Inhalt

Three Wooden Crosses

The congregation filed through the entrance foyer of Providence Cathedral early, Sunday morning, to claim a prime location. The high, coffered ceilings shone with vibrant colors, as the sun washed through the ornate, stain glass on each side of the sanctuary. Much preparation had gone into today’s festivities, as the ladies of the church had set up a reception in the fellowship hall, with ample amounts of food to feed the throng afterwards. Today was a special occasion indeed, as Pastor Charles Thompson was retiring from his parish.

Providence had seen many of changes in the forty-three years since Pastor Charles arrived. The building was much smaller then, and so were the number of parishioners. As the pews filled this morning, various stories and anecdotes were being related amongst the flock, describing the achievements of the man that had influenced their lives in one way or another. Though they were saddened to see him leave, most realized they were richer by far, in having sat under his tutelage.

When the choir completed their special music and the opening prayer was finished, Pastor Thompson eased his way onto the dais, carrying a small wooden box. Anticipation grew thick as many uplifting, spiritual messages had been brought by this man of God over the years, so the capacity crowd felt this consummation sermon would be his finest. The orator took his stance behind the pulpit, placed the box on the podium and gazed out with loving eyes on his followers.

“Brothers and sisters, I stand before you today a very humble man. In my numerous years of service to this community, we have succeeded as a group, in many victories. But along the way we have also faced quite a few battles and struggled together in unison. Each unique situation was designed to bring us closer together as a unit and in turn, strengthen us as individuals. But as Elijah passed the mantle on to his apprentice, Elisha, it is time to welcome new leadership to the fold,” said the Pastor, as he lifted an outstretched hand in the direction of his successor, seated behind him on the platform.

Lowering his arm and clearing his throat, the preacher continued, “In the book of Second Timothy, the Apostle Paul faces his final days on earth and writes; ‘I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.’ I pray when my final breath is taken and the last bit of blood courses through my veins, I can profit by some semblance of satisfaction in Paul’s words. Paul led by example, as I hope I have. For my concluding sermon, I’d like to share a story with you. A story of three wooden crosses. These markers were placed in memory of three very different individuals, but all of them having one thing in common.”

Gripping the pulpit with both hands, Pastor Thompson began, “A bus was in route to the Mexican coast, carrying four passengers. One of them was a preacher, and as they all sat in the rear of the large vehicle, he passed the time on the long journey by getting to know the others.

The first man he met was a farmer that seemed to have a kind and gentle soul. He was headed for his annual vacation on the sandy beaches. In a somber tone, he told the minister that his wife had always accompanied him on the passage, but that he had lost her to cancer earlier in the year. The farmer had considered not taking the trip but realized his loving wife of almost thirty years would have wanted him to go on without her. And besides, his adult son could manage the eighty-acre farm in his absence.

The next passenger was a teacher, on an expedition to gain a better understanding of the Mexican culture. She was an established educator of many years, but felt the trip would deepen her knowledge, thus passing that experience along in her classes. Through her endearing words, the preacher sensed she had a deep devotion for her students and her life’s calling.

Finally, the young woman that sat in the last seat seemed uneasy as the preacher approached her and sat down on an adjacent bench. The sadness in her eyes were evident, as if she longed for redemption. She had overheard his previous conversations and was hesitant to speak at first. But as the parson shared his words of comfort, her walls of compunction came crashing down.

She spoke with tear-filled eyes of having to survive on the streets alone and how she eventually came to sell her body. Her disconcerting thoughts of having no one she could turn to made her even contemplate suicide. That was, until she found out about her pregnancy. The lady told him that taking her own life to escape the torture of a misspent youth was one thing, but taking the life of an innocent child was unthinkable. So, she had decided to travel as far as her money would take her. To relegate herself to a new surrounding…in search of a new start.

Traveling down that rural road, the two continued to speak. The driver of the bus, being unfamiliar with the area, missed an obscured stop sign at an overgrown crossroads. As the vehicle had partially cleared the crossing, a tractor-trailer collided into the side of the passenger bus, almost shearing it in two. When the smoke cleared, the carnage was evident. The dazed, but uninjured bus driver helped pull the dead and dying from the pile of twisted metal.”

The pastor paused for a moment, as to regain his composure. Looking toward the finely-appointed ceiling of the cathedral he said, “There are three wooden crosses on the right side of that highway. Why there’s not four of them, heaven only knows. You see, it’s not what you take when you leave this world behind you, it’s what you leave behind it when you go.”

Lowering his head and looking out at the congregation again, he continued, “That farmer left a harvest, a home and eighty acres. He left the faith and love for growing things in his son’s heart. He left a memory of love for his wife, his family and he left a legacy to build on.

The teacher left her wisdom in the minds of many children. She did her best to give them all the knowledge they required for a better start in life.

Alongside the pavement, the preacher placed his blood-stained Bible in the pregnant woman’s hands and asked, ‘Can’t you see the promised land?’ She gripped it tightly, and then gently closed her teary eyes.”

Picking up the wooden box and stepping aside the pulpit, Pastor Thompson walked within full view of the crowded auditorium. “If these walls could talk my friends, they would have thousands of stories to tell.” Opening the box, the preacher lifted that same blood-stained Bible from its container and held it high, so all could see. “But none of those stories could have been told, if there had been four crosses planted on that roadside."

Everyone’s attention was drawn to the man they adored, as he stood before them pouring out his heart, “So God bless the farmer, and the teacher, and the preacher…that with his dying breath gave this Bible to my mother, who read it to me.”

Each member of Providence Cathedral rose from the pews and gave praise in applause to their beloved leader. A leader, chosen to be spared to fight a good fight, finish his course and keep the faith.

Impressum

Widmung:
This book is inspired by a song written by Kim Williams and Doug Johnson

Nächste Seite

Seite 1 /