Ready, Set, Grow

LIVING, LOVING, AND LEARNING

I officially proposed to Wanda in July 1943, the summer following our sophomore year. I had secured summer employment at an Oberlin foundry, cleaning excess metal from huge, freshly fired castings. It was strenuous work, and by the conclusion of each day, my lanky frame was covered in layers of stinky soot. I saved the money earned from that grimy job to purchase an engagement ring for my fiancé.

   Wanda and I traveled to a jewelry store in nearby Lorain, Ohio, to pick out the ring. She fell in love with a beautiful half-carat diamond solitaire that cost me $150 — big bucks in that day.

   The semesters following our freshmen year at Nyack proved to be heady times. I continued to be amazed at the wonderful commitment to prayer I saw in many of my professors and classmates. Both Wanda and I were repeatedly challenged to take our personal growth to new levels and trust God more in every part of our lives.

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   In addition to my role with the Gospel Crusaders quartet, I put my musical skills to use in the school orchestra. Both Wanda and I participated in the choir. There were numerous ministry opportunities. A white classmate and I played our saxophones many Sunday afternoons at a jail in nearby New City, New York. The Gospel Crusaders got invitations to perform throughout the New York area. I even started to do a little preaching in addition to singing.

   I remember one great meeting we had in Harlem at Mother A.M.E. Zion Church whose pastor Benjamin Robeson, was the brother of the now-legendary singer and activist Paul Robeson. I sang with the quartet and preached a simple gospel message, challenging youths in the church to live their lives as if Christ were right there next to them all the time — because He was. When I gave the invitation, I figured we'd let the organist play for a minute or so and then sit down. But right away almost all the young people rose from their seats and came down front to commit their lives to Christ.

   On another occasion, we sang at Sing Sing Prison. Before the service started, the inmates were passing out hymnbooks, and they said to us, "Praise the Lord, brothers. We're so glad you could be here."

   I asked one older man, "Where did you find the Lord?"

   "Right here in the prison," he said proudly. "I'm a free man on the inside."

   So we sang, and I preached. And once again people came forward during the invitation. As I prayed with the inmates to receive Jesus, my skin began to tingle, and I was overcome by the presence of God's Holy Spirit. Though I was excited to see people responding to my preaching, I realized immediately my meager efforts were not enough to

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bring about such outcomes. God was in the house, and He was teaching me in large and small ways how to get out of the way and let Him work.

PUTTING ME ON THE ALTAR

   I told you God was constantly stretching Wanda and me, taking us to new levels of spiritual maturity. Perhaps one of the greatest — and most nerve-racking — tests of our commitment to God and to each other came early in our third year during what was known as Spiritual Emphasis Week.

   The guest speakers were Reverend and Mrs. Gordon Wishart, a wise and insightful missionary couple. They delivered several talks on the practical aspects of ministry, especially about the relationship between husbands and wives. Since Wanda and I were eagerly looking forward to getting married after graduation, our ears perked up.

   For many of the sessions, the speakers divided the student body into male and female groups. Reverend Wishart met with the men, and Mrs. Wishart spent time with the women. Separately and as a team, the Wisharts encouraged us to base all our actions on a solid, biblical foundation.

   On the final night of the series, the Wisharts gave us a startling challenge: "You may be a Christian, but that doesn't necessarily mean that God wants you to be together," Mrs. Wishart declared boldly. "Don't assume you're doing the right thing: ask God to help you be sure! You may need to put your relationship on the altar until God tells you it's what He wants for you."

   It was a provocative message, and it forced me to think hard about my relationship with Wanda. But, in fact, it didn't

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take me long to know in my heart and mind that I was on the right track. I loved Wanda. We had been through so much during our five years of dating. She was the woman God had brought into my life. And, by golly, I had no doubts about that whatsoever.

   For Wanda, on the other hand, it was a different story. After the service, as I walked her to her dorm (it was permitted that night), I could tell she was feeling troubled by Mrs. Wishart's challenge. Her silence suggested something big was coming. "Have we taken our relationship for granted?" she finally said. "Have we really stopped and asked the Lord if our relationship is exactly what He wants? I don't know if I've really put you on the altar."

   Oh, brother! Those were the words I didn't want to hear but that I knew were coming.

   I found myself in a tricky position. On the one hand, I did not want to discount the importance of what the Wisharts had said and, in doing so, look less than spiritual. However, on the other hand, I saw no reason to put my beloved fiancé on the altar and risk losing her. Besides, I had just bought her a gorgeous diamond ring! (I admit my reasoning was a little on the selfish side at this stage, but I was a young man in love.) I wanted to tell Wanda not to take the Wishart's words too literally, but I could see this was a serious issue for her. What's more, I admired her willingness to trust God completely for our future. So I held my tongue and put my faith in God. After all, if our relationship was built on a solid foundation, God would honor our faith just as He had honored Abraham's when the man obeyed God and placed his own son on the altar at Mount Moriah. Was I ready to trust God with that level of faith?

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Wanda gave me back the engagement ring. And the two of us agreed to take some time to pray about our future together and to determine whether it was truly God's will.

