“A Good Man – Sam Lindsey”

Growing up in a stable community meant that almost everyone went to church, often the same church.  The Bowling Green Presbyterian Church, founded in 1917-18 is one such congregation.  Growing up I was one of 103 members of this church, and I was directly related to 100 of the members.  That is, we were all first, second, or third cousins.  It was a large extended family.  Three other persons managed somehow to join themselves to this congregation simply by friendship or perhaps invitation.  However they were not part of the good ole cousin network, so only one of these ever made it onto the elder board (or ‘session’) of the church.  The power and government of this church remained, for the most part “within the family.”  I am not sure if this is true of most Presbyterian churches in the south during this period, of the Presbyterian Church of the United States denomination.  Perhaps it was peculiar to our church, but I suspect it was not!

Ministers, of course, were like an accessory member and they would come and go periodically, except for one minister, Rev. Angus Littlejohn.  He held on at our church for years and became “one of us.”  He was greatly beloved, was often seen visiting in the homes of his parishioners.  I remember the great terror I felt when he laid his hand on my head as a young child and prayed for me.  I knew then I was marked by God forever! I was duly ‘terrified’ and made to feel ‘deeply loved’ all at the same time.  Rev. Littlejohn prayed the longest prayers of any minister I have ever known.  I remember as a child sleeping through many of his prayers, as this was the one part of the service in which even my grandparent’s eyes were closed, so I could legitimately sleep for 10 or 15 minutes.  I considered this “the pause that refreshes” after staying up too late Saturday night, so I came to relish his long prayers.  I once tried to listen for the whole of the prayer, but no matter, I fell asleep anyway.  I do remember his prayers were wide ranging and I thought he prayed literally for the whole world!

Another “accessory member” as the minister was our black janitor, Sam Lindsey.  I became friends with Sam as a child and always felt safe around him.  My mother let Sam keep an eye on me as a baby and she was rewarded, as Sam once killed a copperhead about to bite me on the face as I was lying on a blanket near a pine tree.  He seemed to take an interest in me all my life.  I remember sitting with him at the Thursday night singings, watching with awe as he stoked pieces of black coal into the round bellied cast iron stove, and its sides would glow red hot.  He let me sit with him as he rocked on his rocking chair during the American Tune-book singing.

Later, after my dad died, I was hired to help Sam with the grass mowing around the church.  He cut the cemetery with a small, green push mower.  He let me ride the larger Allis Chalmers riding mower around the church.  He did not like that mower, but I did.  From the time I was age 13-14, I learned to drive riding that mower every Saturday around the church yard!  He took care of the maintenance and all I did was drive the yard tractor.  I collected $3.35/hour for my services, sometimes making as much at $18 for one Saturday’s work.  Except for picking tomatoes at Great-uncle Carl’s farm, it was the best job I ever had to that point.  For mowing grass, as church treasurer, Uncle Carl had to pay me minimum wage.  At his farm I only made 50 cents an hour, so you can understand my obvious delight!  The minister of the church at that time recommended me for the job, as after my dad died, I think he wanted to keep an eye on me to be sure I did not get too depressed.

Sam Lindsey was there during that dark period of my life, and every Saturday we shared an iced Coca-Cola after finishing our work, talking about life things or whatever came to mind.

I distinctly remember one conversation Sam Lindsey had with me one Saturday after our work.  Sam asked me the question no one had ever asked before.  Sam asked, “Do you know Jesus Christ?  Have you accepted Christ as your Savior?”  I was mystified at his question, having joined the church when I was twelve under Pastor Jack’s tutelage.  Yet his question laid the groundwork and the foundation for my whole life’s work.  “Do you know our Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ?”  He meant a personal knowledge of Christ as my friend.  I told him about my joining the church.  It was only later that I came to understand what Sam was talking about.

This good man, Sam Lindsey, the black janitor of our church, is the first person, besides my own mother and grandmother who ever took the time to witness to me about Jesus.  Everyone assumed I knew him, but they did not know the dark places I held close in my soul.  They did not know the terrible depression which had come upon me after my dad died, nor the depths of my pain and my tears.  They did not understand how I almost buckled assuming the mantle of being the oldest son for my family, how I longed at times to run away and hide.  Sam Lindsey cared about my soul and that was enough for me to know at the time.  He kept me living by giving me hope to live until a later time when Mr.  Jim Dickson, an elder in the Associate Reformed Presbyterian Church asked me the same question one Monday night in November, 1971:  “Do you know the Lord Jesus Christ?  Have you accepted him as your Savior?  Have you received him into your heart and been given the gift of God’s eternal life?”

The balance of a young man or woman’s soul can hang by a thread at times between the gates of heaven and hell.  A young man can become bitter, filled with hatred and anger so as to estrange himself from all that is meaningful in this life and the love of God in the next.  Sometimes, the thread of a young man’s life is held together by only one person helping him, only one person’s love and kindness.  Sam Lindsey was the one man who did this for me in that critical age between 12 years and 14 years, talking to me while we sat on the church concrete steps drinking Coca-Cola.  The man who saved me from sure death by a copperhead bite as an infant saved me for the second time after my dad was killed by a drunk driver on his way home from work.  In his compassion I found and heard the compassion of my God!  There were, of course others who did their part.  But when I get to heaven I plan to embrace this man and thank him for his love for me.  I truly love this black man and plan to thank him profusely when I get to heaven.  Perhaps we can finish our talks on the church steps.  Then, I will tell him how his question to me changed my whole life and how grateful I am that he was there for me to save my life not only once but twice! I was saved twice by the only black man in an all-white southern Presbyterian church.  This lets me know why I have always felt like a black man in my soul.  Perhaps I really am.  I know I thought I was black when I was a little child, raised by a black woman, who was hired to help my mother and grandmother.  Her name was Nozema.  She let me know the love of a black woman who carried me around on her hip while she did her work in the home.

The love of God finds many ways to infiltrate our soul.  Thank God for that, thank God! My God in Christ has been with me from the very beginning.  He is still with me!  I am sure God will be with me to my life’s end!  Glory and praise be to our Savior God forever!

“Amen!”