History, Spaniards and Youth

Santander is in Northern Spain, not terribly far from France. Proud of having never been under Muslim rule, it is a part of old Europe. A city of merchants in the days of the Spanish Empire, the Spaniards, who created the global market, made this city especially wealthy and elegant by sailing to and from the world’s great ports. As I look out from my window down the street toward the Atlantic Ocean, the old mansions and parks of Santander reveal that the modern inhabitants of this city retain much of the elegance and some of the wealth their ancestors created.

Today, I visited Potes, a small mountain town about one hundred and thirty kilometers from Santander. Despite its size, Potes was important when the Muslims occupied much of Spain. On the border that separated Christendom from Islam, it served as a bastion of Western culture. The European powers filled the area surrounding it with monasteries to create a cultural and religious boundary that would separate them from their enemies. Some of those monasteries are now impressive ruins; others are still in use.

We visited one ancient church that monks established in the sixth century. An elderly Franciscan received us at the door, took us on a tour, and pronounced a blessing over us when we left.

As in many places in Europe, monuments and memorials are abundant here. To all who have ears to hear, these houses of history speak of things that have transpired over the last two thousand years and, to those who listen, pass along their wisdom for the present and their warnings for the future.

Augustus Caesar conquered the Celts who originally inhabited Santander. He called it Port Victoria and made it an outpost of the Roman Empire. Not long afterward, Christians settled here. They made a contribution to the city that has survived through the centuries and which remains visible today.

This history is wonderful to experience, all the more because we are in the company of contemporary Christians. As they show us these various sites, they neither defend nor defame their history. They merely tell the story of their homeland as we pass one historical marker after another.

Last night, I met with a group of them in an apartment. Most of them were college students who meet each week to worship and pray. They asked me to share with them something from my pastoral experience. I immediately loved the professional, intelligent young adults sitting in that room. They have made a choice in this post-Christian culture that may seriously affect their careers and their placement in society. Many of them are responsible for small groups around the city and so have already become the present and future leaders of the Lord’s church in Northern Spain.

There are no monuments to announce the greatness of these young leaders. However, they are far more important to the future of God’s work in Spain than all the magnificent memorials I have found so impressive.

When I returned to our apartment, they made me think about Alfred McCroskey, a man once full of vigor and vision who has now become a part of history.

I cried, thinking about how he is no longer with us. I thanked God for his work and read over the eulogy I had written for his funeral. 

I wrote the eulogy to tell the story about a great and good man. I wish I could do more, and perhaps I will, to mark the magnificence of his spiritual accomplishments. For now I have written the eulogy because such things, like the monasteries and monuments in Spain, connect us to our roots.  They must be maintained so we can copy the achievements, and escape the mistakes, of our past. That is why history is important and must be told.

This morning however, I thought about how much easier it is to praise the dead than to honor the living.

Furthermore, how much easier it is to respect elderly leaders than to respect younger ones.  This is probably the reason St. Paul told Timothy not to allow people to despise his youth.  Presumably, some had been doing just that and Paul wanted them to stop. The disrespect toward the young pastor was discouraging Timothy and undermining God’s work.  

           

Paul wrote as one who worshipped a man who had died before he even reached his mid-thirties. The Lord’s disciples, whom he knew, had also been young, as is evident by the fact that they lived for many more decades, spreading the faith and writing the New Testament.

Since its very beginning, young leaders have been important to our faith.

I am trying to keep this in mind as I notice how the young Spanish leaders look at me. They treat me like some sort of patriarch. I appreciate their respect, even though I don’t view myself as old as they seem to see me. Nonetheless, it makes me cautious.

What if I say something to them that influences them to take a wrong path? What if that harms the work of God in this country? What if I discourage them from following their chosen vocation because I know, as they cannot know, that the road ahead will be difficult?

