A NEW CHURCH chapter 42

A NEW CHURCH chapter 42

It was late in my sophomore year when I asked Dad if I could change churches. I had my doubts that he would allow it, but I could no longer tolerate the one in which I had been reared. My involvement in Youth For Christ introduced me to a group of kids living for God and the church many of them attended. Not everyone I met attended the Tabernacle, but it was interesting to see how many of us gravitated there over the years, if not permanently, at least for visits.

I was rather anxious about approaching dad on the subject of a new church, but it was change or quit as far as I was concerned. If I was going to grow closer to God, it was unlikely that it was be in my home church. I believe my dad also has a sense it was decision time for him as well.

The pastor of the new church was fairly well known in Omaha. He had been the radio pastor for WOW radio for years. He broadcast on Sunday mornings, but I am not sure my father ever heard of him. However, dad remembered him from the great flood of 1952.

The flood of April 1952, still stands as the flood-of-record for the Missouri at Omaha. The river over flowed its banks and thousands were at the waters edge piling sand bags as fast as they could be filled. Dr. Brown and his congregation were noted for providing coffee and food for the workers. A team from the church was there day and night. Dad remembered that and admired the pastor for that act of service. He consented.

I was somewhat familiar with the church building, at least the main entrance. Our weekly Youth For Christ club had moved from the covenant church to the Tabernacle. It was one block east of Central high, a longer walk for me.

The sanctuary was much larger (about 1000). Public prayer was a shocker. It was so quiet. Only the one leading prayer prayed out loud. I had to look around to see what was going on. They clapped at the singing, but not like my Pentecostal church. The new church clapped with the beat. The old one clapped on the offbeat, much more rhythmic I thought. I have never really adjusted to that.

On Wednesday night everyone would gather in the sanctuary for a brief talk, and then divide into smaller groups for prayer. The teens met in a room off the stage and I could not believe they kneeled to pray, and what prayers they were. They were sincere, honest, heart grabbing desires for God to intervene in life. These moments more than any other drew me along in what was becoming a growing faith.

The church was a good fit. I stayed with the Tabernacle, went off to one of their Bible colleges and worked in their churches for 37 years. I guess you could say I found my place — or God placed me where He wanted.

Missouri River flood 1952, Omaha, NB