By: Dr. Jeff Fuller
One Sunday morning, years ago I was preaching with great passion. The message was regarding time spent in prayer, yet I do not remember the content. I do remember I was having a great time.
The house was full, people were sitting as close to each other as they could. There was no wiggle room to…well wiggle. All ages were gathered as tight as sardines in a tin can.
In those days we did not have children’s church or a nursery. Children in “big church” learn the lessons of sitting still, listening, and have the opportunity to learn how we do things. Children are one thing in “big church,” but babies are a different story.
I have seen mothers become frustrated over a crying child. Their face turns red, as they rock back and forth with no result but more crying. In the early days of preaching, this caused me alarm. Concerned about the ability to preach while a child cried, an old preacher friend said, “If you can’t out preach a crying baby, you need to quit now.” So, I learned to preach louder while the child cried and get even louder as the crying increased. I will smile sweetly at the mother attempting to calm her fears.
An older child can cause this practice of “out preaching a crying baby,” to be futile as I found out one Sunday morning. Actually, on two separate occasions this lesson was pointless.
Three rows from the pulpit, a family of four sat on the organ side. These were special folks to me. I had the privilege of making an impact on them in the first year as their pastor. The husband was a professional firefighter, and the wife was a para legal. They had been blessed by two boys, close in age, and a handful.
The dad kept attempting to get the oldest son to be quiet, sit still, listen…to no avail. The boy hit the last button on his dad’s patience when he dropped a small hot wheel car onto the pine floor and it kept rolling toward the back of the building. The little lad jumped down and began to reclaim his runaway car. Dad reached down, grabbed his wayward son by a belt loop and hauled him up and onto his shoulder.
I was observing this scene while in the heat of a thunderous point. I was finishing the point, when the little one riding on his dad’s shoulder, heading toward the front doors of the church, cried out in a loud voice, “Preacher pray for me, ‘cause my daddy gonna whoop me!”
With that we bowed our heads to pray and dismissed.
Another time was during a service the day after Christmas. The same little boy came into the house with his family late. They slipped into the back pew as we were singing the offertory hymn. While the musicians were playing as the ushers gathered offering, I watched the two boys on the back taking out their toys to occupy them during the message.
The message was short and to the point. In essence the message centered around the subject that what we received on Christmas day cannot compare to the gift God gave on Christmas morning in the manger.
I said, “God gave the best He had. He gave His Son. A perfect gift none has ever given. God came down and dwelt with His people. That is Jesus, Immanuel, ‘God with us.’”
I paused to allow the statement to take root. Then asked, “Tell me friends, what you received yesterday, could it be better than that?”
Then from the back row, the little boy jumped up on the pew and shouted with a very loud voice, “Preacher, I got me a fire truck and ain’t nothing better than that. See!” He lifted it for all to see.
The short message was much shorter than I had planned.
Until next time…