Should I tell them that some of God’s people will treat them poorly? Should I inform these young, idealistic people; eager as they are to take the gospel to the streets of Santander, that there will be those who will take no delight in their enthusiasm, will not acknowledge any success they may have, nor grant them any respect for the sacrifices they will make? Must I tell them that they will receive very little grace from some of their flock as they learn to teach the scripture and to care for the needs of the church? Am I obligated to say that they will be expected to work as many hours as their friends and get as much of an education; and, even though they will be expected to wear presentable clothes and to be socially active, will probably not make enough money to do this as often as many think they should? 

Must I tell them that earning the respect of God’s people is a long and difficult process and that whatever they do, some people will never respect them or their work?

No, I must not say such things.

I rebuked one young Gypsy pastor for saying that while he loved the Lord and loved the Lord’s church, he knew that his Gypsy heritage would always be an obstacle for those who come from polite society.

“NONESENSE!” I replied. “People hungry for God don’t care about such things. Those who do care about such things are not yet ready for the kingdom of God.”

I then walked over to where he was sitting, hugged him and impulsively kissed him on the head.

 “You are the servant of the Lord, “I said.  “I esteem you. Being a Gypsy and being young has nothing to do with anything. Lead the flock.”

After that, I read some selected passages that Paul wrote to Timothy.

When I finished talking, I sent a text to Austin, my son-in-law. I asked him to stop what he was doing and read the passages I had just read to the Spanish leaders:

“Let no one despise your youth. Be a good soldier. Study to show yourself approved.”

And so forth.

So, I have been thinking today about our young leaders at Christ Church. I have been realizing how much I respect them – not just love them, but respect them. They study. They pray. They work hard to meet the needs of a changing world.  And, most importantly, they will outlive those of us who are today’s seasoned leaders. When we are gone, they will carry on. 

And if not them, who?

St. Paul didn’t want to die. He had much more to do. He had much more to say. But time had caught up with him. Great apostle or not, his time was almost over. He was worried about the future of the church.  He knew Timothy wasn’t ready to lead. Perhaps he was concerned that Timothy may not even be up to the task of learning to lead. But he had no choice. The future was arriving. The aging apostle would soon be gone. So, Paul picked up his pen and wrote a letter to Timothy, and through him, to every Christian leader who would ever guide the Lord’s church through changing times.  

I read Paul’s two letters to Timothy again last night. As I read, I did a lot of thinking.

I have watched my son-in-law learn how to be a husband, a father, and a minister of the gospel. I have watched him struggle with debilitating physical illnesses. I have watched him open his heart to spiritual experiences that were new and strange for him, simply because older brothers and sisters in Christ whom he respected, urged him to do so. I have come to respect him as a man of prayer, a student of the Word, and as a man who has a profound concern for the Lord’s church.

He is a good and a godly man.

I have watched Daniel Bell, who is older than Austin but still younger than me, undertake the long and difficult hours of study required for a first-class seminary education. I have observed how his presentation of the gospel has deepened. I have noted his tears as he recounted to me the struggles that people in our flock are facing. I have watched him grow in pastoral abilities. I am glad to work with him.

Colleen Hollis amazes me. She accepted a call from God often especially difficult for a woman: preaching the gospel. I have observed her grace, humility and dedication to study, prayer and Christian service in the face of her own self-doubts.

I could list others, such as Christopher Phillips, already a leader wise beyond his years. Or Michael Alfred, who for two years, walked to church every day because he did not make enough money to both pay for a car and health insurance to protect his family. He learned Greek in order to read the New Testament in the original language. He teaches our youth the Word of God.

Jeremy Carlson and Jay Clark do whatever they are asked to do because they love this congregation.

These are all noteworthy things, which we should acknowledge and respect.

Behind all these young leaders (and some of them not so young) are dedicated spouses, volunteers, staff and employees who work untold hours to serve our community, a board of experienced wise men and women, and a growing group of seasoned deacons and other kinds of spiritual leaders.

We are truly blessed.

But I must end my reflection, which has already grown too long.

