Bigger Things

RADIO, BIBLES, AND BABIES

The Lord blessed the work of Bethany Chapel. As our numbers swelled, we began to outgrow our meeting place. Fortunately, our resources were growing as well. Soon we raised enough money to start a legitimate building fund. The question was: What could we afford?

   For weeks I had noticed a Jewish synagogue up in the Bronx. It was a nice little congregation of faithful people, but attendance had been dwindling. One day I visited the synagogue and spoke to the presiding rabbi. As it turned out, he couldn't afford to keep the synagogue open anymore and wanted to sell the building. He wanted eight thousand dollars for the property. Our church had only two thousand. So we talked to officials at the C&MA district offices, and they voted to give us the balance of the building's cost. It was an answer to prayer.

   Though The Christian and Missionary Alliance Church was a predominantly white denomination, it did work to

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build bridges across races and cultures for the gospel — not only in foreign lands but also here in the United States. This set the C&MA apart from many white denominations in those days which seemed to turn a blind eye to the plight of Negroes, Hispanics, and other ethnic communities that populated the nation's cities.

   A month or so later, after the synagogue had moved out, our congregation — which now numbered about one hundred members — moved in. And Bethany Chapel became Bethany Alliance Church.

   Along with the church facilities came a second-floor apartment. Wanda and I finally would be able to move out of our cramped quarters at Miss Woolward's apartment and have a place of our own. This was ideal timing, because the Jones family was growing as well. Our beautiful daughter Cheryl was born August 10, 1945. Two years later, on June 1, her precious sister Gail arrived. And two years after that, on July 4, our lovely Phyllis entered the world. In each instance, my mother traveled from Oberlin to help out until Wanda regained her full strength. Our lives were full, but they were also crowded, so it was wonderful to see the Lord provide a larger living space for our rapidly expanding clan.

   We settled into our new church facilities, grateful to God for a place to assemble. Because we had come from a smaller, less user-friendly location, we never complained about the little quirks that came with our building. For instance, in the winter months the hot water pipes banged as though some gremlin were taking a large monkey wrench to them — and they always grew louder right around prayer time. Then there was the air conditioning in the summer — or lack thereof. During the hot and humid months, we usually held our services outdoors.

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Our joyful singing caused many of our neighbors to lean out their windows to hear us. In fact, several of them would eventually join the church, making it even more difficult for us to complain. It was awesome to watch how God was working in our midst.

ROOM AT THE CAMP

   As the Lord blessed our work at Bethany Church, we continued to explore new ways to reach all races and ages for Christ. As often was the case, one of those "new ways" found us.

   In the late 1940s and 1950s, Christian summer camps were becoming popular, but only whites were usually encouraged to use such facilities. One of our friends had taken his family to an eastern camp, looking forward to a week of teaching by a renowned Bible teacher. But before dinner on the first day, the camp director knocked on their cabin door, handed back their entire fee and politely asserted that they might be more comfortable worshiping with their "own kind." Not wanting to cause problems, our friends had quietly left the grounds. But their hearts and spirits were broken. This man clearly saw the need for a Christian camp program available to black families. As he discussed his burden with me and other leaders, the vision for a camp was formed.

   In God's providence, a Christian woman who owned a tract of farmland two hours away in Bethlehem, Connecticut, wanted to give her property to some group who could use it for God's glory. It was fifty acres of beautiful land spread out on a scenic lakefront. It was the perfect site. We named it "Bethlehem Camp" and launched a Christian camp

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open to all races. Over the years, we rejoiced to see families and youth groups descend on the place for picnics, camping, and a whole lot of happy worship.

ON THE AIR

   One of the most significant developments in our New York ministry began after our first big Soldiers for Christ rally. I had invited Jack Wyrtzen, director of the Word of Life Ministries, to be our inaugural speaker, and he was a big hit. He helped us pack the church with close to a thousand people. No doubt, it was Jack's reputation as a radio minister that helped attract attention to our rally.

   Jack Wyrtzen's ministry had started with a small radio program and expanded into a huge evangelistic outreach. As I chatted with him, it occurred to me that God would use radio to take our message to a larger audience. (My friendship with Jack would prove even more providential later in my ministry, but more on that in another chapter.)

   I cut a deal with a local station to do a fifteen-minute broadcast of the weekly Soldiers for Christ rally from a different host church each week. We saw the Lord bless this effort, and later decided to move the program to a more powerful station. We were able to get airtime on Sunday nights on WINS, the mighty 50,000-watt New York station. As a result, we began broadcasting the program exclusively from Bethany Church. I brought the Bethany choir in to do a song each week, and my friend Warren Shelton did the closing announcements. It became a special little broadcast.

