Lesson from a Church Pew, 1966

The church was the most important place in the world for our family while I was growing up. Tabernacle Baptist Church, on the corner of Academy St. and Main on the edge of downtown Poughkeepsie. We were there every time the doors were open and often when they weren’t. All the people I loved most sat in their respective pew every Sunday.

Giving to the needs of the church and our missionaries shaped my view of finances from my earliest days. Every Christmas, Kathy, David, and I chose a missionary each to give a Christmas gift from our own money. We usually picked someone who had sat around our Sunday dinner table sometime that year. Mom and Dad would then take our gift and write a check, adding a zero at the end “as their part.” We were given back the check to mail, along with a note we had to write and include with it. My Christmas missionary was always Jeannie Lockerbie serving in Bangladesh with ABWE. She loved Jesus and had a pet monkey and taught school . . . and was the nurse . . . and wrote books—all the things I wanted to do with my life from the time I was six.

It was the constant crisis of church finances that brought out the best and worst in people at Tabernacle. I remember a season when Dad came home late from deacon meetings and the muffled conversation that came from my parents’ room long into the night. The deacons were a godly, committed group, without exception. Their phone numbers were posted on the side of our refrigerator, to call for help “if ever you can’t reach us.”

It wasn’t until three decades later that I found out just how committed they were. While going through my mom’s papers after she died, I found a yellowed mortgage statement, dated 1966, marked PAID IN FULL.  It was a second mortgage on our house, drawn for $9,000. When I asked Dad about it, he paused, looked away, remembering something important but in the distance.

“Tabernacle was in trouble in the fall of 1966,” he said. “Most of the tithers were facing employment cut-backs. We were looking at bankruptcy. We cut back on everything we could—taking turns mowing the lawn, raking the leaves, and cleaning the church, putting gas in the Sunday school bus, buying the communion juice and crackers. We never missed Pastor Doug’s salary or the missionary’s support, but they went a few years without a cost-of-living raise. By September, everyone in the church had maxed out their offering but we needed $28,400 or else we’d lose the property and the doors would close for good.

“The prayer from those days was for wisdom. And for holiness. And course correction, if we needed it. We reinstated Wednesday night prayer meetings and made them real prayer meetings—nothing else. The darkest night was in October. We stood in a circle around the pews, maybe 50 of us. Virginia Cleysen brought in the children from the nursery to stand with us—you and Kathy and David were there. She said she had read in 2 Chronicles 20 how the people set their face to seek the Lord and how “all Judah stood before the Lord, with their little ones, their wives, and their children” and said to the Lord, “For we are powerless  . . . We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on you." I remember holding you on my shoulder as we prayed. You were alert and very still—perhaps sensing the seriousness of the quiet.

“The Lord met us in two ways. The first was satisfying our financial need. With 110% support from our wives, the deacon board unanimously decided we would each take out a second mortgage on our homes.” Dad took the yellowed document and studied it.  “Nobody was supposed to know. I shouldn’t even be telling you now.” (Dad winked.)

“Then He got to the heart of it. The crisis had divided us—some families left the church but others joined in. In November, we had a Bible conference with Dwight Pentecost from Dallas Seminary. Bill Sell paid for the whole thing—Dr. Pentecost’s travel, his meals, and stipend (which he refused).

We met every night that week and studied the times in Scripture when God visited His people in a unique way.  It was a time like no other. People came out every night, most right from work. We filled the pews. Many sat talking and praying long after we dismissed and lingered in the parking lot after we locked up.

“That week was the turn-around. The financial crisis met, people’s faith was buoyed. Their hearts softened towards each other and for the Lord. The church started to grow back. It took a good part of a year before we were stable again. In different ways, each of our deacon board had a banner year—far beyond any sacrifice we made. All of our jobs flourished with promotions and opportunities. Our marriages sweetened. Our children loved the Lord. Prayers were answered.

When we spoke of that season in years to come, we did so with a holy hush. We sensed God’s hand guiding us. We knew He was providing for us. He loved us and left us with such an awe we couldn't describe it then, or even really now. "

Dad smiled a bit. He folded the yellowed document and held it between his palms.

Every generation has their stories, yet it always feels fresh. God loves us and wants us to trust Him.

Our family, 1966