I knew Alfred McCroskey before people honored him. In those days, he lived in a tiny apartment that a church member made available. No one asked Alfred to preach in a great church conference. Christian television celebrities never asked him for an interview. He used a tiny office in our church until we needed it for other things. He did whatever he had to do, without bitterness or a sense of entitlement, to follow his call.

All that made it easy for us to honor him at his funeral. His work is finished. The quality of his accomplishments is evident. It is now safe to praise him.

But I am thinking today that Alfred probably needed more encouragement earlier in his journey than he needed it at the end.

When he was new to the stage, he was not always sure how to present himself. A kind word or a bit of praise would have gone a long way to reassure him and give him the energy to continue his work.

Alas, emerging leaders rarely get the praise they need. Instead, they endure their own self-doubts, the attacks of the devil, and the needless wounds inflicted on them by the household of faith.

We must do better.

As Jesus warned, “it is inevitable that offenses should come; but woe to those from whom it comes.”

I will speak for myself: I am sometimes guilty of expecting from youth a level of maturity that I did not have when I was young, and which indeed I do not always demonstrate today. If a young leader is timid, I tend to think he will never become a great leader. If he has confidence, I am tempted to think him arrogant. With such impossibly demanding criteria, we in effect eliminate everyone from Christian leadership, especially the young.

Sitting here in Santander, overlooking two thousand years of history, I am asking myself “does it have to be this way?”

That’s why I will go to the meeting tonight and hug those young leaders. I will tell them that they are our hope and future. I will tell them that I believe in them and that the Lord believes in them. I will confess that we didn’t know what we were doing either and often still don’t. I will tell them that this has been the case for two thousand years, but that the Lord has nonetheless led his church through flawed and stumbling people like us, generation after generation. They need to know that they will not be an exception.

And I will tell them, “Let no one, including me, despise your youth.”

I don’t want to wait for another funeral to esteem those who do God’s work, whether they are young or old.

That is how I will intend to honor Alfred, the old Franciscan monk and all he represents, my spiritual fathers in God, and God Himself: By affirming the Head of the Church’s sovereign choice to call young leaders into the work that has been ongoing ever since Jesus left us and went to heaven, at age 33.

The Evangelical Balloon

Trish I have been having a wonderful time in Spain.

Last year, a group of Spanish Pentecostal leaders invited us to visit their country to teach and encourage their pastors. So we set aside a couple of weeks to do that. We are so glad we did!

Naturally, we have enjoyed all the historic sites (and the foooooood).

(However, I must say that in Madrid, we waited outside the gates of the royal palace for King Juan Carlos and Queen Sofia to invite us to lunch. Unfortunately, someone had failed to let the royal family know that Trish and I were in the country! That was disappointing. But other than that …)

What we have really liked is the hospitality of Spanish Christians and especially our informed and spirited conversations with them.

For example, Sunday after church, a young pastor, (who, like many pastors here, works a secular job in order to support his ministry) invited me to his home for lunch. I had no sooner sat down than he asked, “As an Evangelical, how do you view St. Augustine and the impact of his work on the Protestant Reformation?” He then brought out copies of The Confessions and The City of God, as someone might present a fine wine. His young children and wife soon joined in, occasionally offering bunny trails about trout, cheese and Hanna Montana. This went on for a couple of hours, as we slowly ate our meal.

The day before, riding from Madrid to Santander, a lively interchange broke out between the pastor and a member of his church concerning the ideological relationship between Christianity and Marxism. This was followed by reflections on Sufism and the openness of Sufis toward Christian spirituality.  In that conversation, occasional comments erupted about the nation’s best wines, the viability of the European Union, and how God was at work in the world.

Day after day, I have encountered an informed, educated and spiritually alive people who want to talk about the important issues of our times. They want to discuss the spiritual implications of globalization, the surprising explosion of Christianity in the Southern hemisphere, and what one is to make of the Charismatic renewal among ancient Christians in the Middle East. They want to understand what American Christians think about these issues, and tactfully say that they often find us (and our opinions) mystifying.

