Years ago, in the first church I pastored, we had one of those number boards that hung at
the rear of the sanctuary. Usually the ushers would post the total
attendance right after the morning offering. Shortly after accepting the invitation to pastor that church, it was announced with great fanfare, across our district, that there would be an attendance competition, and the winner
stood to receive a new fax machine! We didn’t even own a computer
and it was the 90’s for heaven’s sake. I was determined that we
would win this fax machine and show everyone that we had joined the
technological age.
On one particular Sunday, during the height of this attendance drive, the ushers had put the number up on the board earlier than
usual. To me, it looked to be
a bigger crowd than the figure that was posted. Yet my estimate came
from my seat on the platform. So I decided that I should walk down
the side of the sanctuary, like I had a message for the ushers and
get back to the platform before the offertory was finished, doing a
quick count, from front to back as I walked. I was
doing pretty good, counting and shaking hands as I went, but about
two-thirds of the way down the aisle I failed to take into account
the low height of one of the stained wooden beams that supported the
beautiful natural wood ceiling in our sanctuary. Either I was too
tall, or the ceiling was to low. I’m not sure which is the case,
but one thing I know for certain, a six-inch, micro-lam cross beam
doesn’t give much when it comes into direct contact with a human
head. Whack! I smacked the side of my head into the beam. About
six or eight of the people in the pew witnessed the alarming event
and immediately began to laugh.
Needless
to say, I lost count in the collision, and so discontinued the
effort. After the offertory I told the congregation what had
happened and they all laughed with me (or at me, I’m not sure
which). I have never attempted to recount a total again. Although,
admittedly it is still an occasional temptation. In fact, that week
I moved the board to a place where I couldn’t even see it. I wish
I could have burned it. As long as that silly thing was around I
gave it more value than I should have.
This
lesson became even clearer to me through the near-tragic testimony of
a good friend...
The boat cut smoothly across the clear, blue water of
Anderson Reservoir, up above I-84 and in between Boise and Twin
Falls, Idaho. The motor purred, near silently and our spin bait was
drawn several lengths behind the boat as we trolled for kokanee
salmon. We had already caught a handful, and they swam anxiously in
the live-catch hold inside the boat. The sun was beginning to set as
we made one last, long pass across the near side of the lake, now
becoming shrouded in shadows that were creeping toward the east-side
of the canyon walls.
The boat cut smoothly across the clear, blue water of
Anderson Reservoir, up above I-84 and in between Boise and Twin
Falls, Idaho. The motor purred, near silently and our spin bait was
drawn several lengths behind the boat as we trolled for kokanee
salmon. We had already caught a handful, and they swam anxiously in
the live-catch hold inside the boat. The sun was beginning to set as
we made one last, long pass across the near side of the lake, now
becoming shrouded in shadows that were creeping toward the east-side
of the canyon walls.
My
fishing friend broke the silence, “It was right up there,” he
said, pointing to an area on the bluffs above.
“I
just pulled the truck over and pulled out my shotgun.”
I
listened intently, my eyes on his figure silhouetted against the
opposite side of the boat.
“I
would have pulled the trigger, except I kept thinking about what
would happen to my wife and kids.”
The
boat continued ahead, cutting a rippled “V” in the crystalline
water. In the following moments my friend explained to me about how
the criticism and wrongful condemnation of the community, in
particular people who he counted as supporters had brought him to
this state of confusion. My friend is a big man, a former college
football linebacker, once even a prospect for the NFL. It’s hard
to believe that mere words could break someone like that,...and yet
they almost had; completely. I cannot comment on the right or wrong
of all that happened in respect to his situation, however, I can with
certainty say that it was the opinion of others that wounded my
friend’s heart to the point that this quiet, mountain of a man was
ready to take his own life.
I know
that too often, too many of us listen too much to what others have to
say about who we are. Now, without question, I believe that we need
to have some in our lives who we remain accountable to. The problem
comes when we begin to base the success or failure of our life on the
response we get from others. Whether it’s the attendance figures
at our church, the won-loss record of our team, making or not making
the cheerleading squad, winning or not winning the class election.
The list goes on and on.My creator knit me together in my mother’s womb and all His works are wonderful...(Psalm 139:14)
He is the only one I want to allow to have an opinion regarding the success or failure of my life’s endeavors. My hunch is that if I commit each day to Him, one at a time, doing my best to live within His call for my life, that when the day is done, His usual comment to me, regardless of the score, will be, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant!”
