The Real Thing
I was about seven years old when an unusual man of God
spoke at the midweek service of the small church my parents
were attending. His name was Howard Goss, and I will never
forget the impression he left on my young heart. He was a
huge man with a bald head and hands the size of baseball
gloves. I never paid much attention to Bible preachers back
then, but this man captured my interest. This large, gentle
minister radiated something I had never felt before.
Howard Goss didn't rant and rave to make his point. Nor did
he use any emotional gimmicks as he delivered the Word of
God. He simply explained the truths of Scripture in an easy
conversational tone. But he also conveyed an unusual sense
of the blessing of God, a fact I grew to appreciate much
later in life.
I had been in the ministry for about six years when I
visited the city of Manila in the Philippines to speak at a
large church celebrating its anniversary. As I browsed in
the pastor's study before the service, I noticed a book
written by Howard Goss many years earlier. He had died since
I had last seen him, but I still vividly remembered the
impression he made on me.
The pastor noticed the book I was leafing through and
abruptly exclaimed, "You know, his son goes to church here."
"What, here in Manila?" I asked.
"Yeah, he lived away from God for many years, went through a
divorce, and ended up in the Philippines. He's married to a
Filipino woman, and their two boys go to church with him all
the time."
There was plenty of time before the service began, so I
asked if I could meet him. Within minutes a tall, hulking,
middle-aged man walked in-the exact double of his late
father, complete with the large, balding head and huge
hands. I was stunned by the uncanny resemblance. As we sat
and talked, I explained my interest in knowing more about
his dad. He told me about his father's conversion, long
years of preaching ministry, and beautiful marriage. Then he
opened up to me even more:
"Even though I drifted away from God, I never could get away
from my parents' prayers," he told me. "The farther I
strayed, the more they interceded for me. Dad was always
seeking God. I would so often see him on his knees in his
study. His heart was so sincere before the Lord that I
couldn't take being around him when I was living so
terribly. One night he and Mom prayed a long time for me and
waited up until I got home from my carousing.
"'Son, you're coming back to the Lord!' they said. 'God
assured us in prayer tonight that it's just a matter of
time. Hallelujah!' And they were right, as usual. I ran for
a long time, but the Lord just got me into a corner and that
was it. I surrendered my life back to him years ago, and my
two boys are now fine young men of God. I just wish my dad
had seen with his own eyes the answer to his prayers. "You
know, Pastor, my dad really walked with God. He was so
unusual compared to most of the ministers I saw while
growing up. He was quite famous in his circle of churches,
and everybody wanted him to speak, especially at those huge
summer-camp meetings. He was a good writer and became an
elder statesman to a multitude of younger preachers and
congregations. But all the acclaim and popularity, all the
invitations and compliments, never affected him except to
make him more humble before God.
"I'll never forget one big camp meeting up in Canada when I
was a kid. Every famous preacher was invited, and the crowds
were tremendous. Our family arrived a day early, and the
leaders were making out the schedule for the speakers.
Meetings were held all day long-morning, afternoon, and
night-and the visiting preachers all wanted to speak during
the night rallies when the crowds were largest. The
preachers actually jockeyed around, hoping to get the
biggest meetings for their preaching assignments.
"Suddenly one of the leaders asked where my father was. He
was in the prime of his ministry and was highly respected by
everyone.
They wanted to consult with him, but no one seemed to know
where he was. They finally heard that he was last seen in
the kitchen and dining hall area, so I went with them to
find him.
"They could scarcely believe their eyes when they got to the
kitchen. There was my dad on his hands and knees scrubbing
the floor with some of the other workers!
"'Brother Goss,' they said, 'what are you doing here? We're
making out the preaching schedule and wanted to know your
preference.'
"'Oh, brothers,' my dad replied, 'you've got so many good
preachers here that you don't need to worry about me. But I
found out that they're short of help here in the kitchen so
I thought I'd lend a hand."'
Tears welled up in our eyes as the son reminisced about his
father, whose godly heart had left such a deep impression on
so many.
"My dad was sure different, Pastor;" he said. "He was the
real thing. His heart was so humble before the Lord that he
had a special power in prayer and in preaching. The Lord was
really with my dad."
Cymbala, Jim. The Life God Blesses. Grand Rapids, Michigan:
Zondervan, 2001, p. 82-86.