How can a forty-one year old man recall a five second moment from an ordinary Sunday morning church service in an ordinary small Southern Baptist church in an ordinary South Mississippi community.
In those days, kids stayed in big church with their parents more than they do now. Just like every other week, we sat as still as quiet as possible and sang the selection of songs – three songs and a chorus, first, second, and last verse. Amazing Grace. Just a little talk with Jesus. I surrender All.
And, at the end, Just as I Am, every week.
After the songs came the offering. Four deacons would walk down at the end of the third song, timing it perfectly so that one of them could pray just as the song ended and they could pass the offering buckets, two on the left and two in the right.
Then the preacher begins. This is the best part of these services. A pure and humble presentation of God’s word from a pastor that holds no ambition to be known. Called to shepherd by God; this is why. As it the way that it simply is, these shepherds come and are made to go as soon as some lead deacon gets their feathers ruffled.
The pastor’s name was Brother Archie, and he was a good one. I don’t remember how long he was there or when he left, but I can recall the way I felt around him. Trust is the word. He was good, and you knew it.
As was my six year old custom, this is where I slept, lying in the red pews fully stretched out with my head resting in my mother’s lap. she often would shake me to stop me from snoring, even as a skinny six year old.
In this Sunday that marked my life, I can’t recall the songs. I can’t recall the sermon. I can’t recall the moment I fell asleep.
All I remember is the voice. I can’t tell you if it was audible or not because I was asleep. I saw no dream images, but I heard the words.
“You’re gonna be a preacher.”
That was it. A simple phrase that I can still hear. A simple phrase that a six year old could understand.
Somehow, I knew it was God. I don’t know how I knew., but I knew. The voice woke me up, and it was nearing the end of the service.
“Momma, momma. I’m gonna be a preacher!” I said when I was allowed to talk.
Mom, the purist there ever has been, rubbed my head. “Yeah? That’s good baby.”
“Will you tell Brother Archie?”
“You tell him?”
It was the custom for the pastor to walk down the aisle during the closing prayer and stand at the back door and shake the hands of everyone as they left. When I approached I reached out and shook Brother Archie’s hand, suddenly feeling a little more like a little man.
“Brother Archie, I’m gonna be a preacher, just like you.”
“Oh. Is that so? That’s good, Dusty. That’s good!”
I’m sure he thought, ‘maybe start by not snoring during my sermons.’
I went home and things were as they always were.
But I never forgot and I never wondered what I was meant to do. Even as I wrote this, I remember the words.
“You’re gonna be a preacher.”
My calling has many parts and has taken many forms over the years: leader, pastor, missionary, television person, writer, but it’s always been and will always be preacher.
One who declares by whatever methods they can that Jesus is Lord. Preacher is simple, pure, stripped of ambition because preacher is about the message and not the messenger.
This was the first time I heard the Lord. It changed my life and still affects me till today.
God always has and still speaks to children. He still calls young Samuels sleeping in the tabernacle. He still has plans for their years to come, even if you feel the world is crumbling and nothing will withstand the shadow.
Generations come and go, but the Lord is forever. Your children are in his plans and thoughts. Remember that. Maybe they sleep during the sermon.
But the Lord’s eyes are wide open, looking at their hearts, hoping they will be in a place where they can hear Him and know that it is Him.