   It was an incredibly difficult period of waiting. I talked to my friend Bob Heffer about it, and he said he had gone through the same thing with his fiancé the year before. He told me to be patient. We laughed. And then we prayed.

   A week passed — I believe the longest week of my life — and finally one day I saw Wanda coming down a hallway. She had a big smile on her face, which made me feel a little better. But I still wasn't sure what she had discovered. I flashed a curious grin and said, "Well, it's been a week. Any verdict yet?"

   Wanda nodded and said, "You're the one!"

   A lot of engagement rings and promise pins went back and forth that week. I was just thankful that I got to put the ring I had in my pocket back on the finger where it belonged.

PREACHING TO THE TREES

   With the passage of time — and several homiletics exams — I could feel myself becoming a more proficient preacher. I loved to share the gospel. I loved to see men and women, boys and girls, and everyone in between moved to action and reaction by the proclamation of the Living Word of God. Early on, I could see the power that resides in God's Word. As I grew as a communicator of God's truth, I gained a new appreciation for that inimitable passage in Hebrews 4:12: "For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart."

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   That kind of power was not to be handled lightly. And so, on those nights before I was to speak at a church service or some other function, I found myself spending increasing amounts of time on my knees before God, seeking wisdom and guidance for the enormous responsibility of presenting His message to needy hearts.

   At Nyack, we were taught that the supreme task of the church is evangelism and that you never catch the true thrill of evangelism until you go to the fields abroad. We were taught that the central thrust of preaching is the message of the Cross, and that you can do it only through the anointing of the Holy Spirit. We were regularly drilled on the elements of good expository preaching. We were inculcated with sermons and studies by such greats as G. Campbell Morgan, F.B. Meyer, Andrew Murray, and of course, the "Prince of Preachers" Charles Spurgeon. Then there were the works of C&MA founder A. B. Simpson. His message on The Fourfold Gospel was especially hammered into us: A true and complete gospel must always give attention to Christ our Savior, Christ our Sanctifier, Christ our Healer, and Christ our Soon Coming King. Every Nyack student knew those four points inside and out.

   I eventually discovered my preaching was most effective when it took an extemporaneous approach. As usual, I learned this the hard way. At the end of their second year, homiletics students were required to get up in front of their peers and preach for Professor Gilbert Johnson's class. That sermon constituted the final exam. I had learned to put my nerves in check when speaking at churches and other places, but this was different. I would actually receive a grade for this sermon. What's more, I would be the first student to speak!

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   The night before the exam, I was feeling a bit apprehensive. Wanda told me that she'd be praying for me, so that put me at ease a little. But I still could feel butterflies dive-bombing in my gut. Bob Heffer came into my room and asked if I was working on my message.

   "Yes," I told him.

   He looked at my notebook and flashed a slightly puzzled look. "Do you have it all typed out?"

   "No, I don't preach that way. I just put an outline together," I explained.

   "Howard, you should consider writing it all out," Bob said. "That way you'll have a sufficient safety cushion."

   Now I was beginning to worry. Was I preparing the right way? Would I blank out before the class and not be able to regroup using just an outline? Maybe I did need to write it all out. I began to doubt everything I knew to be true about my preaching style.

   After Bob left, I stared at my outline for a long while. Then I relented; I typed out the whole sermon.

   Big mistake! The next morning, I stood in front of the class and began to read my sermon. Almost immediately, I began to lose my train of thought. I eventually recovered, but the damage had been done. When I sat down, I knew I had fallen short of my usual effort. And my grade reflected it.

   Later when I told Wanda, she was not interested in extending any cheap sympathy that day.

   "It serves you right," she declared. "You know you're a good preacher. You never used a lot of notes. That's not your way. You have to trust your instincts — and trust God!"

   Wanda, who would become an excellent speaker herself, was always encouraging me to greater heights. But she had

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never been afraid to tell me the truth either. And once again, she hammered it home.

   A year later, in the senior level of Professor Johnson's homiletics course, I knew I had to redeem myself. The night before the big preaching exam, I gathered up my outline and went into a wooded area of the campus. I made sure nobody was around, and I prayed out loud, "Alright Lord, You've got to help me with this one." And finally, I began to preach my sermon to the trees. I must have been summoning all my rage from messing up the previous year, because I really let the trees have it. When I was done, I knew those trees were saved — and I knew I was ready for the exam.

   The next morning, my congregation was a professor and students, not a forest. Still, I managed to preach with that same fury I had unleashed on nature the night before. There were no missteps this time. I had exchanged my feeble anxiety for focused passion, and God honored it.

   Years later, Professor Johnson came to hear me preach at an evangelistic meeting at Shell Point Village, in Fort Myers, Florida. After the service, I was able to share with him how grateful I was for having had the experience of participating in his classes. And he told me how proud he was of my achievements.

   Effective preachers, I have learned, never lose their hunger for honing their craft. Nyack was really the place where I first developed that "appetite." I've been trying to feed it ever since.

Chapter Seven  ||  Table of Contents