With the schedule that I have, spending Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday in Oho followed by Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday back home in Indiana, it is no wonder that I feel like I am living in two different worlds. When I wake up on Thursday morning, it is almost like starting a totally different week. The first thing always on my agenda is to begin to prepare for Sunday’s worship. I am not sure that there is anything that I do that is more important or takes more time than Sunday’s preparations.
This morning, however, my workload is just a little bit lighter. This Sunday is Gideon Sunday which means that someone from the Gideon Organization will be at church and share with the congregations what has been going on with their Bible distribution since last year. The Gideon’s Organization has always had a very special place in my heart since the time so many years ago that I received my first Bible, a small, red, New Testament. I still have that Bible which I so carefully inscribed my name in, “Jimmy Higdon,” so long ago.
Unfortunately, for me, there is something else that always comes to mind when the Gideon speaker comes, which is not such a pleasant memory for me, and that is the story about the first Bible that I did not receive. I really don’t remember how old I was, I could not have been more than first or second grade while my family regularly attended the First Baptist church in my home town. The Sunday School class which I attended, was involved in a special program, that upon completion, we were going to be recognized in front of the entire congregation and presented with a Bible of our very own. Of course this was very exciting and something which I looked forward to very much.
The big day finally arrived and my entire class, perhaps 20 of us stood in front of the congregation prepared to receive this precious gift of a Bible. I watched as the Pastor went down the line reaching out his arm to shake the hand of each classmate and handing them a Bible. When it was my turn, I remember stretching out my hand to the Pastor to receive my Bible when he looked at me, and then he looked down at his list and said, “He doesn’t get one.” He then continued on down the line.
I can’t begin to tell you how devastating that was to me. In reality, it is one of my earliest memories, and one that even to this day brings a twinge of pain. (Isn’t that strange how our mind’s work) Of course I wasn’t the only one upset, my Mother was livid and she went immediatly to find out why I didn’t receive a Bible, and maybe more importantly, why they chose to humiliate me in front of the entire congregation. The answer that she received was that I was absent one Sunday so that I didn’t qualify. My mother, arguing my case, said that they knew that I was ill, and that she and my sister had been in attendence that Sunday, and had informed the Sunday School teacher that I had stayed home with my Dad. She was under the assumption that being too ill to attend church would have been a valid excuse and exception to their ridiculous rule. My Mother didn’t win the argument.
Our family walked out the door of that church and I didn’t return to any church for more than 10 years, until High School when I became involved in the youth group of the Congregational Church which was led by my Physics teacher. Ultimately, that was the church where Karen and I got married.
As I reflect back on that day, which I tend to do every year when the Gideon speaker comes, I think about the far reaching effects of what I would now, as an adult, consider a stupid, Pharisee type enforcement of an arbitrary rule. Their actions caused a good and faithful family, who attended church every Sunday, to not only stop attending their church, but any church for many years. I sometimes wonder, if they ever reflect on their decision?
Now you may ask, what does Gideon Sunday have to do with this sad memory? I am glad that you asked. Gideon Sunday, to me, is an ever present reminder of God’s grace in my life. You see, it wasn’t more than a week or two after my humiliating experience at church that a man came to my classroom at school, walked over to me, reached out his hand to mine and said, young man, would you like to have a Bible of your very own? He then handed me this precious, red bound Bible, my very first copy of God’s word which I still have and cherish to this very day. God is good all the time, and now you know the rest of the story!
Blessings
This morning, however, my workload is just a little bit lighter. This Sunday is Gideon Sunday which means that someone from the Gideon Organization will be at church and share with the congregations what has been going on with their Bible distribution since last year. The Gideon’s Organization has always had a very special place in my heart since the time so many years ago that I received my first Bible, a small, red, New Testament. I still have that Bible which I so carefully inscribed my name in, “Jimmy Higdon,” so long ago.
Unfortunately, for me, there is something else that always comes to mind when the Gideon speaker comes, which is not such a pleasant memory for me, and that is the story about the first Bible that I did not receive. I really don’t remember how old I was, I could not have been more than first or second grade while my family regularly attended the First Baptist church in my home town. The Sunday School class which I attended, was involved in a special program, that upon completion, we were going to be recognized in front of the entire congregation and presented with a Bible of our very own. Of course this was very exciting and something which I looked forward to very much.
The big day finally arrived and my entire class, perhaps 20 of us stood in front of the congregation prepared to receive this precious gift of a Bible. I watched as the Pastor went down the line reaching out his arm to shake the hand of each classmate and handing them a Bible. When it was my turn, I remember stretching out my hand to the Pastor to receive my Bible when he looked at me, and then he looked down at his list and said, “He doesn’t get one.” He then continued on down the line.
I can’t begin to tell you how devastating that was to me. In reality, it is one of my earliest memories, and one that even to this day brings a twinge of pain. (Isn’t that strange how our mind’s work) Of course I wasn’t the only one upset, my Mother was livid and she went immediatly to find out why I didn’t receive a Bible, and maybe more importantly, why they chose to humiliate me in front of the entire congregation. The answer that she received was that I was absent one Sunday so that I didn’t qualify. My mother, arguing my case, said that they knew that I was ill, and that she and my sister had been in attendence that Sunday, and had informed the Sunday School teacher that I had stayed home with my Dad. She was under the assumption that being too ill to attend church would have been a valid excuse and exception to their ridiculous rule. My Mother didn’t win the argument.
Our family walked out the door of that church and I didn’t return to any church for more than 10 years, until High School when I became involved in the youth group of the Congregational Church which was led by my Physics teacher. Ultimately, that was the church where Karen and I got married.
As I reflect back on that day, which I tend to do every year when the Gideon speaker comes, I think about the far reaching effects of what I would now, as an adult, consider a stupid, Pharisee type enforcement of an arbitrary rule. Their actions caused a good and faithful family, who attended church every Sunday, to not only stop attending their church, but any church for many years. I sometimes wonder, if they ever reflect on their decision?
Now you may ask, what does Gideon Sunday have to do with this sad memory? I am glad that you asked. Gideon Sunday, to me, is an ever present reminder of God’s grace in my life. You see, it wasn’t more than a week or two after my humiliating experience at church that a man came to my classroom at school, walked over to me, reached out his hand to mine and said, young man, would you like to have a Bible of your very own? He then handed me this precious, red bound Bible, my very first copy of God’s word which I still have and cherish to this very day. God is good all the time, and now you know the rest of the story!
Blessings
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