My Big Fat Baptist Preacher: A Story of God’s Calling

According to family historians, passed down through decades of arduous research and confirmed by an eyewitness (mom), I marched into the living room filled with family at five years of age. I made this announcement: I am going to be a Big Fat Baptist Preacher when I grow up! You guessed it, my pastor was a big fat Baptist. You may think my description was unkind, but I called my great-grandfather Big Fat Papa and my grandfather Little Fat Papa. I loved them both, and apparently, I admired my pastor.

What caused me to make that bold declaration? My pastor must have been approachable and friendly so that I could consider him an example for my future occupation. From all accounts, he was pleasant, had a sense of humor, loved Jesus, and loved people. That is still the kind of pastor that I want. I believe two things were at work during that moment: my admiration of the pastor and the work of the Spirit on my young heart. Over the next few years, in the summer, I went to every VBS I could find and went to choir rehearsals to listen. I also found a church, not my own, that washed feet. I became the towel boy at their Wednesday night men’s meetings.

As I grew older, the church became less critical in my life. I still prayed a lot, but my parents were no longer attending church. My grandfather, who was intelligent and wise, continued to keep my calling before me. David (my middle name), one day, you will be a pastor and pastor of a large church. That little fat papa kept on me and would spend hours talking to me about the Bible and spiritual things. He also went through a time of backsliding, which confused me, but he quickly returned to the Lord. Papa was a jack of all trades. He studied medicine and law and was a miner, justice of the peace, schoolteacher, preacher, game warden, and counselor to many in the hollers of West Virginia. He was my spiritual mentor.

If you know me, you know I became a preacher but not a Baptist. My papa got to hear me preach in his church. His death placed a mark of “listen to me” on my heart. Why? Papa told me, and I suppose everyone in the family, that one day he would die in church. It was not an “I wish to die in church.” It was an “I will die in church.” I have only known two men who correctly predicted their deaths many years in advance: Papa and a great friend of mine, Ed. Papa predicted the place, and Ed predicted the year. Decades before his death, he told me, and I suppose others, the year of his death. Amazing men.

I tell this story for three reasons.

1. For parents of children who may feel called to church ministry. Nurture that calling, but don’t add to or take from it. Let it grow in an acceptable environment but in his/her own heart.
2. For preachers, deacons, and church leaders: Let the little children come to Jesus. Don’t be a hindrance, but a bridge. And don’t discount the calling on their hearts. Be that Baptist Preacher example.
3. For all of us. Papa and Ed confirmed that God knows the end from the beginning and orders our steps. This affirms my confidence in God’s Word and guidance for my life. I pray it does the same for you.

The Lord knows. The Lord understands. The Lord loves you.

May hope overflow in your life today.

P.S. Yes, Papa died in church. It was where he was a member and where he often preached. Everyone got up to leave church but Papa had already left and gone home. His body was still sitting in the pew, but he was home!

For His Kingdom,

Dr. James D. Allen

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