FRONT-PORCH GOSPEL: This life story begins in 1973 (kind of) – part 39

Cheyenne listened without interruption to the opening scene of the first date between the young bricklayers’ helper and the young princess. Then he jumped in to help me move the plot along.

“So, Popman,” he said, enthusiastically, “how did it go?”

“Oh,” I said, “I don’t think it could’ve been much better.”

With that, I paused long enough to make him think I was never going to continue; and just as he was about to speak again, I started to tell the story.

We made it to church about five minutes before the time to start, which was seven o’clock. Everybody had sat down when we came in; but they all turned around and looked as we sat down about three rows from the back. My Uncle Alton, an auburn-headed preacher and father figure, saw us come in and walked back to where we were.

“Billy Ray,” he said, “why don’t you get the third song?” And before I could introduce him to Corrina, he reached his hand over to hers and introduced himself in his polite Southern way.

Uncle Alton was a Southern gentleman. He had the manners that the most refined and cultured gentleman in our hometown of LaGrange would covet. After all these years, I’ve never met a man who could surpass him. Oh, not that he would lay claim to it, no, not at all. That’s what made him a gentleman.

He was as humble as the man begging for money on the side of the road, so much so that sometimes he could come across as being almost bashful. I’ve always felt he had the perfect demeanor for a preacher: kind and gentle, polite and cultured, but also firm when it came to scripture.

While I admired him, I also never wanted to get on his bad side, either. In fact, when he walked back to where Corrina and I were sitting, my heart kind of dropped down amongst my lungs because I thought he was going to make us get up and move closer to the front.

Truth is, if he had told me to, I would’ve done it in a heartbeat, both then when I was 16 and for as long as he lived, which would be until he was well into his 80’s.

Thankfully, he just asked me to lead a song, which was something most of us young people did on Wednesday nights. We grew up leading songs and giving lessons at church at a fairly young age.

With my mind on hurrying home from the job and getting back to Corrina and picking her up, I hadn’t thought about what song would be good to lead until that moment. But it came to me pretty quickly.

Maybe it was because Corrina was there, I’m not sure, but I knew which one it would be.

Sometimes God’s providence works in ways that will amaze you; and when I chose “How Great Thou Art,” I had no way of knowing how important that song, and a couple of others, would be in the months ahead. We would sing it again in that very building in the early days of October, and it would be something I would never forget.

After the singing and prayer, Preacher Miller walked up to the podium, still with a slight limp from his and Grandma’s wreck in 1966, and he was dressed in his dark suit as he always did.

I leaned over to Corrina, and said, proudly, “That’s my grandfather, Preacher Miller.” She just smiled, and I thought she seemed proud to know that I had such strong men in my life. Thinking back, it was something for which to be proud.

“Brothers, Sisters, Friends,” my Grandad began in his powerful raspy voice, “Tonight I’m going to talk to you about the Providence of God! Our reading will come from the book of Romans, the eighth chapter, and verse twenty-eight, where the Apostle Paul writes these words, ‘For we know that all things work together for good to them that love the Lord, to them who are called according to his purpose.’

“Now, some people do not understand that reading,” he began. “They get confused by it. They want to know why the Apostle Paul says ‘All things,’ and they say that it is not possible that all things work together for good – why, look at all the bad going on around us, and look at all the sickness and trouble. Surely a good God would not allow such trouble and sickness to invade our lives. And certainly, they say, those things do not work together for good.”

About the time he emphasized the word “good” almost in a roar, someone in the front row said a loud “Amen!” It surprised me because, although the men might come out with a hearty “Amen!” occasionally, it was not a regular occurrence, except at the end of the prayer, when Preacher Miller would say an “Amen!” loud enough to be heard if you were walking down the street, and Uncle Alton and Uncle Angus also would say “Amen” fairly loud, harmonizing with the man in the dark suit. But that was at the end of a prayer.

I immediately looked over and saw who it was who had shouted out the Amen, although I recognized it. A gentleman would come to our Murphy-Avenue church every now and then and give “Amen’s” out freely all during the service. We called him the “Amen Man.” He would go to churches all around town, and he always walked. You often would see him walking into a church way across town, and he crossed over into any denomination or belief.

I was a little embarrassed that of all nights he had come that he chose that one – and that is to my shame, I know – because I knew that before Preacher Miller sat down the Amen Man would have Amen-ed him fifty times. And he did not disappoint that night, either. After about the fifth one, I glanced over at Corrina, and we just smiled at each other. I got the feel she was not used to that, either.

Years passed, and I don’t remember when the Amen man stopped coming. He was old at that time, still a little red-headed so maybe not so old as I thought, and he wore old suspenders over a tarnished long-sleeve shirt, no tie. But I’ve grown to appreciate him a great deal more as I’ve gotten older. There are much worse things to be called than the Amen Man.

The Amen Man did not slow Preacher Miller down at all, though. I think he kind of revved him up more, and pretty soon they got into a rhythm, and the preacher would even pause at times just to give him time to throw one out.

“But those folks just don’t understand the scriptures,” the preacher went on saying, referring to the people who don’t understand that “all things work together for good,” and then for the next forty minutes he explained that “all things” means “all things,” especially the things that are difficult, and especially the things that are trying, and especially “death, peril, and sword.”

About halfway through the sermon, he started telling a story, one I had heard many times.

“When I started preaching some 30 years ago, Zona Belle and I didn’t make enough money hardly to pay our bills. Sometimes we didn’t know how we would make ends meet. But every Sunday when it came time to give back to the Lord, we gave ten percent of everything we made, and then some. Brethren, Sisters, and Friends, I sure would be afraid today to give the Lord less than ten percent, and I’d be mighty ashamed not to give more.

“But we gave the Lord what we could; and it wasn’t long before I discovered something. I could shovel to the Lord what I could on Lord’s Day, and the Lord would shovel right back to me what He chose. And Zona and I just kept doing well, until one day it hit me. What I discovered was that no matter how much we tried to shovel to the Lord, He had a lot bigger shovel than what we had.”

With that the preacher laughed, and his shoulders went up and down as he did, and Corrina nudged me and smiled, too. Folks don’t always like being happy in church, but Preacher Miller thought differently. And the Amen Man did, too.

Back about four rows from the back, the lovely dark-haired girl and the one they called Pup were pretty happy, too.     

Amen!

Coach Steven Bowen, a long-time Red Oak teacher and coach, now enjoys his time as a writer and preacher of the gospel. And, after a ten-year hiatus, he’s also returned to work with students at Ferris High School as well.

In addition to his evangelistic travels, he works and writes for the Church of Christ of Red Oak at Uhl Road and Ovilla. Their worship times are 10 a.m. Sundays and 6:30 pm. Wednesdays. Email coachbowen1984@gmail.com or call or text (972) 824-5197.