A few words fitly spoken
OPINION —
The scene before me remains etched in my mind. I had walked into a huge ballroom in a hotel in Dallas, Texas, 15 minutes late. Five hundred people were already seated at tables, and I had no idea where to find a seat.
Though I was scheduled to speak to the group, no one greeted me. I felt lonely and scared. I was a grown man, nearly 40 years old, but I stood there wanting to run, feeling like a frightened schoolboy.
I had no credentials that qualified me to speak to such a large audience. I was there only because of my friendship with Professor Elton Trueblood, the best- known Quaker of the 20th Century. He had arranged the meeting and invited three pastors of other denominations to speak.
It was an historic occasion, bringing together pastors and their wives from the three main streams of Quakerism in America. They were meeting together for the first time ever to affirm their common heritage and build bridges of friendship.
The other speakers and I were the only men there who were not Quakers.
The program indicated that the Baptist pastor would speak first and the Presbyterian pastor next. That I, the lone Methodist, would speak last had me praying inwardly “Help me Jesus!” I was feeling more and more like a minor leaguer who had been called up from a farm club to pitch with the major leaguers.
As I stood in that banquet hall, wondering where to sit down, I remembered how it feels to be told, as you are about sit in an empty seat, “I’m sorry; this seat is taken.” So, I hesitated, hoping someone would notice me and call me over to a table, but no one did.
Finally, I walked over to a table with one empty chair and asked, “May I join you?” The man next to the empty seat looked at me and said, “Sure.” No one said another word; the others were acquainted and having fun sharing. I felt like an intruder, a stranger being tolerated but not welcome. They were not impolite but resumed their Quaker conversations and left the uncomfortable Methodist to his salad.
As I sat down, my eyes met the eyes of Dr. Trueblood at the head table, and he smiled graciously. I did not know he had come over to my table until he was standing behind me. After greeting me warmly, he put his hands on my shoulders and interrupted the others at my table.
He spoke only a few words, but they are imprinted forever in my heart. He said, “Dear friends, this is my friend Walter Albritton. I want you to get to know him. You will like him.” He smiled and returned to the head table.
Suddenly I was somebody to my tablemates. They began to speak to me and made me feel welcome. I was now a person of worth because of a few words spoken by someone they respected. Trueblood’s simple gesture of friendship had opened the hearts of others to me, and I began to feel at home.
When my turn to speak came, I did my best but knowing that few there would remember me or what I said. But I have not forgotten that night at the table when the hands of a friend and a few words — warmly and fitly spoken — made a profound difference in my life.
Barnabas did that for a man named Saul one night in Jerusalem long ago. The words of Barnabas, affirming Saul as an authentic disciple of Jesus, caused the apostles to trust the man who would become known as Saint Paul, the Apostle to the Gentiles. I know how Saul felt that night.
If Elton and Barnabas could bless Walter and Saul with a few words fitly spoken, then Walter can do that for someone who needs the hands of a friend on his shoulders. Such a gracious, caring gesture may be what Jesus had in mind when he said, “Love one another.”
You can do that, too. And whenever you do, I think you will agree with me this is what life in Christ is all about.
