This is a departure from my usual posts, in that I am writing about am man in modern times, not Biblical times. The man is my father, who was a Christian man but never preached, never told us how to live. He just lived his life and showed us the way a man is supposed to be.
My father grew up in an Alabama mill town. He went to school and when school was over, he worked as a drug store clerk and part-time musician.
When the call came, he went to fight in World War II. He was a heavy equipment mechanic in the 38th Combat Engineers specializing in building air strips. He also played in a big band the unit formed while on Ascension island in the middle of the Atlantic.
After the war, he settled down, got married, got a job in the insurance industry and raised his family.
My father was a quiet man. He showed us how to live without bluster. He took care of my very sick and psychotic mother with no complaint.
There are two specific incidents during which I observed his Christianity and his innate goodness.
We moved to Tampa in 1963 and joined the Methodist church in our neighborhood. One Sunday, in the 1964 presidential race season, during the sermon, the preacher began talking about whom to vote for. In spite of the fact that he agreed with the preacher’s opinion, he stood up in the middle of the sermon and marched his family out, never to return. We quickly joined the next closest Methodist church.
You see, he took Jesus seriously and did not want to see Caesar and the Lord confused for each other.
The second incident is more profound. My maternal grandfather was a pillar in the Methodist church in his little Alabama town. He was a racist, as were most white men of his generation in Alabama. There was a family, a man and his wife who were tenants on my grandfather’s farm. John did work for him and his wife, Affie Mae worked in the house as a housekeeper and sometimes cook for my grandmother.
My grandfather died in 1971. H is funeral was attended by all the town luminaries.
No black people had ever been welcome in that church.
My father made certain that John and Affie Mae were seated on the front row with the family.
I believe these incidents show that a Christian man does not have to preach. He can be a quiet Christian and live in such a way to show the world his faith instead of proclaiming it n the street corner.
A Christian might believe deeds go before words.
He might believe people who talk too much about their faith are in danger of hypocrisy.
He might believe that a silent witness is more effective.
He might believe in respecting all beliefs and avoiding conflict.
Whatever the reason, I believe that a person can be a Christian and not not “pray on the street corners, like the heretics.”
Happy Father’s Day to all fathers and especially mine in heaven!
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