"If I've Told You Once . . ."

Did your momma ever say to you, with a loud voice and a raised eyebrow, "What did I tell you?" Usually I heard that line at a moment when I was doing something I really, really enjoyed but obviously was not supposed to be enjoying. I also, usually, knew exactly which lecture to which she was referring and exactly what behavior she was expecting. Funny how the standard answer was, "I don't know? About what?" Unlike my wife, my mother never said, "You know about what and if you don't know I'm not going to tell you." No, mom would always make sure I knew exactly why the forthcoming act of discipline was entirely justified. "If I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times . . . (I've heard that since the recession the phase is now "a thousand times.")

There are some things that need to be stated repeatedly in order for us to finally align our thinking and behavior with what we are being told for our good. Jesus, and the rest of the Bible for that matter, repeatedly instruct us to listen, pay attention, take heed, do whatever it is we're being told. It reminds me of a story about an old preacher and the most influential sermon series he ever preached.

The old preacher stood up one day at the pulpit to begin his sermon. The worship choir had prepared the people well. The offering had been taken and once again the people had expressed their thanksgiving for God's provision by giving generously and graciously. The Albrights were smiling, and the Lincolns were happy, and the Mayhughs had that look of simple contentment that made them so likeable. Each family was in its place. Exactly where they always sat. Close enough to be considered friendly but far enough apart throughout the sanctuary to maintain their unique self-identity.

The pastor stood for a moment, hands to the side of the old rubbed wood desk from which he had delivered God's word so many times through the years. He looked out over the congregation, smiled, and said, “Love one another.” Then, without hesitating, he turned and took the several steps back to his chair on the platform and sat down. The organ began the postlude. The people, perplexed, stood, gathered their things and made their way to the foyer, dismissed without another word.

The next week the old man again sat with a calm smile on his face through the other parts of the worship service until it came time for the message. On this day he rose from his chair, laid his Bible open on the pulpit, drew a deep breath, fixed his gaze on one section of the congregation, and said, “Love one another!” Then, again, he sat down and the service was dismissed. Needless to say there was a furor of questions and comments among the congregation, who obviously expected a great deal more sermon for the money they were paying their pastor.

The third Sunday came and again, just as he had the two Sunday’s before, the elderly pastor stood to preach, and with great passion and emotion he instructed his people, “Love one another.”

That was almost more than the deacons could handle. People were asking if the man had finally lost his marbles. Phone lines were clogged with calls, and the rumor mill, oh my, the assumptions and conclusions it produced were legendary. Then came the fourth Sunday and the same message. The Ladies’ Circle wondered if it weren’t time to for a new pastor. The Men’s Coffee Break thought they ought to call in the bishop. The Sunday school teachers union meeting couldn’t help but discuss the negative impact such pastoral conduct might have on the impressionable children. And the outreach committee, they just sat down by the riverside and wept.

The fifth Sunday arrived bright and shining and clear. Word had gotten around about the tizzy going on at the church and lots of folks were there, even people who had never attended the church before. Rumor had it there was going to be a “holy confrontation of speaking the truth in love” if that preacher didn’t do a better job that morning. It was sure to be a service worth attending.

The hymn singing wasn’t quite as loud as usual, and it seemed like no one really wanted to give much time to the prayer requests. Sister Edna increased the tempo of the offertory so much the ushers near about had to run down the aisle to keep up. Everyone wanted to get to the sermon. Through it all, the pastor retained his seat on the platform, mostly with his eyes closed and a calm, peaceful smile on his face.

The last notes of the offertory ended bluntly as Sister Edna hopped off the organ bench and took her seat in the family row where her family had sat in that church for three generations. Edna liked their row because they sat just far enough away from old man Wilson that they wouldn't hear him snort as he fell asleep midway through the message each week.

The old pastor stood. He walked slowly to the pulpit. He set his hands in front of him and bowed his head. The congregation held its breathe. They could not hear the words of his prayer, but those in the closest rows (which were now filled in anticipation of the "confrontation") could see the impassioned look on his face as his lips moved in silent supplication. The old man raised his eyes from his prayer, scanned the capacity crowd and said, “Love one another.” He paused and drew his breath.

"Love one another." He did not raise his voice. He did not flail his arms. he did not pound his fist upon the desk. He simply paused and then he said it again.

"Love one another." He paused once more. You could tell he was done but this time he did not return to his seat. His eyes remained upon the people sitting before him. He paused and he waited.

The people were stunned. He'd done it again. It was too much for one man in the third row. He stood so fast to his feet it made the people around him feel faint. “Pastor,” he shouted loud enough for the entire church to hear. “This is unacceptable!” The “amens” started in the next row back. “For five weeks we’ve come faithfully to church now.” A few more supportive interjections sounded from the back. “We come expecting to hear something profound and inspiring and helpful and practical.” The congregation was fully committed to this brother’s words by this point, some standing and clapping their hands in support. “We pay you and we come here for you to tell us how to live out our lives of faith and how to please God and how to be good Christians and this is all you have to say week after week, ‘Love one another?’”

Silence.

He said it. Perhaps it was the tenor of his voice, or the passion of his plea, or the fact that he was standing three rows back and not in the pulpit, but suddenly everyone in the house knew the man had said more than needed to be said. No. No. They knew he had said exactly what needed to be said. They knew he had put in their language of their hearts what the pastor had been preaching all along. The realization spread like an electric hum through the congregation as each one finally got the message. The man standing in the third row, his face flush from the emotion of his speech, suddenly felt quite uncomfortable standing there all alone, facing the pastor, whose smile of confidence never wavered. He withered and sank into his own pew.

“Thank you, my dear brother. I knew the Spirit would use someone and you would all get the message. Now that you’ve gotten it, go and do it. And when you have done it, I’ll quit preachin’ it. Love one another.”

Why does God keep saying the same thing over and over in his word? Because he’s giving us the opportunity to “get it” and once we’ve got it, to do it, and when we’ve finally done it, then he’ll be able to stop preachin’ it.