One of the valued gifts of my life has been the invitation to me by administrations of Christian Conference Centers to be their speaker for year round programs. For the most part, themes related to the development of mature and practical Christian living, especially in the context of the family and daily life. Audiences were highly interested in family development in the context of a vacation week. So it was that for several decades I was busy in whatever extra time I could manage, concentrated more during summer months, in speaking to interested and pampered, well fed, campers in beautiful natural surroundings, in modern rustic buildings, with programs including excellent musical accompaniments, warm fellowship, even some entertainment. There was an appealing aura. I remember especially the hundreds of services at Mount Hermon, Hume Lake, and Forest Home in North, Central and Southern California. Their ministries were magnificent. There were other excellent locales, like Mission Springs, Cannon Beach, Canby, and many others, repetitive during the years of my observation to verify consistency in staff dedication to ministry.
I had addressed conferences where all were Asian in background except for a few Caucasians who had married into Asian families. On this particular week I was impressed by the number of Asian-Americans attending the conference of dominantly Caucasian numbers. There were always Asians, but the number on this week was larger than any former open conferences to which I ministered at Forest Home. At the close of one of the first services I was approached by a lovely lady, Asian-American, asking if we could talk privately. I suggested that we meet after the service at a bench under a tree nearby. So we began our exchange. The story she told clings to my memory. (I must leave out so much here that I would like to tell about the details of the experience of this gentle and beautiful person, in grief, seeking answers.)
She said: My husband was pastor of a very large Chinese Christian Church in southern California. The many persons attending here with me are members of that Church. We came to hear you, in the belief that you will answer what is now the deepest question of our lives. My husband was on the church platform. There were hundreds of people already seated. This man, a former member of our church, walked down the aisle. My husband stood to talk to him when he walked up on the platform. The man pulled a gun, and fired. The bullet hit a young intern pastor beyond my husband. It killed him. He fired again, hitting my husband. My husband lived for a short period of hours and died. A sheriff, Caucasian, attending the service shot and killed the murderer when he refused to stop running. My husband was so highly regarded that many in our congregation have not been able to reconcile this awful experience to our faith. Will you help us? She pointed to her two children some distance from us, and said: They don’t understand why their father was killed. What can I tell them? Our grief and questions nearly overcome us.
I was engulfed by her story: Persons in ministry have ready responses for just about everything, but I can’t use any of them. Meet me here tomorrow at this time, and I will have an answer for you. We concluded in prayer, and I was unhappy with myself. What is this answer? I prayed over the matter, and thought about it during the night. I felt I should turn to Isaiah’s closing chapters. It jumped out at me from Isaiah 57:1-3. I could hardly wait for the meeting with this troubled mother. I asked her to read it aloud to me, and read it again. She did, and we waited. The burden lifted. She relaxed. We prayed. It seemed like a miracle. She wanted to get to her friends to share what she found from Scripture. After several years, at another conference, a member of her family came to me with the news that that dear lady had closure and comfort from Scripture – and wanted to report to me so to let me know it lasted. From this, and many other events, some dramatic to life and death, I learned of the healing power of Scripture, joined with prayer, and a devout sharing of burden for direction for future thought and action. I felt honored to be part of so important life experience. What in all the world is better than this to be a part of the healing ministry of Jesus Christ, continued in our time in the context of the hour when Jesus, standing at the tomb of Lazarus, observing the tears, hearing the words of Mary and Martha in their grief, and so to resolve a problem of suffering? Such matters seem so other worldly, one is lifted even to address them. *Mark W. Lee, Sr. — 2016, 2020