MY CALLING, Part Two: Samplings from my Autobiography
Mizpah Grove Camp Meeting always played a major role in my life. This cannot be labeled nostalgia. It goes much deeper than happy memories of the past. At the surface level Mizpah Camp Meeting was a reprieve from the unpleasantries of peer pressure in school. We had few youth in our churches, hardly any who came to Sunday evening service or to prayer meeting. On several occasions I made a valiant attempt to identify with friends in high school and “go out” with them for afternoon or evening gatherings. But I found it all so unsatisfying. Kids just lulled around at the drug store or idled by. Hanging out like that was not my idea of a good time. Several times I ventured forth to play ball with high school kids but found that also unrewarding.
Mt. Carmel was largely Roman Catholic. Only a handful of friends in high school whom I knew were born again and none were male. I sought to give a Christian testimony and was known as a committed Christian. Many a morning the teacher in the Home Room would call on me to read the Scripture. I chose such passages as Ephesians 2 about salvation by grace through faith alone. Years later one of our church members mentioned that I had a vocal Christian testimony known by others.
No doubt this contributed to unrelenting bullying and harassment, especially in the hallways when we moved from one class to another. My locker mate was Joe Bowers, a nice guy, who was a good friend. He was not like a few of the others. After graduation I visited him once or twice. But some of the boys were just nasty, like a chubby kid nicknamed Frack.
In this environment Mizpah Grove was a solace that I looked forward to, being with other Christian young people to chum around with. We had lots of fun, putting up the tents, building wooden floors in each tent, going to Irving Street Swimming Pool in the afternoons, eating snacks and talking in the evenings. Several of us kids would play ping pong hour upon hour underneath the auditorium in the back. For six weeks I would stay at Mizpah. We had three weeks of Camp Meeting, each one over two Sundays and with five days in between each week so that families could move out and move in. These weeks were preceded by five days of pitching the tents and two days taking down. My parents stayed only for the one week but I was able to stay for all six weeks because my grandmother stayed in her tent and my Aunt Estella stayed in her tent, all next to each other.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Sunday, January 30, 2011
MY CALLING: Samplings from my Autobiography
MY CALLING, Part One: Samplings from my Autobiography
In these tidbits of my life’s story I will tell how the Lord called me to be a missionary.
When I was twelve years old, we moved to Mt. Carmel in the anthracite coal regions of Pennsylvania where my dad pastored the Mennonite Brethren in Christ Church. Incidentally, my grandfather (mother’s dad) had pastored there many years before.
In our church we would participate in round-robin missionary conferences for a whole week over two Sundays. Certain missionaries would circulate among these cooperating churches most evenings of the week. During that week we would take pledges for giving to missions. Our church always did very well with numbers of generous folk. We had owners of two dairies attending, bankers and other white collar workers as well as numbers of miners who of course were union workers. During Sunday School we had a “dollar stretch” in which each Sunday School class competed against each other to bring the most money for missions. The Sunday School Superintendent was a banker and arranged to bring dollar bills to exchange for higher denominations and change. These dollars were then pinned together with a straight pen. Each class brought their contribution which was then pinned to the others. These dollars were then “stretched” around the sanctuary with people holding up this chain of dollars stretching around.
My parents would entertain the missionaries in our home, not only during the missionary conference but whenever missionaries came throughout the year. Missions were an important emphasis. I well remember sitting with them around the dining room table and listening to them talk. I was fascinated with the displays of curios placed on tables in the church. God continued to deepen my heart for missions through this exposure to missions.
Our church participated in Mt. Carmel School District’s Release Time Classes for religious instruction. Kids would leave their schools one afternoon a week and walk to the church of their choice where they received religious instruction. I well remember it was through Release Time Classes that I memorized the Apostles’ Creed which we never recited in our church. Every summer my dad also led the two week long Vacation Bible School. Our church was filled with kids. When I became older I would help by teaching the younger children.
Continued in Part Two
In these tidbits of my life’s story I will tell how the Lord called me to be a missionary.
When I was twelve years old, we moved to Mt. Carmel in the anthracite coal regions of Pennsylvania where my dad pastored the Mennonite Brethren in Christ Church. Incidentally, my grandfather (mother’s dad) had pastored there many years before.
In our church we would participate in round-robin missionary conferences for a whole week over two Sundays. Certain missionaries would circulate among these cooperating churches most evenings of the week. During that week we would take pledges for giving to missions. Our church always did very well with numbers of generous folk. We had owners of two dairies attending, bankers and other white collar workers as well as numbers of miners who of course were union workers. During Sunday School we had a “dollar stretch” in which each Sunday School class competed against each other to bring the most money for missions. The Sunday School Superintendent was a banker and arranged to bring dollar bills to exchange for higher denominations and change. These dollars were then pinned together with a straight pen. Each class brought their contribution which was then pinned to the others. These dollars were then “stretched” around the sanctuary with people holding up this chain of dollars stretching around.
