Rev. Doug Gray
March 1, 2020
One of the great preachers of our time is Dr. Fred Craddock. Craddock tells a story about vacationing with his wife one summer in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. One night they found a quiet little restaurant, where they looked forward to a private meal. While they waited for their food, they noticed a distinguished looking, white-haired man moving from table to table, visiting with the guests. Craddock leaned over and whispered to his wife, “I hope he doesn’t come over here.” But sure enough, the man did come over to their table. “Where you folks from?” he asked in a friendly voice.
“Oklahoma,” Craddock answered.
“Splendid state, I hear, although I’ve never been there,” the stranger said. “What do you do for a living?”
“I teach homiletics at the graduate seminary of Phillips University,” Craddock replied.
“Oh, so you teach preachers how to preach, do you? Well, I’ve got a story to tell you.” And with that, the gentleman pulled up a chair and sat down with Craddock and his wife.
Dr. Craddock said he groaned inwardly and thought to himself, “Oh, no! Here comes another preacher story! It seems like everybody has at least one.”
The man stuck out his hand. “I’m Ben Hooper,” he said. “I was born not far from here across the mountains. My mother wasn’t married when I was born, and I never knew my father, so I had a pretty hard time. When I started to school, my classmates had a name for me, and it wasn’t a very nice name. I used to go off by myself at recess and lunch time because the things they said to me cut me so deep. What was worse was going to town on Saturday afternoons and feeling like every eye was burning a hole through me, wondering just who my father was.
“When I was about 12 years old, a new preacher came to our church. I would always go in late and slip out early. But one day the preacher said the benediction so fast I got caught and had to walk out with the crowd. I could feel every eye in the church on me. Just about the time I got to the door I felt a big hand on my shoulder. I looked up and the preacher was looking right at me. ‘Who are you, son? Whose boy are you?’ he asked. I felt this big weight coming down on me. It was like a big black cloud. Even the preacher was putting me down. But as he looked down at me, studying my face, he began to smile a big smile of recognition. ‘Wait a minute!’ he said. ‘I know who you are. I see the family resemblance now. You are a child of God.’ With that he slapped me across the rump and said, ‘Boy, you’ve got a great inheritance. Go and claim it.’”
The old man looked across the table at Fred Craddock and said, “Those were the most important words anybody ever said to me, and I’ve never forgotten them.” With that, he smiled, shook hands with Craddock and his wife, and moved on to another table.
And as he walked away, Craddock (who was born in Tennessee) remembered from his childhood history that on only two occasions had the people of Tennessee elected to the office of governor men born out of wedlock. One of them was a man named Ben Hooper.[1]
We have all been rejected at one time or another, for one reason or another. And that rejection can strike home in our hearts, and come down like a crushing weight. Sometimes the name-calling and ridicule gets to be so much that we begin to forget ourselves. That’s Simba’s problem at one point in The Lion King, isn’t it? He believes Scar’s lies, and runs away. Sure, Simba’s the son of the king, but by not claiming his inheritance, by not taking his place in the circle of life, he has forgotten his father. Jesus came to prove once and for all that each of us is loved, to remind us we are children of the King, and that God has a remarkable place in the Circle of Life for each of us. As the preacher said, “I know who you are. I see the family resemblance now. You are a child of God.” But if all we do is sit in the pews and think to ourselves how nice it is to be loved by God and to love him back, then we have missed the second part, when like the pastor, Jesus says, “Child, you’ve got a great inheritance. Go and claim it!” So what would life be like if we lived as a child of the King? Nelson Mandela, the great leader in South Africa, once wrote:
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous,
talented, and fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.
Your playing small doesn’t serve the world.
There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so
that other people won’t feel insecure around you.
We are all meant to shine, as children do.
We are born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.
It’s not just in some of us, it’s in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine,
we unconsciously give other
people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear,
our presence automatically liberates others.
So let us take our place in the Circle of Life
[1]SOURCE: This illustration is part of the sermon above “Is It Well with Your Family?” and is adapted from a Sermon by Fred Craddock.