I should hasten to add that my guests are not particularly wealthy. Nor do they think of themselves as intellectuals. They are working-class Christians who enjoy learning and who want to make sense of the world in the light of their faith.

They remind me of a time when American Christian leaders talked like this.

Pastors, especially in conferences and retreats, used to converse for hours about theology and their spiritual experiences. They would quote scripture and Christian literature to support their ideas, sometimes hoping to win an argument no doubt, but mostly trying to get to know one another.

Today, pastors’ conferences usually schedule a Bible scholar early in the morning. A handful of spiritual nerds go to the session, carrying Bibles, hoping to hear something substantial. For the rest of the day, crowds will halfway listen to a cute exposition about how to grow a church or become relevant in today’s world. Over lunch, conversation will usually turn toward the economy and how it is affecting the offerings or perhaps how one may acquire the latest technological gadget to make worship interesting. Biblical and theological reflection rarely affect the conversation, one way or the other. 

In other words, serious conversation has become rare among American Evangelicals.

Now that I think about it, our culture has made it increasingly difficult to talk about anything at any depth anywhere at any time.

The last thing a contemporary American politician would want people to say about him is that he studied at a great university or that he is well read. Even Bill Clinton had to go to great lengths to cover up his sordid past as a Rhode’s scholar.  He used his bag of pork rinds as a brilliant intellectual camouflage to help him to appear common enough to become president. George W. Bush was forgiven for going to Yale because he didn’t make good grades while he was there. Even our doctors must not get too dogmatic now about medical science; they certainly can’t insist that they offer superior treatment than the quack on TV who sells Cellulite-fade-away cream for $19.95.

In such a climate, why would one possibly want a pastor who cares much about theology, history or biblical studies? Young pastors quickly learn to keep their knowledge to themselves, or chose another line of work.

American Evangelicals are in a season akin to the Cultural Revolution that China experienced under Chairman Mao.

In those days, like those we are currently experiencing, it was dangerous to be an expert of anything. One could not use “elite” vocabulary, had to belch out loud, had to stay away from classical literature, and had to refrain from demonstrating refinement of any sort. Mao insisted he was the incarnation of a dragon and that it was harmful to brush one’s teeth. So, for a decade, China quoted Mao’s foolishness and laughed at its own cultural giants.  Lao-tzu and Confucius had become decadent; the powerful peasant had become wise. No one could tell the great one that his breath stank and that his teeth were rotting because that would make them appear smarter than him.

 Similarly, it is not wise now for a pastor to quote Luther, Aquinas, Calvin, Wesley, Cyprian or Barth. It is far better to quote Bono, or even Lady Gaga; which will at least get a laugh or two.

 The spiritual giants of history fare no better. Who speaks now of George Muller or even of Watchman Nee? And is anyone interested in Francis Asbury or in William Booth?

  Well, of course, some people are interested in the words and works of great Christians. Obviously, I am overstating my case.

But not by much.

In fact, if you are a Christian and do not recognize the names I just mentioned; I rest my case. You do not know them because no one thought it was important for you to know them. But because you didn’t learn about them and learn from their contributions, your Christian intellectual formation is probably weak. In that case, you are forming your thoughts by listening to the part of secular culture with which you most agree.  You may not even expect your church to offer intellectual formation or believe that a Christian should have a unique perspective on life, art, science, ethics and the meaning of world events.

How then can we expect you to have an informed Christian opinion about anything?

I am certainly not trying to insult you; you must care about intellectual formation or you would not have kept reading this blog. However, I am trying to make a serious point.

American Evangelicals have been losing influence in a growing number of fields, in part because we are not as informed as our secular neighbors. We have replaced our historical robust biblical orthodoxy with an insipid secular conservatism. In fact, we no longer understand the difference between the two. Furthermore, many American Evangelicals now view biblical orthodoxy with more suspicion than they do secular culture.  Our own history and scholarship now seems like “uppity elitism” to many of our people, which, of course, no one wants. As a result, singing Zippity Do-Da; Zippity Ay would go over better in many churches now than trying to sing A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.

Can you understand now why my conversations with Spanish Pentecostals seemed so shocking?

 Perhaps, European believers realized years ago that their countries were not churches. Therefore, they have not been as surprised as we when unbelievers do not follow God’s ways. They are not shocked that atheism, immorality or other religions exist around them. They seem to realize that there is a cost in following Christ and that becoming a believer involves actually knowing what Christians believe today and what they have believed through history. They also feel some obligation to understand what their neighbors believe and why they believe it. They know that being a witness to their neighbors involves words, deeds and attitudes.

Spaniards love to worship, and they pray fervently. But they do not substitute feeling for thinking. They want to feel God’s presence but they also want to learn Gods thoughts.

They are absolutely right: it is not enough to feel.

An honest person must understand why he believes as he does.

When one does not think, he can only feel. When what he feels is not an adequate answer for what his adversary thinks, the one who feels can only become more passionate about what he feels. His increasing passion will then require him to banish thought and, if possible, to ridicule the very process of intellectual formation.

When enough people within a given society buy into this kind of Cultural Revolution, a fool mounts the throne and wise people learn to hide their knowledge and hold their tongue.

Sooner or later though, a generation arises that prefers difficult answers to comfortable foolishness.

Europe, for example, already had its Hitler, Franco and Mussolini. These men, who promised their countries easy solutions for modern complexities, bathed the continent in blood while many believers prayed for their success. The aftermath was a wholesale departure from the faith. The humbled believers who remain serve their neighbors with a deeply rooted faith that they can capably and lovingly defend.

They serve the poor.

They do nasty work.

They seek the face of God.

They discuss serious things.

Whether church growth will come to Europe or not is God’s business. However, if and when it comes, it will be rooted in a serious search for God and not come hiding behind empty platitudes, trying to sanctify intellectual sloth.

Of course, there is a shortcut around thinking about serious things: one can market triviality and praise foolishness. One can sell sugar pills and call it medicine. One can talk in sound bites without saying anything and make a very good living doing it.

One can also keep blowing hot air into a balloon until it grows very large. However, there comes a point when the thin superficial material holding the hot air gives way.

Sometimes I think of that as I ponder the present and the future of American Evangelicalism.

Of course, I would have said none of that to Juan Carlos and Sofia had they invited me to their palace. 

Instead, I would have asked their royal majesties to pose with me for a photograph, which I would have tastefully included in this short essay.

I could then have began my blog with,

“Recently, while eating paella with the king and queen of Spain, …”

Sigh.

A Man of Quality - A Tribute to Alfred McCroskey

It is difficult to say the words, “Alfred McCroskey is dead.”

He stared down the grim reaper so many times! It had become commonplace to hear he was in the hospital and that his condition was serious, only to see him in church the following Sunday.  He was a force of nature. He was such a vibrant presence in our lives that losing him is like hearing that the last lion has died and that our world is bereft of an entire species.
   
What can I say about Alfred that will illustrate what I mean?
  
First, I will acknowledge that he was a bundle of contradictions.
   
Until the day he died, he was a marine, a cold-war marine from Alabama who ran a Christian bookstore. Nonetheless, he continually pled with us to care for the souls of those he had been trained to hate and to fight.

I think he was the world’s most reluctant Charismatic. He never gave up his Reformed Presbyterian theology and preferred its way of worship.  However, his sphere of influence was, almost without exception, within Pentecostal and charismatic circles.
   
He had a hard time with baby boomers. Sometimes that included me, whom he deeply loved.
   
Once, when pontificating about the damage inflicted upon the world by baby boomers, I remarked sarcastically that, “yes, all of us baby boomers were at Woodstock, Alfred. We were all there; taking drugs, practicing free love and playing rock music.” Without missing a beat he replied, “ I know. At least you all wanted to be there. I wanted to be there too – to call the cops on your crazy generation!”
   
