20 September 2010
For you have heard my vows, O God; you have given me the heritage of those who fear your name. Psalm 61:5
George Stormont was one of the most dedicated, committed men I ever knew. We first met George and Ruth in Brighton, England. I was a young man all of 22 years of age, and without hesitation, he had invited me to speak in his church. Furthermore, he recommended that this young American speak at a Whitsuntide Convention when Christians came together from all over the British Isles. Yes, I still remember looking out the windows of the guest room in their home as the fog rolled in and seemed to envelop everything as the orange street lights appeared like halos on a candle. In those days milk was still delivered by a horse and wagon.
In the early years of his ministry, George became known for his keen sense of humor. He had a joke for every occasion, and he enjoyed the laughter as much as those who laughed with him. Then, he told me, the Spirit of God convicted him, and he began to realize that he was becoming known for his stories, not proclaiming the Word. He never lost that sense of humor but from that time hence, he concentrated on preaching, not entertaining.
George lived for almost forty years after we first met, and to the end of his life at age 90, he never lost the sense of God's touch on His life. Only weeks before his death, he told us that as a teenager, he had gone with his father to visit the Royal Worcester China Works in England. There a lady was decorating a tea set, and by hand she was painting wide black lines on a china cup. His father, who himself was somewhat of an artist, commented that the lines seemed to be rather heavy for the delicate cup. She replied, "Yes, but when the cup has been through the fire, you will see the black lines have turned to gold." The black lines of his life have now turned to brilliant gold.
On one occasion I asked, "What is your favorite hymn?" He replied that it was a nineteenth century one written by Ian MacPherson which I had never heard. The words go, "If I but knew Thee as Thou art,/ O Loveliness unknown,/ With what desire, O Lord, my heart/ Would claim Thee for its own." Another stanza goes, "With faith's warm finger, through the veil,/ I seek to touch Thy hand;/ I feel the imprint of the nail/ And partly understand."
Malcolm Muggeridge, the British journalist and one-time cynic, talked about waking in the night, half out of his body, and seeing "in the distance a glow in the sky, the lights of Augustine's City of God." Someway, the closer some get to the Celestial City, the brighter are the lights of that which is unseen and unknown to others and the less important are the things that seem to fill our lives day in and day out.
During the dark war years, related Pastor Stormont, hucksters would go door-to-door collecting bottles for the war effort. On one occasion, a huckster knocked on the door of an elderly spinster. "Got any old whisky bottles?" he asked. Taken back she replied, "Do I look like I would drink that stuff?" she said with a frown.
"OK, lady," he said, "Got any old vinegar bottles?"
At his home there certainly would have been no whisky bottles, but neither would there have been empty vinegar bottles, either. Of that I am certain.
In Psalm 61 David spoke of "the heritage of those who fear your name," and certainly Pastor George Stormont was that heritage for many, especially young pastors who came to understand that godliness and a sense of humor along with a love for life are all part of the heritage of the redeemed.
Resource reading: Psalm 61