By DAVID EPPS
Pastor

George Thompson was 76 years old when I first met him over 25 years ago. I was only 23 and had just been assigned as a part-time student pastor to N. G. Taylor Memorial United Methodist Church in Carter County, Tennessee. The church was over 100 years old and, until I arrived, had been the lesser church on a two-church circuit for as long as anybody could remember. Mr. Thompson was one of about 30 faithful members that called Taylor Church their spiritual home.

George Thompson was not a physically imposing man. In fact, he was rather small, standing about 5 feet 3 inches with a full head of snow-white hair. He was missing a finger on one hand and, through our conversations, I learned that a long-ago accident in the coal mines was the cause. He was deeply devoted to his frail wife and was a warm and engaging man.

Yet, I was intimidated by him. George Thompson knew the Bible better than any man I had ever known up to that time. Even though I was a young pastor, I'm not sure that, at the time I was assigned to Taylor Memorial, I had even read the Bible all the way through even once. I was very weak theologically and a determined but pitifully poor preacher. (Some things never change, they say.)

In fact, I was desperately re-preaching some of Billy Graham's best sermons that I had unashamedly lifted from one of his books. Mr. Thompson, on the other hand, was a wise and knowledgeable spiritual giant. He was also very encouraging and, without question, was my biggest fan. He would shake my hand vigorously every Sunday after the service and exclaim, “Son, you're gonna be a fine preacher some day! Just keep at it!”

One day, on a sunny Spring afternoon, sitting on the Thompson's front porch, sipping that sugary-sweet iced tea so familiar to Southerners, I said, “You know, Mr. Thompson, you should be in the pulpit and I should be sitting at your feet.” He seemed both surprised and amused as I continued, “You know the Bible so well and I still can't even find half the Old Testament books! I wish I was half the biblical scholar you are.”

It was then that George Thompson, venerable patriarch of Taylor Church, told me his story. “I was a hellion for most of my life,” he said. “I was as rough as a cob and mean as a snake. You better be mean if you're as small as I am!” He smiled and continued, “I didn't even become a Christian until I was 45 — nearly twice the age you are now. I had never cracked a Bible until then.”

After he became a believer, George Thompson had an intense desire to learn what the Bible said. The problem, however, was that this tough, little coal miner had a secret. Carefully hidden from his fellow workers was the truth that he was totally illiterate. George Thompson couldn't even read his own name.

Swallowing his pride, he finally asked someone to help him learn to read. Slowly, then steadily, he made progress. With each lesson, he would try to read a few more words in his King James Bible. Eventually, he would learn to read well enough to work through the Bible at least once each year. He began to take his Bible into the coal mines where he faced stiff persecution and ridicule from some of the unbelieving miners.

One day, George told the biggest, most vocal miner, who claimed to be an atheist, that he was mentioned in the Bible. “I'm mentioned in the Bible?” the skeptical miner queried. “Prove it!” he challenged. Turning to a favorite passage, Mr. Thompson read, “The fool hath said in his heart there is no God!” There was no retaliation. Christian or not, George Thompson was known to be a tough man!

Eventually, George Thompson would convince many of his fellow miners to become Christians. The once illiterate miner became a Sunday School teacher and, over the years, instructed hundreds in the Bible. “If you just keep readin' the Word,” he told me, “by the time you get to be my age, you'll know a heck of a lot more about the Bible than I do.”

At the time, I didn't see how anybody could possibly know more about the Bible than Mr. George Thompson. I didn't know how anybody could pray more sincere prayers and I didn't understand how anybody could be as good an example as he was to me.

In the years that followed, I attended hundreds (yea, thousands) of hours of classes in seminaries and seminars on the Bible and related subjects. I would take courses in Old Testament theology, New Testament theology, systematic theology, the various books of the Bible, biblical interpretation, exegesis, and many other courses in a variety of schools. I would take numerous preaching courses and would set under the instruction of a few modern masters of the art and craft of preaching.

In Mr. Thompson's day, my sermonizing would rarely exceed 15 or 20 minutes as I told them literally everything I knew. As I “improved,” those sermons would last an hour or more, and on some days would reach a mind-numbing 90 minutes. These days, I'm back down to 20 or 30 minutes, finally heeding my wife's admonition that “it doesn't have to be eternal to be divine.”

Yet, even now, I wonder if Mr. Thompson would be proud of me. I hope so. I'm nearly positive that he went to his well-deserved reward many years ago. Yet, sometimes, in my mind's eye, I can still see him sitting on the front row, smiling approvingly, nodding his head affirmatively, encouraging me, urging me to do my best.

In many ways, this uneducated, rough-hewn, former coal miner with the missing finger, was my first “grandfather in the Lord.” And sometimes, on Sundays, after the sermon is over and the people have departed, I can still hear him say, in the quietness of the empty sanctuary, “Son, you're gonna be a fine preacher some day! Just keep at it!”

I'm still trying, Mr. Thompson. I'm still trying.

[Father David Epps is rector of Christ the King Charismatic Episcopal Church, meeting each Sunday at 10 a.m. in the Carmichael-Hemperley building on Ga. Highway 74 in Peachtree City. He may be contacted at CTKCEC@aol.com or at P. O. Box 2192, Peachtree City, GA 30269.

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