The Thanksgiving-Christmas-New Year holiday season is an especially difficult time to experience the death of our loved ones. I know this from both personal and vicarious experiences. For example, I preached the funeral of my own mother just three days before Christmas 1980.
A few days ago, word came to me that former classmate from college, ministry colleague, and friend Ed Dobson of Grand Rapids, Michigan, had died just one day after Christmas 2015, following a fifteen-year battle with ALS.
Pastor Ed Dobson
Yesterday, my elderly friend and mentor of almost forty years, Dr. A.V. Henderson, passed from this life to the next.
He was the last of my unofficial board of mentors—ministry men to whom I turned for advice and counsel. Suddenly, I find myself thinking, “Now where do I turn when I need an experienced human being to suggest a course of action when I have questions?”
Today, and relative to that, the thought that continually circles my mind is this reality: They—that is, my mentors—were here, but now they are all there—that is, heaven. From the multitude of those thoughts, I find reasons for reflection and for gratitude. Perhaps quite by “accident,” I have been blessed from my early adulthood with marvelous mentors.
Soon after getting married in 1970, my young bride and I moved from hometown in the southern city of Knoxville (TN) to metropolitan Detroit. From the first Sunday at Temple Baptist Church of Detroit, their pastor G. B. Vick took us under his wing, treating us as if we were his very own. Old time Temple members will appreciate this statement—I have eaten many lunches at Snow Whites’ in Detroit, whether I wanted to eat there or not. If Mister Vick said, “I’ll see you at Snow Whites,” it meant that we were going to Snow Whites!
If I had ever missed the example from my own father, Dr. Vick was to me what a Christian gentleman should be. While there were other men in America whose churches were larger than Temple in the mid-70s, there was no larger ministry example in my life than the gracious G.B. Vick. Although he died in 1975, I miss him sorely.
During my three-year tenure as a student at Bob Jones University in the late 1960s, I was privileged to be on stage with one of the world’s leading Shakespearean authorities—Dr. Bob Jones Jr. His father, Bob Sr. died during my freshman year at the school.
Perhaps it was in an early rehearsal of The Merchant of Venice, that Dr. Bob and I first became acquainted. He played the role of Shylock, while I was a lowly jailer with no lines at all. But those hours on stage together afforded me opportunities to spend time with a very personable Dr. Bob.
Through the years, we disagreed on a few ministry personalities and philosophies, but I cherish to this day many conversations and correspondences. Once, after making some bold statements to him, I waited for him to virtually dissect me. Instead, I received the most grandfatherly advice and warm affection, not the tongue-lashing that I feared might come. Those are things one doesn’t catch from a pulpit on the platform.
The name R.O. Woodworth and Baptist Bible College have been synonymous since the inception of the college in 1950. For decades “Reg” was the business manager and taught personal evangelism, among other courses. One cannot talk for more than a few minutes with any graduate of BBC and the name Dr. R.O. Woodworth not be mentioned!
Because I had married into the Woodworth family in 1970, he was just Uncle Reg, and his wife—Mrs. Woodworth—who had tended the bookstore at the college, was Aunt Dorothy. I can still see and hear my oldest two children—when they were young—crying in fear that Uncle Reg was going to die in our living room! Why? Because he was standing on his head, trying to prove to them how young and strong he was (in his 80s!), and his face had turned 20 shades of bright red!
Although I haven’t lived in Paducah (KY) for more than 25 years, I still miss his annual stops in Paducah, breakfasts together, and his passionate preaching in the church where I was pastor.
Of all my mentors, I probably spent the least amount of time with Dr. Lee Roberson, long-time pastor of Highland Park Baptist Church in Chattanooga (TN). Our paths crossed numerous times through the years, usually at conferences in the 1970s-1980s. I seldom asked for his advice directly. However, anyone who ever heard or read his sermons received practical advice in short sentences.
Without disparaging other pastors for whom I worked, and without listing the many reasons for this statement, Dr. Jerry Falwell was the greatest pastor I’ve ever known. After my first six months in Lynchburg, I was discouraged, thinking, “Jerry doesn’t even know who I am!”
One Sunday evening, as I headed to a side entrance to the auditorium at 701 Thomas Road, a black Buick Electra 225 screeched to a halt in the parking space beside me. Out jumped Falwell, tickled no doubt that he had startled me. He slapped his arm around my shoulders and with that voice of authority said, “Dale Peterson! I just got off the plane from De-troit, Michigan! You know, not one person asked me about Liberty Baptist College or Thomas Road Church or Old Time Gospel Hour, but everybody I met asked me about you! We’re glad to have you onboard!”
