FOODFORTHOUGHT

EYE OPENER

Author Unknown

August 3, 2012

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. 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 put on 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 have hardened 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 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.