   The radio ministry cost us $113 a week, which was a hefty sum in those days. But the Lord always provided. And we

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began to see many fruits. People from around the New York area called us and wrote letters telling us how blessed they were by the program. We learned many people had made commitments to Christ as a result of our music and teaching. Some letters came from as far away as Canada.

   Radio was a peculiar thing, though, because when listeners hear you on the air, they really don't know who you are — that is, they don't know what you look like. So we'd have white people come to our church on Sunday night for the live broadcast (we opened the invitation at the end of each program), but as soon as they'd walk in and see it was predominantly black, they'd walk out.

   One woman, whom I'll call "Mrs. Johnson," had been sending the ministry $100 every other week. And since our weekly expenses were $113, that was quite a significant gift. We were very grateful. She even called us and told us how much she appreciated the program. "We love your preaching," the woman said. "Oh, my, you give the Word. We've adopted you as our radio pastor."

   So one week Mrs. Johnson wrote me a letter and sent more money, and then she called me. She said, "We'd like to know. Would you come out to our house in Long Island? We want to meet you face-to-face."

   Long Island was quite a distance, but it was difficult to turn down an offer from such a loyal and gracious supporter. So my daughter Cheryl and I made the trek to Mrs. Johnson's home. Cheryl was four at the time, and I often took her places with me when I could to take some of the pressure off of Wanda, who still had two younger ones to look after. Wanda did Cheryl's hair and put her in a cute little dress. She looked so pretty.

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   So on a pleasant Sunday afternoon, we hopped in the car and made the long journey south. This was the early 1950s, and there weren't many black folk in Long Island in those days, so I knew it was going to be an interesting trip.

   We arrived in Long Island about an hour later and found the house. It was an immaculate little mansion, with a neatly manicured lawn and a circular driveway. We parked, walked up to the large wooden door, and knocked. A matronly-looking white woman in her mid-to-late-forties opened the door.

   "Mrs. Johnson?" I said.

   "Yes."

   "I'm Howard Jones."

   "You mean Pastor Howard Jones?" she said with an incredulous stare.

   "Yes," I replied. I could see in her face that she was disappointed.

   After a pause that was a few seconds too long, she said, "Oh, please come in."

   Cheryl and I walked into her elegant home. I had been in the homes of rich people before, but in this one I got the distinct vibe that I didn't belong. As we moved into the living room to sit, a door opened and a teenage girl popped out, took one look at me, and ran back through the door.

   "That's one of my daughters," Mrs. Johnson said uncomfortably. "I might as well tell you right now, Pastor Jones. We didn't know that you were black. And our daughter is afraid of black people."

   "That 's all right," I said, feeling equally uneasy. I wanted to take Cheryl's hand and make a quick exit, but I sensed God telling me to weather it out. So Cheryl and I sat there across

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from our wealthy hostess in one of those scenes that neither Mrs. Johnson nor I would have participated in had we known better.

   The door opened again and another teenage daughter came in. She seemed far less timid, and actually put Cheryl and me at ease with her warm smile.

   "What a beautiful little girl!" the daughter said, looking at Cheryl. "Would you like some cake and milk?

   Cheryl's eyes widened. "Is it all right, Daddy?"

   "Yes, honey," I said. So the daughter took Cheryl to the kitchen and closed the door.

   There was another chunk of awkward silence, until finally Mrs. Johnson nervously spoke again. "So you're Pastor Howard Jones?"

   "Yes, ma'am."

   "We've listened to you now for a few years, and I've given you a considerable amount of money."

   "I know, and I'm very grateful. It has been a great blessing to our ministry," I said.

   "We didn't know that you were a Negro," she said matter-of-factly.

   "Should it be of any major concern whether I'm black or white?" I asked as politely as I could manage.

   "No, no," she said quickly.

   "Color shouldn't mean anything," I continued. "You told me you were blessed by our broadcasts, and that you accepted me as your radio pastor."

   "You're right," she said. But I could tell that my skin was a hurdle she wasn't ready to scale.

   We talked several minutes more about the ministry, but tiptoed carefully around the subject of race. Finally, the

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woman's daughter brought Cheryl back. And it wasn't a moment too soon. "Mrs. Johnson," I said, "I've got to conduct a broadcast tonight, so we need to be going."

   She smiled and thanked us for coming, but after we drove out of her driveway and back to the Bronx, we never heard from Mrs. Johnson again.

