Bittersweet Farm

(The Word of Life Bookstore where I “met” Vance Havner for the first time).

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In New York there is a neighborhood called Harlem. In Harlem is a section called Mousetown that was named by Reader’s Digest one of the toughest neighborhoods in the United States at one time. A young man lived in the neighborhood who was on a spiritual quest. Here is how he put it: “I was on a quest to find a church—a church with a basketball team. I found such a church in Broadway Presbyterian Church and at the same time I discovered an axiom in life: every silver lining has a cloud. The church required attendance at Sunday School three out of four Sundays for all who played on the team.”

It was in Sunday School that the young man came under the influence of a man whose name was John Mygat. John was unusual. He taught an interesting Sunday School lesson every week and he took a personal interest in his students—even visiting them in the neighborhoods where they lived.

The young man broke his glasses and had not gotten around to replacing them. One Sunday John came up to him and said: “I was saving some money for a suit, but I don’t need a suit. I would like you to have this money to buy some new glasses.”

He did not need the money and turned it down but he remembered John’s kindness. Under the influence of John Mygat, the young man came to Christ and he would eventually leave Harlem for a ministry that would influence people around the world. He has had a profound influence on my own preaching.

His name was Haddon Robinson and he went on to be come a pastor and seminary professor and eventually authored a textbook on preaching used by over 300 seminaries training thousands of preachers.

When John Mygat died Haddon Robinson preached his funeral. He chose the text: “There was a man sent from God whose name was John.”

Only God knows the ongoing influence of a teacher who works to be interesting and who sincerely cares for his students.

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A Howling Storm

David Kline is an Amish farmer and gifted writer. In the sixties he was drafted and forced to move to Cleveland to work in a hospital since he was a conscientious objector. Born and raised in the quiet countryside of Holmes County, Ohio, the largest Amish settlement in the world, life in the city was a difficult adjustment.

“I moved to Cleveland in late November, and when I was returning after spending the Christmas holiday at home, the Greyhound bus got caught in one of the early winter snowstorms northeastern Ohio is famous for. Arriving three hours late, in the early morning hours, the city was at a standstill. The city buses, my usual mode of travel to my apartment eight miles out in the suburb (for thirty-five cents), had quit for the night, and there were no taxis running. The city was asleep.

Since I did not have enough money for a hotel room and sleeping in the bus station wasn’t an option, I walked into the howling fury of the storm. Almost immediately car lights came out of the swirling snow and stopped by the curb; the driver reached over and opened the passenger door.

“Do you need help, or a ride?” a voice asked.

“Indeed I do, but I have almost no money,” I said,

After the driver said it was no problem, I got in the car, and we headed, alone on the wide streets, for my new home. The driver, an African American with some gray in his hair said he had woken at 1:00 A.M. and hearing the storm outside could not go back to sleep. He thought someone might be in need of help, so he got in his car and drove to the bus station.

Finally, after numerous U-turns on the slippery roads, we reached the street where I lived. He did not want to take many money for the ride, but I insisted and gave him all I had. As I watched the tail lights of his car fade into the storm, my eyes welled with tears of gratitude for this angel of mercy.

That man forever changed my view of the city. I realized that love can live in the human heart anywhere.”

From about 1991 to 1996 we lived in rural Ohio. Today our home is in a suburb of a great city. But if you keep your heart open to it, no matter where you live, you will see that love can live in the human heart anywhere.

Ken Pierpont

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Sunday night I shared a story written by Cindy Massengill about her mother, Janet Imhoff. When I became the pastor here at Evangel her mother was already in heaven but I have heard about her continually. When you hear the story, you will understand why

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This year for New Year’s Day we drove to South Bend. It was the first time since my brother-in-law Bob Dunbar died we had returned to his home. I had a sad, sweet, beautiful experience. I tell the story in the podcast today.

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