Laborers Together

During my teenage years I was most anxious to serve the Lord.  I became secretary of Walnut Street Baptist Church, in Evansville, Indiana.  I worked after school and on weekends during the school year and full-time during the summer.  I helped in several Vacation Bible Schools each summer and was active in the Evansville Rescue Mission youth program as well as the youth program in my own church.

One summer Sunday, our church decided to take a census of the neighborhood.  My girlfriend, Janice, and I teamed together.  Janice was very shy, so she quickly informed me that she would write down the information, but I would have to do the speaking (does that tell you something about me?)

We looked and looked for the street on which we were to begin our census, but we couldn’t find it.  We saw a man out working in his yard.  I approached him and told him that we were taking a census, with the full intent of asking him to direct us to the street for which we were looking.

However, the moment I said we were from Walnut Street Baptist Church and were taking a census, the man started toward us, raised the tool he had in his hand, and started yelling, “Get away from here.  I won’t answer any of your questions.  I won’t come to your church, and I don’t want to see you around here again.”

I had never known fear until that moment, but in the flash of a mere second, I was frightened out of my wits.  I grabbed Janice’s hand, and we ran until we were completely out of breath.  We stopped, stood still until we calmed down, realized that we were on the street we were supposed to be on, and deliberately forced ourselves to continue the census.  We met some really nice people who helped us overcome our trembling legs and deep wishes to return to the church forgetting we had even contemplated helping with the census.

All week long, I wondered what would happen if I ever saw that man again.  On Sunday morning I went up the steps from the youth department after Sunday School to go into the church auditorium.  At the landing, the Sunday School crowd from downstairs merged with the people coming in the front door of the church.  As I approached the landing, I looked up into the eyes of the man who had chased us off his property the preceding week.  My heart did a double flip.  I abruptly turned around, flew back down the steps, went through the basement and up the steps on the other side of the auditorium.  I quickly found my Mother and Daddy and sat with them -- a very unusual occurrence for a teenager.

When an invitation was given at the end of the morning worship, both the man and his wife accepted Jesus as their Savior.  Giving his testimony, the man said, “I’m here today because two teenage girls gave their Sunday afternoon to come into our neighborhood to take a census for the church.”  He apologized for frightening us and then thanked us for coming to his house.  His name was Max Goldenberg.

Some religions and cultures believe strongly that all the members of their family must embrace their religion because, for them, it is the one true religion.  When a family member becomes a Christian or accepts another way of life, he is considered DEAD by his family and others of that religion or culture.  Max came from a Jewish family.  When Max accepted Jesus Christ as his personal Savior, he died as far as his family was concerned.  Daddy and Max attended the funeral that Max’s family held for him.  They were not allowed to approach the family during the funeral but observed from a distance.  As the family left the cemetery, they walked past Max as though he were invisible.