   Soon, it became clear that my color presented a major obstacle when it came to attracting supporters for the radio program. Indeed, many times after we'd send ministry materials to someone who had written us to give us a nice donation, we ended up never hearing from those people again. It got so bad that I told Wanda that I wasn't sending out any more literature with our pictures on it. It was too costly.

PASSING THE BOOK

   Between my pastorate at Bethany Church, Soldiers for Christ, Bethlehem Camp, and our radio broadcast, my ministry life was sufficiently packed. I quickly became adept at juggling a full and diverse schedule of activities.

   One thing I had to work hard to do from the beginning was to build in time for my family. They were with me for mostly all of our church events — Sunday mornings and evenings, Wednesday evenings, and other special times. But I had to be intentional about creating family devotional time. With three energetic young girls of varying ages, it was not easy. But I'm glad I made the commitment to do it early in the life of our family, for it became a stubborn habit that I know continues to this day in the lives of my children's families.

   By necessity, I became rather discriminating about the number of new activities I would take on, but from time to time

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an opportunity would arise that had God's imprint all over it. One such opportunity was my work with the New York Bible Society.

   Dr. David Fant, pastor of The Gospel Tabernacle in Times Square, asked me if I'd be willing to head a Harlem branch of the New York Bible Society. Dr. Fant was on the board of the Society, which distributed Bibles to churches and other institutions in the community. The Harlem branch would supply Bibles to the five inner-city boroughs of New York: the Bronx, Brooklyn, Harlem, Manhattan, and Queens. The Bibles would go to hospitals, jails, and needy churches. My job would be to work with African-American communities. After some prayer, I agreed to take on the challenge. It didn't hurt that the position paid a small salary (since my church salary was still meager). The job also allowed for the hiring of a secretary and another part-time assistant.

   Our offices were located in Harlem, next door to the famous Apollo Theater. I recruited V.S. Simpson, a young local minister, to help me with the ministry, along with a young woman, Aleta Hamlin, from Oberlin whom I hired as our secretary.

   Our big event was the annual Universal Bible Sunday, a huge worship service that would bring together all the participating churches from our five boroughs. It was a big celebration full of music and pageantry. Those Bible Sundays were held at a different church each year.

   The biggest Bible Sunday during my three-year tenure took place at the historic Abyssinian Baptist Church, which was led by the legendary preacher and congressman Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Though Powell had a reputation for being rather worldly and extremely political, I asked him if he would

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be our principal speaker for the event. To my great delight, he agreed. Before he spoke, the great Abyssinian Choir brought the crowd to its feet with a rousing rendition of the hymn "Walking in the Light." Powell's subject that Sunday was "A Living Book for a Dying World." Despite Powell's liberal bent theologically, this was a profoundly biblical message about the importance of God's Word, and the audience loved it.

   Though some of my fellow evangelical pastors were surprised at the theological correctness of Powell's sermon, I wasn't. Powell was political, yes. But he knew how to play to his audience.

MOVING ON

   During our time in New York City, I had a variety of interesting opportunities for service that went beyond the four walls of Bethany Church. There were youth ministry, radio ministry, a Bible-distribution ministry, and scores of regular speaking engagements at other churches. But after eight years, I sensed my ministry at Bethany Church had reached its peak.

  After much prayer, Wanda and I felt God telling us to seek new opportunities. We had seen exciting things. We saw a church grow from a handful of people to well over one hundred committed members. We saw slews of people, young and old, come to Christ through Bethany's ministry and the outreach of Soldiers for Christ. In fact, I am still close to several of those young people to this day. One who comes to mind is Dr. Mildred Clarke, one of the most outstanding gynecological surgeons in New York. At the tender age of thirteen, she was saved at one of our youth meetings. The lives of

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Mildred and many others like her gave us confidence that God was in charge of the work we had started in New York, and that He would see it through to completion.

   During my eight years in New York, I had often been asked to consider leading a church in Cleveland, Ohio. Earlier, when I sought the Lord's direction on the subject, He seemed to say it wasn't the right time. But in 1952 when the call came again, both Wanda and I knew it was time to move on.

   We said tearful good-byes to our dear friends and ministry associates in New York, but we gave thanks for the many souls who were saved and the wonderful work that God saw fit to establish through our efforts.

   Throughout my ministry, I've discovered that everything we do now ultimately prepares us for some greater work in the future. This was especially true of our time in New York. All we experienced, all we learned, we would soon put to use in ways we could never have imagined.

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