This past Sunday my family went out of town to hear my wife's pastor from her younger years preach. I had been promising her for a long time we would make the trip, and Sunday we finally got around to going. We pulled up to the church too late for Sunday School but too early for church, so we sat and talked. I could tell she was excited to see her former pastor, and I was looking forward to it also. This was the man that helped to mold my wife into the God fearing woman she is, and was one of the pastors that presided over our wedding many years ago.When the time for the worship service to start got near we got out and went inside the church, but a Sunday school class was still going on in the sanctuary, so we went back outside and waited. A few minutes later the door opened and a gray haired man came out and greeted us. He started speaking and I realized this was the man we had came to hear. I didn't recognize him, he had a gray beard and he looked tired. He recognized my wife immediately, and told us how glad he was to see us.
We went inside and sat down, then he came up to us again. He told us how his wife had passed about a year earlier, and how hard it had been for him. I could see the pain in his face as he spoke. He went on to greet the members of the church, and we got ready for the service. The choir sang, then the preacher got up to preach. He spoke of sin, and of the blood. He talked about hell. Not many preachers do that these days. He said more in probably 20 minutes than a lot of preachers do in an hour. I never once looked at my watch, I could have listened to him all day. After the close of the service he asked everyone to sit down, he had something he needed to talk to everyone about. That's hardly ever a good sign.
He told the congregation that he was tired. He doesn't sleep any more. He had been wrestling with God for months. He told the church he was sorry, but he had talked to God and God told him it was time for him to resign from being a pastor. He still wanted to preach, but he just could not pastor any more. He said he needed to be fed for a while. He asked the church to forgive him, and apologized to my family for doing this while we were there. There was no need to apologize to anybody.
As we left the church he told my wife to tell her family that he asked about them and that he loved them. He told us how much he loved us. We left there and went our way, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that we were there that day for a reason.
Pastors like this man are a dying breed. Go into a lot of churches these days and you won't hear about sin, the cross, or the blood. You might hear about planting a seed to reap your harvest (the prosperity gospel) or how things used to be (the tradition gospel) or any number of things except the true Word of God. I am afraid of what kind of preaching my children will hear when they are my age. I'm chasing rabbits, so back to the point.
Here's to all of the true pastors that have lived the calling that God gave them, who loved their flocks, who recognized their members even after not seeing them for years, and who held firm to the truth that the gospel of Jesus Christ was to be first and foremost in their ministries. I believe Clyde Painter is one of these men, and I hope and pray that he finds rest, peace, and a place to be fed. It was an honor to be able to sit under his preaching one more time.
