One aspect of the gospel ministry that is typically not appreciated by church members is the pastor’s ministry to survivors. This afternoon it was my privilege to go to a viewing at a local funeral home, where the casket containing the body of a World War II veteran who attended church when he was able was open for viewing. His wife of 75 years, two daughters and a son in law, grandchildren and their spouses, and two women from our church, were the only ones who attended. How I hate this pandemic lockdown.
Some years ago, a man started a church in the basement of our town’s large Methodist complex. When his congregation reached about 200 people, he approached the local Nazarene district office and informed them that he had decided he wanted his congregation to identify as Nazarene. They welcomed him with open arms, and then he told them of his need for a permanent facility. As happens from time to time with denominational organizations, the district office straightway retired the longtime Nazarene pastor and his wife in my town. It replaced him with the younger new guy who brought 200 people into the building.
Without any advance notice, a congregation of about 50 people who had worshiped together for almost 50 years found themselves outnumbered four to one, with a younger and very progressive pastor imposed upon them, and the auditorium completely remodeled to resemble nothing that they had ever seen before. One disheartened longtime member visited our midweek Bible study, held in our auditorium one block away. Owing to my discipling of young men, he got out of the auditorium before I had a chance to meet him and shake his hand.
One week later, that same man showed up again on a Wednesday night before the Bible study. I had the opportunity to meet him and shake his hand and arrange a subsequent meeting. At that meeting, with a broken heart, he told me about the congregation’s dispossession he knew so well and loved so deeply. Naturally, being a Baptist, I was appalled by such denominational actions, though I had seen such things before.
I called the pastor who had been forcibly retired by his denominational district office, an acquaintance with whom I had good relations and mutual respect. His attitude was one of resignation without malice. He had already retired from more than 30 years as a radio broadcaster. He was now ready for retirement from the ministry, something he accepted as an unavoidable part of life as a pastor inside a denominational hierarchy.
I asked him what he thought I should do with the people he used to preside over. He encouraged me to welcome them, to love them, and to pastor them for as long as they chose to stay. He pointed out that since they are Nazarenes, they would undoubtedly leave eventually because of the doctrinal incompatibility between the Nazarene denomination and unaffiliated autonomous Baptist churches.
The first Sunday night the Nazarenes showed up en masse was the first night of my series of sermons on the doctrine of the church that would become my book, “The Church of Jesus Christ: 28 Truths Every Christian Ought To Learn.” I wondered how a group of Nazarenes would react to a very strongly Baptist Bible sermon. I noticed that they blinked as I powerfully delivered point after point, but they continued to come, service after service. Once my book was published, several of them obtained copies of the book, read the book, and are now members of our church.
This recollection is about a fine man who could not attend very often because of his advanced age. His name was Hans. His widow’s name is Ruby. On a Sunday night, I most recollect an occasion four years ago when we habitually recognize birthdays and anniversaries in the congregation. Hans and his wife Ruby stood to celebrate their 71st wedding anniversary. Because he got around with a walker, I decided to remain in the auditorium instead of taking everyone out behind the fellowship hall, as was our usual practice.
As I stood next to him and his wife, so the photographer could take the pictures with the pastor that is our tradition, Hans said to me, “Do you know how I got this way?” I had no idea what he was talking about, so I said “No. What are you referring to?” He said, “I’m talking about my legs. Do you know how my legs got this way?” When I indicated I did not, he said, “It was the Germans.”
I later found out that Hans was born and raised in the Midwest, joined the Army at the age of 22 after the outbreak of World War II, but that he didn’t want to hurt anybody. He told me that he was not a pacifist and was committed to doing his part and serving his country. But having grown up in church, he prayed and asked God to make it possible for him not to have to hurt anyone.
His prayer was answered. He was in a barracks with a couple of hundred guys when a sergeant came in with a clipboard and a list of names and began reading off last names. Everyone whose name he called was directed to get into the back of a deuce and a half. Hans was the only man left in the barracks, but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut and sit on his bunk.
Several hours later, another sergeant walked into the barracks and asked him what his name was. “Sluik, sergeant.” “How would you like to be a medic?” the sergeant asked. “Great.” And that’s how God answered Hans’ prayer.
Fast-forward to the Battle of the Bulge. Hans’ company walked into a German minefield, and a number of his buddies stepped on German mines and were seriously injured. A mine’s goal is not to kill but to maim since injured soldiers require far more resources than dead soldiers. Hans immediately began to walk into the minefield and pick up injured soldiers, carrying them to safety. Then he went back into the minefield and got another guy. He did this again, and again, and again, I don’t know how many times, until he stepped on a mine.
That was his million-dollar wound. Hans was sent home, where he eventually but fully recovered and married his high school sweetheart, Ruby. Earlier this year, they celebrated their 75th wedding anniversary.
From what I have been able to gather, Hans and Ruby came to Christ after returning from the war, around the time of their marriage in 1945. Since then, they have always been faithful in church attendance, and his car repair business and her school teaching made them very well-known and respected in the community.
Hans was a member of what is usually called the greatest generation. By any measure, he was a heroic figure, both in uniform and as a faithful Christian. Below are a few pictures I took at his viewing today. Those of you who served may recognize the ribbons that tell their own story to others who served.
Please pray for me. I have been asked by Hans’ widow, Ruby, to
conduct the graveside memorial for Hans next week. I want to honor him. I want
to glorify God. I want to exalt the Savior. That Hans was a Christian man, who
lived an exemplary life, faithful to his wife, and who served his country with
valor, will make that privilege somewhat easier.
