Things Don't Just Happen
It began a long time ago when Dad was a pastor. Missionaries would visit our country church. Their stories and pictures were an enormous contrast to our way of life. Even the smallest children would sit fixated on church pews or floor (in front to be closer) as missionaries would share their heart.
Perhaps it was because our world was rather closed. We had no TV. Our best radio was a $13.00 GE box on top of the refrigerator. No newspaper. Our little community had one general store. The town was nine miles away, and we rarely went to town.
School, home, church, farm. Life was good, but simple.
Then missionaries would come telling about witch doctors throwing flames out of their mouths and setting buildings on fire. There were stories of children giving their hearts to Jesus and parents trying to kill their own children because of their leaving the old religion. There were stories of satanic powers attacking Christians. And, there were stories of how God miraculously proved His great power over and over again.
In my heart I wanted to be a missionary.
Intellectually, I wanted to be a war correspondent. That too would have taken me to the world, to see people in their native culture, to experience life in ways different from the North Carolina mountain culture, and to share the love of the Lord with people who had not heard of Jesus.
The struggle was a real struggle within me. How to be a professional. To be adventuresome and hopefully famous, and yet to be faithful to Jesus.
What I did not count on was the power of the Holy Spirit to direct footsteps. Being a pastor was not in my mind or heart. God had to work it gently, carefully, and without panicking me. He often has to come in through the back door to accomplish His will in our lives, because we are so intent upon our own agenda.
The first church Laila and I pastored was very small in the number of people at the beginning, and our building was very small and ugly. We made quick and sudden efforts to improve both numbers of people and appearance of building.
A phone call came. A missionary’s appointment in a large church had been cancelled. He wanted to know if he could stop by our little church on a Saturday night. “Sure,” I said.
”You do not have to ask your people first?” he asked.
“No. We will see you Saturday night,” I replied.
He came. He came and the snow came. A serious snow and bitter cold. About half of our congregation came through the snow and cold. We had a total of 22 people, including the missionary. We gathered to the front in a cluster, and he came out of the pulpit to stand in front of us.
It was a moment of rare and precious fellowship. By the time he had finished his presentation we had forgotten about the snow and cold outside. Our hearts had been taken to the other side of the world.
We worshipped with giving. It was the Year of 1974, and the total offering for 22 people was $2,200! The missionary was surprised by the large offering. We were thrilled.
A few days ago a pastor called me. “We are having financial problems. Do you have a recommendation?”
“Yes,” I responded. “Receive a mission offering.”
The journey of a local church to believe in the Great Commission is not a matter of democracy. It is a matter of obedience. New Testament churches that were blessed had generous hearts for sending missionaries and ministering to saints in distant places.
As we venture into this weekend’s Covenant Missions Ministry our sincere desire is to sow and reap. We ambition to please Our Lord. We believe that what we are doing is what Jesus has instructed us to do. We also believe that what we are doing is the path to God’s favor and eternal blessings.
I am looking forward to seeing you at Covenant this weekend. Saturday morning and Sunday morning you will have opportunity to meet in small groups with a missionary. Your blessing!
Things don’t just happen. We are working a plan! The plan includes you!
Much Love
Pastor Bare
Isaiah 58:10