Immeasurable the Influence – Immense the Loss
Amazingly, I have enjoyed the opportunity to hear many of the leaders among Baptist preachers who have lived during my lifetime. With many of these men, it has been my privilege to benefit from personal times of fellowship. The shared times of travel, meals, or prayers with those giants of the faith are blessings that I would think should be reserved for those beyond my rank. I am grateful for the kindness of a gracious Heavenly Father. As I write today, I recall certain times with Joe Henry Hankins, Dr. Bob Jones Sr., Dr. Bob Jr., Dr. John R Rice, his brother Dr. Bill, F. R. Bingham, Dr. Noel Smith, and others that are now on the Other Side. I can remember and, even now, sitting here, I can almost hear their prayers for me. While I do not presume to know all the occupations that occupy the occupants of Heaven, I certainly believe that reunions do take place. Those brethren, with all differences settled and ‘new natures’ fully in control, must have enjoyed opportunities for unfettered fellowship in the ‘Land of the Unclouded Day.’ Through these years, I have stood by as, one by one, these men of God, having heard the trumpet sound recall, have laid down the sword and joined ranks there.
Now another has left the battlefield, called home to the Ivory Palaces of the King. The last sermon that he preached was to the congregation of this church – some in attendance that day had never before heard him preach. His wife helped him to his study, dialed the number, and he preached by telephone as he had three times previously since he became a hospice patient. I had offered him the pulpit that Sunday, the thirty-first of August, or, if he thought he might be stronger, the following Sunday, September 7. He answered that he would preach “this Sunday”, because he might not be able “next Sunday.” His theme was on ‘watching God practice’ – as in the practice of a lawyer or a doctor. He spoke with unction and with an urgent plea for those without Christ to accept the gift of salvation before it was eternally too late and for those who are saved to live to please the God of Heaven.
He was not available to preach on the seventh. On September 6, in the first hour of the day, he went Home. He did not wish to abandon The battle. He did not request a discharge. He did not desire to leave his wife; he longed for the Rapture to take them Home together. He was ready, fully prepared, yea, willing to go. With wife and family alongside, this old soldier died; he did not just fade away, nor will he. He laid down the sword that he had carried so faithfully during seven decades of warfare; but his works – the souls brought to the Master for salvation and those taught and instructed in the things of Scripture – will follow him.
I first met him sometime in the 1950’s when he came to my home church to preach. I became acquainted with him in 1962 near a phone booth in the Indianapolis airport when I provided transportation to a preaching engagement in my home church. By the time the two of us arrived in Connersville, a friendship began that grew and deepened until he died, September 6. Forty years of fellowship produces an abundance of memories – memories that become a precious treasure to hold against the day of our reunion in the Better Land.
It is not appropriate that I should particularly write at this time of our friendship and this publication would fail to provide sufficient room for an adequate expression. I sought him to be a spiritual father and he, indeed, graciously accepted me as a son in the faith. His advice and guidance, his counsel and wisdom, his experience and knowledge were always available. In times of personal burdens or ministry crisis, when others shied away or did not respond, this man was never more than a phone call away. I knew he prayed for my family, my church, and for me. I valued his prayers and today feel their loss as greatly as I do the loss of his physical presence.
He preached in every state of the Union and in multiple nations on every continent, but Antarctica. He delivered the word of God to large congregations and to small assemblies. He was equally at home preaching to thousands as he was in witnessing to one. He was motivated by his gratitude for the grace of salvation, his passion for the lost, and his fervor for the return of the LORD Jesus Christ.
He bore many titles during his long ministry – preacher, pastor, church planter, evangelist, teacher, author, poet, composer were but some of those. Few men have remained in the ministry as long as he did. Few evangelists endured unchanged as long as did he.
It is true that not all of his fellow preachers agreed with him or even liked him. It is equally true that no one ever needed to ask where he stood or what it was that he believed. He established a record and faithfully, consistently remained anchored to his convictions, unmoved by the ebb and flow of popularity, not searching for the wave of applause. He was a man to whom the stewardship of the gospel ministry meant the solemn lifelong responsibility of the obligation of duty. He was a preacher who lived to preach and who preached even as he was dying.
With no claim for his infallible perfection or inerrant judgment, this soldier pleased Him Who called him and, I have not doubt, received the “Well done, thou good and faithful servant.”
He is home, for him the battle is over. Those remaining on the field of conflict will follow, each in due time. For now, we carry the sword, waiting our home-calling and our day of reunion.
Dr. Art Wilson has gone home.
Pastor Jerald Manley
Heritage Baptist Church
Pensacola, Florida