How delighted I was when I learned that Alfred’s first contact in Moscow was a long-haired hippie, who had become a Christian after listening to Jesus Christ Superstar.  I often pointed that out to Alfred. Believing in God’s sovereignty as he did, I wanted him to notice our Lord’s sense of humor to have given him baby boomer colleagues all over the world. 

As we all knew, even as a missionary Alfred never ceased to be a marine.

Once, while addressing a group of Pentecostal leaders about to get on the plane for Russia, he barked: “listen, this is not a sight-seeing tour. You will do a little bit of that, but just remember that while you are looking at monuments, I will be trying to show the love of Jesus to the damned communists!”
  
I could hardly believe my ears. So I turned and asked Gerhardt Richter, “Did Alfred really say that?” To which Gerhardt replied, “Don’t worry about it. Jean will let him have it all the way to Moscow!”
   
The friendship that Alfred and I shared revolved around two things: a commitment to missions and a love for doctrines and practices of historical Protestantism.  We both loved the classical hymns, the great theologians and the Lord’s Table. The only problem was that I was a Wesleyan and he was a Calvinist.  So we never lost an opportunity to argue about things like free will and sanctification. I once remarked that although he thought liked a Calvinist, he certainly evangelized like a Wesleyan. He responded that the Lord had designed him that way.

It was difficult to win an argument with Alfred.

The reason he didn’t run with Calvinists too much because he was so open to the contemporary work of the Holy Spirit. That didn’t please many Presbyterians of his generation. Nonetheless, he would sometimes call me after a Charismatic worship service where he had heard some song or sermon he felt had misrepresented sound biblical teaching.  The words of the Reformers would roll off his tongue and then he would lament the sloppy theology of my generation. (Then usually go on to comment on our politics as well.) Had you been listening to our conversation, you might have believed he was utterly opposed to tongues, prophecy or any other spiritual phenomena.

Nonetheless, once, when he got sick, he called to say that he was flying to Phoenix to attend our healing service.  When he got there, he said to the congregation; “Look, I didn’t fly all the way out here for prayer. I can get prayer back in Florence. I came here to get healed. So you people do what you do. I need to get back to my work in Russia.”

At that, our Hopi and Navajo ladies ladies surrounded him and prayed. When they were finished, he thanked them, flew back to Florence and went on with his work.

I think sometimes Alfred desperately tired to hide his tenderness. He wanted us to think he was gruff and blunt. So he carefully constructed that perception. However, if he actually thought he had offended us, or discovered we were hurting about something, his tears came quickly and his words would grow soft and kind.

We were friends for twenty-five years.

We met at a mission’s conference in Marietta, Georgia, chatting over coffee. He told me he wanted to put a million Bibles into the hands of the Russian people. So I impulsively blurted out: “well, then move to Nashville and let us help you.”

“O.K. I think I will!” he responded.

He and Jean moved to Nashville just as Christ Church was beginning to connect to the world. We had been a regional, and rather provincial congregation. So we did not have deep ties to the globe or even much desire to form such ties. All we knew was that the Lord was opening up all sorts of connections for us within the Soviet Union. Our hearts just kept opening up to the needs of the Russian and Ukrainian believers. At the center of this work was the old cold-war marine, believing God for funds to launch his mission into Russia.  It should be added that Alfred never manipulated people to supply his funds. He believed in God and God did not fail him.

You know the story about that powerful evening at Christ Church, when so many great ministries were birthed in the space of a few hours. He was one of the people who stepped forward to announce his dream.

“I believe God wants me to plant a thousand churches in Russia before I die!” he said emphatically.

To the day he died, he claimed that I laughed out loud.

“You did laugh," he insisted. "You laughed just like Sarah when the angel told her she would have a son. You laughed. You weren’t even subtle about it!”

