The remarkable true life story of Peter Newman (Part 8)

On Sundays I went to the local Baptist church to worship. One week a retired missionary, who must have been well into his eighties, was preaching. His text was "Thou art the man" and in the middle he stepped down from his pulpit, walked down the aisle and stood in front of me. He announced: "And thou art the man, Peter, to preach next Sunday." I could hardly believe my ears; I was panic-stricken. But I wasn't one to back out. I had wanted to move forward, and here I was, graduating from turnips to sheep to people. The missionary packed me off home with a commentary on Luke's Gospel which I duly devoured over the following days.

The big day arrived. We all sang some hymns, listened to some Bible readings and then I got to my feet and strode to the pulpit. I delivered my sermon and sat down, eager for the service to end so that I could ask the old missionary how I'd sounded. "That was marvellous, Peter," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "It's the first time I've heard three sermons preached inside of twenty minutes. Well done!"

It was the beginning of small things. I was asked to preach again, so my sermon can't have been all that bad, and then I was invited to preach in a nearby church. This is it, I thought; my fame is spreading. I was so thrilled at being so much in demand that I persuaded my step-sister, Shirley, to come along and listen to me spout forth. She agreed to come.

The Sunday arrived. I had my sermon all ready and I was delighted that Shirley was going to hear what a good preacher I was. We arrived at the church where I was to lead the hymn singing as well as deliver my pearls of scriptural wisdom. I climbed ceremoniously into the pulpit and eyed the congregation. The church wasn't exactly filled to capacity. In its heyday it had seated six hundred. That particular Sunday it boasted a congregation of six, including Shirley and the organist. But I was undaunted.

I handed the organist the list of hymns which I'd chosen to fit in with my sermon.
"I can't play any of these," she whispered as she scanned the titles.
"Well," I whispered back, "what can you play then?"
She was thoughtful for a second. "How about All Things Bright and Beautiful?" she replied.

So, "All Things Bright and Beautiful" it was, although the singing hardly did justice to the title. The hymn ended and I opened my Bible to start preaching. This was the moment I'd dreamed about all week: Shirley was sure to tell everyone how inspired my preaching was and how the call of God was unmistakably on my life. I took a deep breath and was about to start when the church doors opened at the back and a man called out, "Come down, young man, I'm booked to preach here today."

I could hardly believe my ears. He strode down to the front and stood at the pulpit steps waiting for me to climb down and make way for him. I felt so humiliated that I wished the ground would open and swallow me up. I glanced at Shirley on the front row. Surprise was written right across her face. I picked up my Bible, walked down the steps, passed the preacher and sat down next to Shirley. I haven't a clue what he preached about. I was too angry and upset to care. My moment of glory had been snatched away from me and now Shirley might never know how brilliant a preacher I was. I didn't even have the grace to say goodbye to the preacher after the service. I just wanted to be as far away from that place of defeat as quickly as possible.

It was some time later that God showed me why He had allowed such a humiliating thing to happen. He wanted all the glory, and I had to remember that I was only His vessel. He was the treasure within me and I had no right to seek after fame or self-glorification. The incident also taught me that you should never try to impress men. God is the one we should seek to serve and to please. So, what my step-sister thought or thinks about me and my preaching is quite irrelevant. These are lessons which God has had to teach me over and over again, and the lessons aren't all learnt yet.

A few weeks after my demise, someone asked if I wanted to go to a nearby town to hear an evangelist who was holding some meetings. My ears pricked up at the word evangelist and I agreed. I went the first night and was so impressed by his preaching that I went back every other night too. Only one thing troubled me and that was his suits. They were, well, almost theatrical, with gold threads one night and silver ones the next. If I was to be an evangelist, then I decided that God would have to make a special set of rules for me because nothing would induce me to wear such gaudy clothes.

This evangelist chap fascinated me. I wanted to find out as much about him as I could. I wanted to see how he lived, how he spoke to people when he was off the platform, what he ate, how he behaved. So I gave up window cleaning for the week, found the hotel he was staying in and started to spy on him. I was there when he turned up for breakfast. I was there at lunch time too. I watched his every move and was quick to discover something about him which disturbed me deeply: he was suave and well polished. I noted that he probably knew the difference between an adjective and a verb without being told.