I Wish I Had a Praying Church
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About this ebook
Imagine that at the height of being popular and much sought after, the Holy Spirit tells you to go out to the woodshed. Figuratively speaking, that is exactly what happens to a young pastor.
I Wish I Had a Praying Church is a fictional account of the events that occur when a pastor is startled to find that the Lord is not pleased with him, despite rising popularity and acclaim.
This work is fictional only because no actual persons are depicted. The characters are very much in attendance at many churches today.
Simon Jonah Thomas
Simon Jonah Thomas has been an ordained minister for nearly thirty years, and during that time has served as an associate minister, director of midweek prayer services, evangelist, pastor of childrens church, hospital chaplain, and is a Christian writer who has been published by Decision magazine as well as having written a series of Bible study lessons for Union Gospel Press. Additionally, he is the author of a book on prayer titled Higher than the Ceiling. The experiences of the past thirty years have given Simon a unique perspective on the values, faith, and concerns of individuals of various racial, social, ethnic, and socioeconomic backgrounds and the fact that Christians must bear the responsibility for the rise of Eastern, cultic, and other religions within our society, because far too many of us talk the talk but fail to exemplify walking in faith. Currently residing in southwestern Ohio, Simon is committed to establishing a ministry that challenges individuals to surrender themselves to the Lord as stated in Romans 12:12 using John 9:4 as a guide..
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I Wish I Had a Praying Church - Simon Jonah Thomas
Copyright © 2014 Simon Jonah Thomas.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
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ISBN: 978-1-4497-8627-4 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4497-8629-8 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-4497-8628-1 (e)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2013903277
WestBow Press rev. date: 2/26/2013
Contents
Dedication
Outward Appearances
Castles in the Air
What Is a Praying Church?
Give God the Glory
The Holy Spirit Speaks
The Preacher’s Wife Speaks
Hear What The Lord Has To Say
According to God’s Will
I Wish I Had a Praying Church
I Wish I Had a
Praying Church
Simon Jonah Thomas
Dedication
My parents always challenged me in different ways to stand firm for that which is right while never forgetting that we ultimately answer to the Lord . For that, I am eternally grateful. With God, all things are possible, so no one ever has a justified excuse for giving up despite the difficulties of life. Because of my parents, I have learned to look for the pearl rather than focus upon the grains of sand that irritate our lives.
F or several weeks, Reverend Thaddeus Lewis had experienced a feeling that bordered on one of foreboding. This feeling carried with it a sense that there was something amiss in the spiritual growth and development of Greater Missionary Baptist Church.
From deep within, Reverend Lewis had a gnawing feeling, a perception that they had somehow missed the mark.
He tried to ignore the feeling by attributing it to a nature fear of failure. Reverend Lewis rationalized that it was only normal to be apprehensive because the rate of growth that Greater Missionary Baptist Church (GMBC) had experienced was beyond his greatest expectations. What really bothered him was the fact that the more he tried to explain away this puzzling phenomenon, the more persistent the feeling became.
Despite the successful building program. Despite the praise and recognition that folks had heaped on him and GMBC. Despite the fact that church membership had tripled over the past three years.
Deep within, there was neither peace nor joy.
As he sat at his desk in the pastor’s study, he did not yet realize that he had an appointment to keep that would either place him upon a course charted by heaven (with his acceptance of that which would be revealed) or would forever render him incapable of discerning the direction of the Lord (with his rejection).
Nevertheless, as he sat at his desk on Sunday morning, tears began to stream down his face. When he placed his hand on his cheek, he felt the warmth and moistness of tears that seemed to flow without reason. Even after he told himself that this was foolishness, the tears continued to flow. As he opened the upper left drawer of the desk, hoping that there was a handkerchief inside it, strangely, the tears stopped as suddenly and unexpectedly as they had begun.
