Dad was not a theologian. He wasn’t a preacher or a deacon, and I can’t really tell you about any deep meaningful talks about spiritual matters we had with each other. I would like to tell you that Dad spoke in lofty, ecclesiastical language, but he didn’t- not even close. He was a southern country man, with southern country ways, including a salty word here and there, when not in mixed company. He was a common man; perhaps the quintessential common man. But one thing I can tell you; Bud Wilson was a Christian. I know it because I saw it. I know it because I saw Jesus in his life in a very simple, practical way. Blue collar Christianity- the kind that gets its hands dirty; the kind that applies to real life. That’s the kind of faith I saw in my father.
Bud Wilson had the kind of faith that got up in the middle of the night and gave some stranger’s stranded car a boost. He had the kind of faith that respected his parents and honored them. He feared God and took great offense when anyone within earshot “took God’s name in vain”. He was quick to break a garden for a neighbor and help the older folks in the community plant a crop or repair a fence. He sang loud in church, and testified with tears in his eyes. In fact, his tears were never far from the surface; he was very tender hearted. He said grace at every meal.
One of my fondest memories of Dad was just a few years before he left us. I had been invited to sing during a revival at the church where he was saved when he was sixteen. We sat on the pew where he had prayed so many years before, and at the end of the service, he stood and gave his beautiful, simple testimony. With tears in his eyes, he described how he had sat on that pew, in that spot, and how God had convicted him during just such a revival. He remembered the night; moreover, he remembered how he felt that night. Sixty years had passed, but he had not forgotten what the still, small voice of God sounded like.
That’s the kind of faith that matters. That’s the kind of faith that makes more of a difference than long, flowery “King James” prayers, a big check in the offering plate, or a seminary education. Over the years, I’ve seen a lot of men and women just like Bud with a simple, genuine faith in Jesus. They make up the Body of Christ. Abraham Lincoln said, “God must love common people; he made so many of them.” I’d have to say that’s true, because He not only made so many, He saved so many.
I’ve been in some form of ministry or another for about thirty years. During that time, I’ve had a lot of deep, theological discussions about just about every major doctrinal debate you can think of; eternal security, baptism, the gifts of the Holy Ghost, end times- you name it. But none of those topics had ever really inspired me the way that the lyrics of “Amazing Grace” can, when sung by some little old lady with a quavering, off key sincerity that can’t be debated, questioned or explained. Real faith doesn’t have to be complicated- it just needs to be genuine.
When we stand before God, I believe that we will all find out that there are a number of ideas we have about Him and His ways that are wrong. On that day, I also happen to believe that God really won’t care how you got baptized, what church you belonged to, or what your position was on foot washing. On that day, it’s going to come down to the basics:
Did you trust Jesus as your Savior?
Did you love others as you love yourself?
Did you do the best you could with what God gave you to work with?
On that day, the simplicity of faith will win. Life’s hard enough- God never intended salvation to be difficult as well. It’s a gift, after all. Thanks Dad, for teaching me that.
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