I Saw Him In Church For The First Time 

I saw him in the church building 
for the first time on Wednesday. 
He was in his mid-70's, 
with thinning silver hair and a neat brown suit. 

Many times in the past I had invited him to come to church. Several other Christian friends had talked to him 
about the Lord and had tried to share 
the good news with him. 

He was a well-respected, 
honest man with so many characteristics 
a Christian should have, 
but he had never accepted Christ, 
nor entered the doors of the church.

"Have you ever been to a church service 
in your life?" 
I had asked him a few years ago. 
We had just finished a pleasant day 
of visiting and talking. 

He hesitated. 
Then with a bitter smile he told me 
of his childhood experience some fifty years ago. 
He was one of many children 
in a large impoverished family. 
His parents had struggled to provide food, 
with little left for housing and clothing. 

When he was about ten, 
some neighbors invited him to worship with them. 
The Sunday School class had been very exciting! 
He had never heard such songs and stories before! 
He had never heard anyone read from the Bible! 

After class was over, 
the teacher took him aside and said, 
"Son, please don't come again dressed as you are now. 
We want to look our best when we come into God's house."

He stood in his ragged, unpatched overalls. 
Then looking at his dirty Bare feet, he answered softly, 
"No, ma'am, I won't-ever." 
"And I never did," he said, 
abruptly ending our conversation. 

There must have been other factors to harden him so, 
but this experience formed a significant part 
of the bitterness in his heart. 
I 'm sure that Sunday School teacher meant well. 
But did she really understand the love of Christ? 
Had she studied and accepted the teachings 
found in the second chapter of James? 

What if she had put her arms 
around the dirty, ragged little boy and said, 
"Son, I am so glad you are here, 
and I hope you will come back every chance you get 
to hear more about Jesus." 

I reflected on the awesome responsibility 
a teacher or pastor or a parent has 
to welcome little ones in His name. 
How far-reaching her influence was! 

I prayed that I might be ever open 
to the tenderness of a child's heart,
and that I might never fail to see beyond 
the appearance and behavior of a child
to the eternal possibilities within. 

Yes, I saw him in the church house 
for the first time on Wednesday. 
As I looked at that immaculately dressed old gentleman 
lying in his casket, 
I thought of the little boy of long ago. 
I could almost hear him say, 
"No, ma'am, I won't-ever." 

And I wept.