Well, if I did laugh – and I will concede that perhaps I did – the laugh was on me. Year in and year out, Alfred and Jean plugged away at that vision. They trusted God, the made friends throughout the Russian Republic, and they have encouraged hundreds of young people – and some not so young -- to start churches.

That work is accomplished now.

Alfred ran the race. He finished his course. He kept the faith.

As I think about Alfred and his legacy, one word comes to mind: “quality.” He was a man of quality. He used his powers and talents to the fullest to advance goodness in the world.

Great men are not always good men, and good men are not always great men.

A great man is one that alters history in some significant way. He leaves a mark etched in the minds and on the customs of a people. His words and deeds reverberate through time, leaping out from the narrow constraints of his own generation.  Alexander was great because what he accomplished was so far reaching that history itself has become inconceivable without him. 

Goodness also leaves a mark, but it is not always obvious. Nearly everyone can remember some grandparent or and uncle – perhaps even an usher at church – who seemed invisible against the crowd but who, in retrospect, left a mark of sanctity and grace upon their world.

Bob Dylan once said of Jesus, “He unleashed His power in an unknown hour, when no one knew.”

That is the way goodness works, without regard for either humanity’s praise or for its condemnation.
We praise goodness but tend to ignore it. We are more attracted to greatness. That is evident in the things we study and the things we neglect.

Steve Jobs died a few weeks ago and the world acknowledged his passing with editorials and commentaries. He left a void that is not likely to be filled any time soon.  Jobs was obviously great. He altered our technological and social landscape as much as legends like Ford, Edison and Disney. So Jobs deserves the attention.

In contrast though, Alfred McCroskey’s death is scarily unnoticed, except by his family, a handful of friends in Nashville, and a few people in Florence and the surrounding area. When we lay his body down, it will be in a common place without any sort of ostentatious monument to mark the spot.  Not only that; he lived and worked in the same kind of obscurity.

When I was younger, I fretted over the fact that even in Christian circles, greatness trumps goodness. How many church conferences have I attended in which powerful speakers with nothing to say rose to speak to invisible men and women who were changing the world! But with the passing of time, one realizes that the obscurity is often a weapon. God has stealth fighters, people who require obscurity in order to do great things.

And yet, it is not true to say that Alfred has no monument. We are his monuments. The thousands of Russians in churches across that vast and great country are his monuments.  As he worked, powerful dictators and bureaucrats, churchmen and policemen kept walking on and then off the great stage. They were unconcerned about an old marine who kept flying to obscure places in the Russian tundra and steppes, leaving a word here and a book there – like God’s own Johnny Appleseed – moving on before the plant he had left broke the surface, traveling far away before his fruit became visible.

The oaks of righteousness that now dot the Russian countryside are his monuments.

I have written these words because for over a year I have been scheduled to speak to a group of pastors in Spain. I decided to keep my appointment. I too want to finish well. In fact, Alfred’s life has played no small part in forming my determination to finish well. Therefore, my ongoing work is also a part of Alfred’s monument.

So Alfred has the monument he desired.

But more is coming.

Soon the books will be open.

On the great and terrible day of the Lord, when the secrets of men’s hearts are laid bare; when history’s great and good men pass one by one before the judgment seat of Christ, it will not be a day to glorify the likes of Napoleons and Caesar. Many of the great minds of philosophy and the innovators of industry and finance will be scarcely noted. But a few people that day will be crowned. They will be people who were once faithful in little and have been made masters over much. These invisible hinges of history; these small and seemingly insignificant individuals; these people of quality who work to push time toward its apex and fulfillment, will finally be revealed and acknowledged.

Among them will be a marine from Alabama, a faithful father and husband, a missionary and a friend.; but above all, a servant of God and a disciple of the Lord Jesus Christ.

My dear, dear friend:

“Go rest high upon that mountain.
For your work on earth is done.
Go to heaven a shoutin’,
Love for the Father and the Son. “