My parents would entertain the missionaries in our home, not only during the missionary conference but whenever missionaries came throughout the year. Missions were an important emphasis. I well remember sitting with them around the dining room table and listening to them talk. I was fascinated with the displays of curios placed on tables in the church. God continued to deepen my heart for missions through this exposure to missions.
Our church participated in Mt. Carmel School District’s Release Time Classes for religious instruction. Kids would leave their schools one afternoon a week and walk to the church of their choice where they received religious instruction. I well remember it was through Release Time Classes that I memorized the Apostles’ Creed which we never recited in our church. Every summer my dad also led the two week long Vacation Bible School. Our church was filled with kids. When I became older I would help by teaching the younger children.
Continued in Part Two
Friday, January 28, 2011
My Life as a Child, PART TWO: Sampling from my Autobiography
My Life as a Child: PART TWO
My first testimony was given at the age of four in the Thursday evening Prayer Meeting in Graterford on August 10, 1939. My mother reported that I said, “Jesus loves me.” Prayer Meetings in Graterford and Harleysville left an indelible impression on me. A Class Leader led the service which consisted of singing, a devotional, testimonies, prayer requests and prayer. Testimonies were a vital part in which people shared answers to prayer, struggles in life and how God helped, or opportunities of witness with prayer request of salvation for the lost.
The time of prayer was quite different from what we are accustomed to today. We all got down on our knees in our pews and all began to pray out loud. For a stranger this might seem like confusion but it was simply the opportunity for everyone to vocalize their prayers. I conjecture that this practice developed from Great Awakening in the nineteenth century when a great outpouring of the Holy Spirit came upon the Church. On various occasions, both here in the States and in Africa, reports have been given of spontaneous eruption of audible prayers by everyone joined together in church. I well remember kneeling and praying audibly, loud enough so I could hear myself think surrounded by the din of the noise from everyone praying, yet soft enough so that no one else could hear my prayer.
In 1941 my mother during our Bible reading and prayer asked me whether I wanted to be saved from my sins and ask Jesus to come into my heart. Earlier on she must have broached the same question and had prayed with me. Probably I did not understand. So when I responded positively my father suggested that I do this in church Sunday evening. This could not have meant that he believed salvation could only be received in a church building because he himself was led to the Lord at his sister’s bedside in Lancaster County as a young man. More likely he wanted me to know what I was doing and have a memorable experience of this decision.
So on Sunday night in the Graterford Mennonite Brethren in Christ Church, February 2, 1941, I came forward to the altar along with another little girl at the end of the service to be saved . We knelt on the floor at a small wooden altar. My father first began to speak with the girl and pray with her. When he came to me he inquired whether I had prayed to receive Christ. I responded by saying I did not know what to do. So he explained the gospel to me once again and then invited me to pray in my own words, repenting of my sins and asking Jesus to save me. I can still remember that I prayed sincerely from my heart and believed that Jesus had truly saved me. From that time I have never had doubts about my salvation. During my teenage years in Mt. Carmel my mother inquired whether I had assurance of salvation or suffered from doubts. I had no doubts about my salvation and never did after that event at the age of five.
Like every little child I emulated my father. To me he was always “daddy,” even when I was in college. In fact, when I was in my twenties my mother suggested that I need not continue to call him “daddy,” but he always remained “daddy,” until later on I began to call him “dad.” As a small child I said, “Daddy is almost as strong as strong as Samson.” Naturally, I began to think of emulating him in what he did. At home I began to “preach” on the stairway landing in our house. As a small child I said, “Richard want to learn to play and sing for sick people when he get big like daddy.”
At the age of five I said, “If Jesus does not want me to be a missionary, I want to be a worker in a barn to make pretty things.” (My dad would do some carpentry for his hobby.) Throughout our years my parents always hosted the missionaries who came to visit our church. These included Mary and Bertha Miller, C.L. Miller, Harry and Thelma Stam, Lucile Rhinhardt – all serving in Africa – and many others. These missionaries at my tender age made an impression on me. Was there an alternative to being a missionary? My dad used to work in our barn behind our house to make various things out of wood, a trade that he had learned from his father. So I wanted to follow in my dad’s footsteps.
As I grew a bit older my dad would take me around on his visits to the various church members. I would help prepare for the summer Vacation Bible School which lasted two weeks. In 1930s and early 1940s flannelgraph lessons were the state of the art in communicating with children. My mind is not as retentive as many others so I do not remember any details of those Bible Schools. So it is especially significant that I remember one song we learned about missions. The first stanza began, “Pray, pray, pray. The Bible says to pray…” The remainder of that verse I do not remember. The second stanza began, “Give, give, give. The Bible says to give…” Once again, I do not remember the rest. But I do remember the full third stanza. “Go, go, go. The Bible says to “go” to every land that every man and boy and girl should know; that Jesus died on Calvary’s tree to bring to all salvation free. Oh who will go? Oh will you go?”
During my formative years in Graterford I remember nothing else concerning a missionary call. But without doubt the seeds of missions were planted in my heart as evidenced above.
Though I prayed to receive Christ in February 1941, I was not baptized until July 8, 1945, more than four years later. I believe my dad wanted me to understand what I was doing as a believer in Christ. If in fact that was his desire, his prayers were answered. I was baptized in the Perkiomen River by the Loux Bridge near Graterford where many of our church baptisms took place. But on this occasion I was the only one baptized. In just over three months we moved from Graterford to Newark, New Jersey.
My first testimony was given at the age of four in the Thursday evening Prayer Meeting in Graterford on August 10, 1939. My mother reported that I said, “Jesus loves me.” Prayer Meetings in Graterford and Harleysville left an indelible impression on me. A Class Leader led the service which consisted of singing, a devotional, testimonies, prayer requests and prayer. Testimonies were a vital part in which people shared answers to prayer, struggles in life and how God helped, or opportunities of witness with prayer request of salvation for the lost.
The time of prayer was quite different from what we are accustomed to today. We all got down on our knees in our pews and all began to pray out loud. For a stranger this might seem like confusion but it was simply the opportunity for everyone to vocalize their prayers. I conjecture that this practice developed from Great Awakening in the nineteenth century when a great outpouring of the Holy Spirit came upon the Church. On various occasions, both here in the States and in Africa, reports have been given of spontaneous eruption of audible prayers by everyone joined together in church. I well remember kneeling and praying audibly, loud enough so I could hear myself think surrounded by the din of the noise from everyone praying, yet soft enough so that no one else could hear my prayer.
In 1941 my mother during our Bible reading and prayer asked me whether I wanted to be saved from my sins and ask Jesus to come into my heart. Earlier on she must have broached the same question and had prayed with me. Probably I did not understand. So when I responded positively my father suggested that I do this in church Sunday evening. This could not have meant that he believed salvation could only be received in a church building because he himself was led to the Lord at his sister’s bedside in Lancaster County as a young man. More likely he wanted me to know what I was doing and have a memorable experience of this decision.
So on Sunday night in the Graterford Mennonite Brethren in Christ Church, February 2, 1941, I came forward to the altar along with another little girl at the end of the service to be saved . We knelt on the floor at a small wooden altar. My father first began to speak with the girl and pray with her. When he came to me he inquired whether I had prayed to receive Christ. I responded by saying I did not know what to do. So he explained the gospel to me once again and then invited me to pray in my own words, repenting of my sins and asking Jesus to save me. I can still remember that I prayed sincerely from my heart and believed that Jesus had truly saved me. From that time I have never had doubts about my salvation. During my teenage years in Mt. Carmel my mother inquired whether I had assurance of salvation or suffered from doubts. I had no doubts about my salvation and never did after that event at the age of five.
Like every little child I emulated my father. To me he was always “daddy,” even when I was in college. In fact, when I was in my twenties my mother suggested that I need not continue to call him “daddy,” but he always remained “daddy,” until later on I began to call him “dad.” As a small child I said, “Daddy is almost as strong as strong as Samson.” Naturally, I began to think of emulating him in what he did. At home I began to “preach” on the stairway landing in our house. As a small child I said, “Richard want to learn to play and sing for sick people when he get big like daddy.”
At the age of five I said, “If Jesus does not want me to be a missionary, I want to be a worker in a barn to make pretty things.” (My dad would do some carpentry for his hobby.) Throughout our years my parents always hosted the missionaries who came to visit our church. These included Mary and Bertha Miller, C.L. Miller, Harry and Thelma Stam, Lucile Rhinhardt – all serving in Africa – and many others. These missionaries at my tender age made an impression on me. Was there an alternative to being a missionary? My dad used to work in our barn behind our house to make various things out of wood, a trade that he had learned from his father. So I wanted to follow in my dad’s footsteps.
As I grew a bit older my dad would take me around on his visits to the various church members. I would help prepare for the summer Vacation Bible School which lasted two weeks. In 1930s and early 1940s flannelgraph lessons were the state of the art in communicating with children. My mind is not as retentive as many others so I do not remember any details of those Bible Schools. So it is especially significant that I remember one song we learned about missions. The first stanza began, “Pray, pray, pray. The Bible says to pray…” The remainder of that verse I do not remember. The second stanza began, “Give, give, give. The Bible says to give…” Once again, I do not remember the rest. But I do remember the full third stanza. “Go, go, go. The Bible says to “go” to every land that every man and boy and girl should know; that Jesus died on Calvary’s tree to bring to all salvation free. Oh who will go? Oh will you go?”
During my formative years in Graterford I remember nothing else concerning a missionary call. But without doubt the seeds of missions were planted in my heart as evidenced above.
Though I prayed to receive Christ in February 1941, I was not baptized until July 8, 1945, more than four years later. I believe my dad wanted me to understand what I was doing as a believer in Christ. If in fact that was his desire, his prayers were answered. I was baptized in the Perkiomen River by the Loux Bridge near Graterford where many of our church baptisms took place. But on this occasion I was the only one baptized. In just over three months we moved from Graterford to Newark, New Jersey.
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