Walking Down the Aisle                                                                                  December 2, 2019

 

“When will I be called to pastor a church?” 

 

For us ministerial students at Ouachita Baptist College, that was a major concern. In Arkansas, most pastors didn’t have a seminary degree and many did not have a college degree. So we hoped and prayed that we’d be called to a church while we were still in college.

 

That meant that we needed to preach as often as possible. So we thought, prepared, prayed and wished that a church would ask us to preach and, better, that it would be without a pastor. 

 

“I’ve been invited to preach this Sunday,”  Roommate Jim exclaimed. “The best part is the church does not have a pastor. Pray that I’ll do a good job and they will consider me as a candidate.”

 

“Knowing you, I’ll pray that you don’t mess up so bad that they don't want ANY student from OBC to preach there!” I teased.

 

Sunday night, as Jim arrived back on campus, we preacher boys could hardly wait to hear the results.

 

“How’d it go?” we asked.

 

“I’m not sure,” Jim reported.

 

“What happened?” we questioned, almost in unison. “Did you mess up on the sermon?”

 

“No. I did okay there. I remembered my passage, my points, and my poem and I had ample, abundant alliteration.”

 

“Then what was the problem?”

 

“When I came to the altar call, I thought, ‘If someone responds to my invitation, that will encourage them to consider me for pastor.’”

 

“So. . ?”

 

“Well, during the first verse of the invitation hymn, no one came forward. So I decided to make it a little more general, hoping that someone would respond and I’d look better. But no one did. I was a little desperate by the end of the third verse. I wanted someone to respond,” he continued.

 

“Did anyone?” we asked as the tension built.

 

“No one had. So I made the invitation very general and said, ‘If you want to make any decision today, please come forward.’ Then I noticed an older man coming slowly down the left aisle. I was overjoyed. I almost ran to meet him. Finally a decision!”

 

We were rejoicing with him at this point. “What was his decision?”

 

“Before he was all the way to the front I rushed to meet him, took his hand, placed my arm around his shoulders and asked,

 

‘What decision are you making today?’”

 

“The music ended about that time and he was talking loud because of the music. In the sudden quiet I think everyone in the building heard him say, ‘No decision. I’m just on my way to the restroom.’”

 

After we all had a good laugh, someone said, “I hope they invite you back. Now you’ll know where the restrooms are.”

 

The altar call has been a vital part of Baptist churches because that is when most of the decisions for salvation are made. Even professions of faith made privately during the week are often made public at this time. Sometimes the invitation would go on and on depending on the response or lack of response. No one seemed to object because decisions affecting people’s lives here and for eternity were being considered and committed. 

 

One Sunday as my dad gave the invitation, I felt an urge to go forward. 

 

Maybe it was because of what my older brother, Danny Frank, had done. He had been sitting with Cotton (why would anyone in Arkansas name a boy “Cotton”?), an older teenager, and responded to the altar call. That Sunday, I was sitting with Cotton when I considered what I needed to do. Maybe all the lost people needed to sit with Cotton so God could work on them.

 

Maybe it was Holy Spirit touching my heart. Since I couldn’t understand what was happening, I did nothing. 

 

That night, as we drove along the dark twisty road between Malvern and Arkadelphia, I listened to Mom and Pop talk about the day and the services. I waited for an opportunity to ask questions. 

 

Finally there was a break in their conversation and I leaned over between Mom and Pop (no seat belt laws then because there were no seat belts). Crossing my arms on the back of their bench seat I stated, “I want to be baptized.” 

 

After a moment's pause, my Dad began to explain to me what it meant to be baptized. 

 

“Baptism is to show that you have invited Jesus into your heart.” he said. “It is important that you do that. Every person commits sins, like telling a fib, or hurting your brother.”

 

I answered very softly, afraid he would ask me specifically about my sins. “I think I understand.” 

 

“You can’t be good enough to make up for sins, so you have to ask Jesus to do it for you. He will forgive you and make it alright and give you eternal life,” he continued.

 

“When you open your heart to let Jesus come he will give you a new start. Also, he’ll be in your heart to guide and direct you to help you not to sin again.”

 

“How do I invite Jesus into my heart?” I inquired.

​

“It is very easy. You simply say a prayer and ask him to come into your heart. Tell him that you have sinned and that you are sorry for your sins and ask him to forgive you,” he responded.

 

“Do I have to tell him ALL my sins?” I hesitated. 

 

“No,” he replied with a smile in his voice. “Jesus already knows all of them.”

 

“Oh,” I commented in a worried way. “When can I do that?”

 

“Probably the best time would be when I give the invitation on Sunday morning. You can come forward and I’ll pray with you. I’ll help you know what to say. Don’t do it until you really mean it, okay?”

 

“Okay,” I said as I leaned back into my seat. I was quiet the rest of the way home, thinking about my sins and what it might mean to have Jesus in my heart. He didn’t mention hell but I had heard enough sermons to know that was the result of not asking Jesus into my heart.

 

Sins? I hardly knew what the word was. I understood the examples they gave but they didn’t seem so bad to me. 

 

A couple of Sundays later, I realized that I had been disobedient to my parents. I don’t remember what I had done but I knew I had disobeyed them. I’m sure they punished me for it or at least corrected me, but it still bothered me. 

 

That Sunday, it hit me that disobedience really is a sin. I had sinned. It didn’t seem like a major sin, like murder or stealing. However, I needed to say, “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” 

 

(Over the next few years I continued to think of it as something minor but a sin nevertheless. Then one day reading in the Bible, Paul lists a whole bunch of really bad sins and ends by saying, “and disobedient to parents.” (Romans 1:30) Wow, no wonder I needed to repent. My sin was there, as bad as murder.)

 

So that Sunday, sitting with Cotton, I knew I needed to repent and respond to this invitation. I think I ran down the aisle to Dad and told him I wanted Jesus in my heart.

 

I was happy. I was so small, about 7 years old, that people would have to bend over to shake  my hand and rejoice with me, so Dad stood me on the front pew and people came by shaking my hand. I remember feeling like my smile literally went from one ear to the other. I was happy because I knew I had done what was right.

 

A few Sundays later, the baptistry had been filled with water. The wonderful people of the church were gathered to see me and a few others baptized. Pop knew the water was too deep for short me so he put a concrete block in the bottom of the baptistry. I was the last in the line as I stood at the top of the stairs, watching the person ahead of me be put under the water. I felt a little fear that I might not be able to hold my breath that long.

 

As that person climbed the steps on the other side, Pop look up at me and motioned for me to come into the water. I started down the steps. The water was cold. It got deeper with every step I took. As I got to the bottom step, with water almost to my chin, I thought I might have to swim to the middle where Pop was waiting. Then Pop moved over and picked me up and placed me on the concrete block. “Ah, I’m not going to drown.”

 

Then he raised his hand and said, “In obedience to the command of our Lord Jesus Christ and upon your profession of faith in him as your Lord and Savior, I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

 

With that he covered my mouth with the white handkerchief and leaned me backward totally under the water. As he raised me from the water, he must have splashed some on his face because there were big drops running down under both eyes. That was another day when my smile reached across my face.

 

I didn’t know about redemption, regeneration, sanctification, etc., but I knew I had invited Jesus into my heart and that decision would be with me the rest of my life, guiding me into deeper commitments. This was just the first step on a life journey and I was happy!

 

Ephesians 2:8-9 "For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast."