine cents, and a bag of candy was a nickel, Coca-colas were a dime, and you could sell your eggs to the country store. If families had a car or truck, it would have been abnormal to have two. There were virtually no TVs, and radios picked up mighty few channels.
Location: Ashe County, N.C. Rural, farming country.
Time: Early 1950’s
Children: Most families had at least four and ours had nine.
Toys and games: mostly created by children, e.g., hop-scotch, tic-tac-toe, imaginary cars out of a block of wood, riding animals, playing with dogs and cats, wrestling, jumping out of barn lofts—blindfolded, swimming in creeks/rivers, swinging on wild grape vines over ravines, making and using slingshots, corn-cob fights, etc.
Part of the local culture included sharp lines between churches. Folks might sit in the same pew for a funeral, but Sunday was segregated with Baptists being Baptists, Episcopal (considered very liberal) off to themselves, Presbyterians (considered less liberal than Episcopalians), and holiness/Pentecostals off the chart on the other end of Episcopalians.
And then there was Preacher Luke. In my child’s mind he was old enough to retire. I think of him with a receding hairline, medium height, average build, mild-mannered, and soft spoken.
Preacher Luke dared to have a Boy Scout program that reached across the fearsome lines dividing churches on Sundays. It did not matter what church a boy attended, he could be part of the Scouts. Rules were not too tough. There were no uniforms, as I recall. Regular attendance was not even an issue, because most of the boys were from farm families and duty came before pleasure (an interesting idea). There were no fees.
Leaders of the Scouts did not follow a routine, but creatively adopted activities and games that were realistic to life in the local culture. Talk about character, God, and integrity were demonstrated by Preacher Luke and those who helped him.
A while back, Laila and I visited with my brother Brad and his wife Betty, who have a campsite in the community of our childhood. Brad asked what I would like to do. “Drive me by places and homes and talk as you go. Tell me who and what. Refresh my memory.”
It was Wednesday night. We rode for more than an hour before a dirt road took us by the Presbyterian Church. A storm was gathering, clouds were low, and the wind was rather strong. However, the annex of the church was lighted, a door was open and a group of senior people were seated around a table. I asked Brad to stop the car. Up the sidewalk I went and stood in the open door. There was silence in the room. Bibles were in front of each person, with a study of Revelation in process.
“Please pardon my interruption,” I proffered. To this they responded that maybe they needed to be interrupted. “I am Harold Bare, son of Lonnie and Pansy Bare, and grandson of Clark Miller. “ Heads began to nod with understanding of my family roots.
“I wanted to thank you for keeping the church doors open to me when I was a child. Preacher Luke and this church have a special place in my heart, because of the Scouting program. I am a pastor, and your ministry has encouraged me to reach beyond church doors to others.”
Well, friends, that did it. They were melted down. Gratitude erased the distance between the Presbyterians and Pentecostal preacher. “Have some cake and something to drink.” “Talk to us about Revelation.” And one lady started putting goodies together for me to take with me.
Maybe you can learn a lesson from Preacher Luke. The whole earth is the Lord’s (Psalm 24:1). All souls are his (Ezekiel 18). When you spread love around it just flows on and on. When the kindness of a Preacher Luke touches a young boy’s life, it can influence that boy as he becomes a man.
Hope you are listening. Hope that you are living the life of cheerfully investing in others. Christ gave all for us. Can we do less than give our all?
In Reflection,
Pastor Bare