I learned through the years that Jerry truly loved everyone. He could walk away from a sound stage or studio after interviews by celebrity types, but he was just as interested in the cameraman or the lady calling the lights as he was the Phil Donahue’s! Another excellent illustration of his love for people was in my church office one morning.
Before walking into an auditorium filled with pastors one day, I asked Jerry to hang on for a minute, and we let everyone else leave the room. My youngest daughter Joy—12 years old at the time, wanted to interview Falwell for a class project. His attention instantly shifted to Joy. He asked if she had her tape recorder ready. He had her sit in my chair while he made himself comfortable on my desk.
Joy had her questions written on 3-by-5 cards, and asked them one by one. Jerry Falwell treated her like she was a contemporary of Barbara Walters or Katie Couric!
I would like to think that some of those noble characteristics rubbed off on this pastor. Few days have gone by since Jerry’s death that I haven’t missed him.
B.R. Lakin, like all the others named, was a true friend to preachers everywhere. I had listened to and read his sermons for a few years before finally meeting him in Southgate (MI) in the early 1970s. Shortly after hearing him in person, I invited him to speak to a youth rally in southern Michigan.
Picture this, if you can—2400 high school teenagers and their youth leaders sitting spell-bound listening to an old southern evangelist from Fort Gay, West Virginia. I still meet people who attended that meeting—and they all remember the lights suddenly going out and Dr. Lakin quickly saying, “Just hold! It’ll go out quicker than that for some of you one of these days!”
Then, just as quickly as they had gone out, the lights came back on. I will refrain from divulging the name of the young man who hit the master light switch in the control room at Temple Baptist Church. A few minutes later, after finishing his sermon, Dr. Lakin invited young people to come to Christ, and dozens were saved that evening.
Three years after entering vocational youth ministry, I accepted the role of youth pastor under Dr. Tom Malone Sr., founder of Emmanuel Baptist Church and Midwestern Baptist College in Pontiac (MI). Malone was a preaching machine—a preacher’s preacher, with a style all his own.
I asked Doc one time, “Doc, how do you get your sermons? I know you don’t just subscribe to The Sword of the Lord, and get other preachers’ outlines because that publication usually prints yours!” I’ve never forgotten his reply. Without going into lengthy detail as I tell it, he outlined for me how he read the Bible each morning, and continued reading until God had spoken to him. Then he said, “ … and I have found that what God uses [to do those things in my heart], He will use in the lives of others.”
The one mentor who influenced my life over the longest period of time was Dr. John Rawlings. My first introduction to Dr. John was in the late 1950s when I listened to his national radio program—The Landmark Hour. It was the live broadcast of the evening services from Landmark Baptist Temple in Cincinnati (OH).
As a child, I loved to hear Dr. John preach because he told a lot of stories as he spoke. As I listened to those messages, it never entered my mind that this man would one day become a dear friend.
Dr. John & Dale
Finally, the last of the old-timers to hang up his sword is my friend Dr. A.V. Henderson, whose passing has prompted my reflections today. As I write these words, I am trying to book hotels from Michigan to Texas. A younger pastor friend from Waterford (MI) and I are planning to make the journey to attend the memorial service in Haslet, Texas.
BTW, do you pray? If so, would you pray for our safety as we make this unscheduled trek? Further, and perhaps more sobering, let me ask this—whose lives are you influencing for the cause of Christ? While we’re praying, let’s ask God to use us to positively impact others for His glory.
The men mentioned above are a handful of the men and women whose lives have touched and encouraged my personal and ministry life. With whatever inherent faults I have, these are people who helped make my life more Christ-like because they cared about others, including me.
One of my prayers—since childhood—could be summarized in a song that George Beverly Shay used to sing.
If I can help somebody, as I pass along,
If I can cheer somebody, with a word or song,
If I can show somebody, how they’re travelling wrong,
Then my living shall not be in vain.
My living shall not be in vain,
Then my living shall not be in vain
If I can help somebody, as I pass along,
Then my living shall not be in vain.
If I can do my duty, as a good man ought,
If I can bring back beauty, to a world up wrought,
If I can spread love’s message, as the Master taught,
Then my living shall not be in vain.
My living shall not be in vain,
Then my living shall not be in vain
If I can help somebody, as I pass along,
Then my living shall not be in vain.
Well, no airport intercom announcement calls me to board a flight, but common sense tells me that I’d better go pack my suitcase for Texas. Thanks for praying with me!
Dale Peterson 