Good Old Days Really Were Not All That Good

Posted on Tuesday, July 29th, 2008 at 4:39 pm

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Yesterday Dr. Elmer Towns stopped by and sat in my office.  It was an honor that I am not worthy of.  Mr. Sunday School sitting in my office.  It caused me to take a trip back to the times when I had used his material in trying my hardest to get my church and Sunday School to grow.  I was never very good at that even when I used Dr. Town’s great materials.

I first started pastoring a church by helping my father when I would come home from college for the summer.  As some of you might remember my father was older (50) when I was born so by the time I graduated from college he was 71 and I was drafted to do much of the work at the church.  Only a few years later he had a stroke and passed away, about six months after my mom had died and I was left, at about 24 or so with a church and no real idea of what I was doing.

The building that we were in had been built by the church back when it was young and vibrant; growing and strong.  At that time the neighborhood had been middle class and the church had been 350-400 strong. The decline in the church and the neighborhood started long before I was working there, but I became a convenient scapegoat.  Since the building still had a sizeable mortgage it was difficult to keep everything paid with the shrinking congregation.

As time went on more and more of the older people began to say that I was “not like my dad” and leave the church.  Meanwhile my efforts to recruit from the neighborhood were next to impossible because it had become much different in both race and economic status.  I remember many, many mornings cleaning crack pipes off of the front of the church before going inside and answering the door several times during the day to those who needed “gas money,” “money for a fan belt” or any other scheme they could think of to buy another crack rock.  The church was getting broken into pretty regularly.  Once the communion set was even stolen.

While our crowds were shrinking, a Haitian church down the street was bursting at the seams.  I thought, why not sell the church building to the Haitians, who could use it more than we could, and take the money and move out west into an area where more of our members actually lived.  When I brought the idea up some of the members acted as if I had wanted us to apply for a liquor license (which is worse than almost anything in the Baptist church, first comes liquor, then that leads to dancing). 

After some pretty ugly business meetings and some people showing up to vote whom I hadn’t seen in thirty years, we finally voted to sell the building.  What really bothered me was the number of people who kept coming up to me saying “its really sad that you’ve got to sell the church.” WE ARE NOT SELLING THE CHURCH! I would tell them, we are moving.  They just could not wrap their heads around the difference between the building and the church.

We did move, I worked hard to try to get things going but they never really took off.  I later came to realize that once a church starts into serious decline like it had long before I had started there, it is almost impossible to turn it around.  I gave it my best shot and still feel a lot of guilt about not making it work.  I still think sometimes that if I had worked a little harder, or tried some other program, or done more EE, or something else that maybe the church would have grown.  I am Calvinistic enough to know better, but our guilt doesn’t always allow us to be rational.

One of the most important things that I learned in that experience is not to follow a great and well loved pastor, even if he is your father.  You cannot win.  If you change things you have no respect.  If you leave things the same, it is your fault that the place is going downhill.  I learned that lesson well and will never make that mistake again, I can assure you.

Every May, the first Sunday, the church had what was called “Home Coming Day” in which old members would come back, there would be dinner on the grounds, etc.  It had been in times past, an incredible day when people would come from out of town and old friends would gather.  It became less and less of that as the friends got older and older.  In 1995 it was the 50th anniversary of the church. Also in 1995 I had told the church that I was going to be leaving the pastorate to work on my Ph.D.  I was to be moving to Chicago in a few weeks and so that homecoming day was the last one for me, and it would be the first time that the church would be without a pastor named Lamerson.  I remember it well and I had written a poem for the occasion.

Now let me tell you that I am not a poet.  I don’t know about meter, feet, iambic pentameter or any of those things but writing the poem was sort of therapeutic for me.  With that backstory, I am putting my work on the board and asking you not to laugh at it.  It is not good, not even mediocre, in fact it is pretty embarrassing, but it reminds me of the story that used to be mine.

It’s hard to believe that it’s been fifty years
Since the church started, amidst laughter and tears
There were those who said that it never would last
This work of the Lord that is now standing fast

It began as a dream and an answer to prayer
For the founder and others who met with him there
They said God had called him to start a new labor
Ignore Him they couldn’t for He had brought favor
On this small band of people now meeting with purpose
As they prayed and they worked, God blessed this service

They called a young man to lead them that day
And no one could know what results that would pay
As he preached and he called on those he did know
And slowly but surely the group was to grow

They grew even more as word got around
Word of a new church on the west side of town
Many were touched by the words of the pastor
And when they touched others, it grew even faster
Til finally one day he met with the board,
“We’ll build a new building, we’ll just trust the Lord”

And build it they did, with a great deal of speed
“We will look to the Lord to supply what we need”
The building was built and the people all came
To see this big structure and worship His name

As the pastor grew older, the people grew sad
A new young man came, “He’s not like his dad”
“He’s new and he’s different” the people would say
“We’ve done this for years, but never that way”
And slowly they left with a word here and there
“His father was better, he just doesn’t care”

The young man was trying to do what he could
He preached them the Scriptures as he knew that he should
But ever so slowly the truth was made clear
If change did not happen, then death was soon near

Some said they should move and the young man agreed
“This building’s too big, it’s more space than we need”
But others were mad and some misunderstood
In spite of it all he did what he could
But many were angry, and some caused great strife
In this move to the west, the church fought for her life

Now some things are different, things are not the same
Some long for the old days when things had not changed
Others stand far off and cackle with glee
“The church will now die, should’ve listened to me”

God’s church marches on in spite of it all
The Kingdom goes forth Summer, Winter, and Fall
It cannot be stopped by the work of mere mortals
The work is of God looking down from the portals
Of heaven is He and those others who call
That this is Christ’s church, no matter how small

It’s hard to believe that it’s been fifty years
So much has been great, yet so many tears
The young man is leaving in this fiftieth year
But God isn’t going, He will always be here

Onward . . . .

Luzene and Ruth Lamerson’s youngest boy