Before we move forward, perhaps there are some things about Reverend Lewis that you should know. Reverend Lewis was no stranger to tears. On several occasions, he had preached about tears. In his sermons, specifically one titled The Tears of Man,
he passionately told of how the Lord had enabled him to overcome the stereotypical male attitude that a man ain’t supposed to cry.
In this and other sermons on tears, he fervently stated that because he had overcome the real men don’t cry
syndrome, his ministry had become much more effective.
So the fact that there were tears was not a problem for him.
The problem was that here sat a man who was usually quite in control, a man who had begun to cry for no apparent reason and who had stopped crying without understanding that either. He was used to controlling situations. He was accustomed to causing the emotions of others to rise and fall, but the tears of this morning must, he reasoned, have been from some forgotten experience that he had internalized.
Why the tears? A person who is used to logic and order will go to great lengths to find an answer. As the preacher sat wondering about the tears, he first considered that the tears were not actually from joy or sorrow. Next, he considered the possibility of some medical problem, but he quickly dismissed that thought. He then thought that there might be some spiritual significance, but because his system of beliefs did not allow for faith that touched the subconscious without conscious awareness, he was skeptical about that.
Instead, as a troubled soul, he sought reassurance from memories of pleasant times and victories gained.
Reverend Lewis was a preacher in the tradition of old-time preachers who could have the congregation swooning and swaying at their beck and call. Like a nineteenth-century drummer making his pitch to a doubtful crowd, Reverend Lewis could persuade and captivate a congregation as few others could. His impassioned preaching had folk coming from as far away as fifty miles just so they could say that they had heard him in person—the human dynamo.
He was described as an orator of orators, a philosopher of philosophers, a trumpet of God with unequaled ability and style. But none of this really mattered to him right now. Nor did the memory of others’ opinions comfort him.
He recalled the time when he was first called to pastor GMBC and the struggle it took to revive the sense of kinship among the congregants. He remembered the admonitions of his preacher friends who warned him that he was setting himself up for failure. He almost smiled in contemplation because now he was the pastor of a rapidly growing church while his buddies had become pastors of churches that were only a shadow of GMBC.
Why? Why?
That is the question that puzzled him. Why should he have dried tears on his face when he hadn’t even begun to bask in the warmth of his accomplishments?
He thought about how he got along with the deacon board. The trustees trusted him implicitly. Both the deacons and trustees supported him and gave him carte blanche to implement whatever programs he desired, and despite what others could perceive as minor problems with some of the old guards, he knew that because most of the active membership had joined since he had become pastor, it was foolhardy for anyone to openly oppose him.
Nothing seemed to lift his spirits, but he hoped that listening to the early morning sounds of the church would soothe him as they had in the past. He went to his office door, opened it slightly, stood back, and listened. For some reason, the sounds of the brothers and sisters entering the church did nothing for him, but just as he was about to return to his desk, he heard the associate ministers as they gathered in the outer office. Hoping that a few moments of conversation with them might ease his mind, he went into the outer office.
After they exchanged the usual pleasantries, they joined hands as they gathered in a circle to pray. Reverend Marshall began to pray with the eloquence and pattern of prayer so familiar to down home
preachers. Folk often said that when ole Rev Marshall got to praying,
the floodgates of heaven would open wide so that the blessings could just pour out. The associate ministers were responding to the prayer with soft praises of Amen,
Thank you, Lord,
and Pray preacher,
but Pastor Lewis stood silently, hoping that his inner conflict was not exposed.
When Reverend Marshall finished praying, Reverend Lewis returned to his office, determined to use the analytical abilities for which he was well known to systematically recall the events of his life in hopes of reviving the memory of some experience that paralleled this mushrooming sense of emptiness. Sadly, nothing within the framework of his formal theological training had led him to believe that it was possible to hear from deep within a voice that could cause such consternation.
Unless he wanted to go too Flunksville, he realized that he’d better try to concentrate on the message for that morning. He hastily wrote a note in bold letters:
Under no circumstances am I to be disturbed this morning!" He went into