She was a real caricature! Any artist would have delighted to pull out a pencil and sketch her. Little and old–well, she was in her 80’s–rather a long nose and a somewhat pointed chin.
She wore an old, oatmeal gray overcoat, sometimes buttoned in the right holes and sometimes not. On her head was a black felt hat, pressed at a different angle each night. But she had the most electric blue eyes, with a sparkle that indicated behind the old frame and beneath the fading locks was a very active mind.
It was the dead of a Canadian winter and a series of gospel meetings was being held nightly. She lived alone, so we picked her up in the car and took her along to the meetings. She didn’t miss one night in five weeks. Night by night after the meeting, the old soldier would greet the preacher at the door with a rather succinct assessment of the message.
“Well,” she might say one night, “You had a hard time preaching up there tonight, didn’t you?” Indeed, it was one of those nights when there seemed to be no liberty at all to preach, fumbling through the message, forgetting, misquoting–a distressing thing for a preacher.
“Yes, Aunt Elsie, I was really struggling tonight.”
The old lady would nod. “Well, I’m praying for you.”
“Thank you, sister, I need it.”
On another night, it would be different, the strong handshake at the door and the “appraisal.”
“Well, God gave help in preaching the old gospel tonight, brother.”
“Yes, thank the Lord, there was help and liberty in the message tonight,” the preacher would respond.
Fastening those eyes on him, she’d reply, “I’m praying for you.” It was not clear whether that was to be a prayer for blessing or for humbling, lest the preacher begin to glory in himself or his preaching.
Then one night, a terrifying thing for a preacher took place. Sitting at the front, just about to climb the platform to speak, the preacher was going over in his mind the message he had prepared. The last hymn before he should rise was coming to a close, when suddenly it was as though the Lord spoke in his heart and said, “That is not the message for tonight.”
What a shock! In a minute he would have to get up and preach. Crying in his heart to the Lord for help, suddenly, and very forcibly, there came to mind an obscure Old Testament scripture. The Lord helped the preacher quickly locate the passage, the hymn ended, and, with his finger in the text, the preacher climbed onto the platform, opened the Bible, and with trembling began to preach the gospel from that obscure text. God blessed the message in a wonderful way and souls professed faith in Christ that night.
The preacher stood at the door greeting the people as they filed out, but he was looking for the little black hat making its way down the aisle. What was the saintly old prayer warrior going to say to him tonight?
At last there she is. She took hold of the preacher’s hand, held on to it and fastened those twinkling eyes on him for a long minute, “Well, I prayed for you today–that you would preach from that very text tonight”!
It is doubtful if anyone ever went to that old soul, and thanked her for praying for the needy preacher, but if there are to be rewards for the work accomplished in those meetings, where do you think they will go? To the man on the pulpit or the old prayer warrior doing business for God and the souls of men in the sanctuary, wrestling in heavenly places to pull down the anointing of God on the public testimony?
Do you remember Baal-hanan the Gederite? Or Joash of the oil cellars? Not likely. Few ever remember them. Why not? Because as far as we can tell, those men never took part in any of the public service of God. They were commissioned by the king to ensure that there would always be an adequate inventory of oil for the anointing of the holy vessels.
Baal-hanan labored in “the low plains” and Joash in “the cellars.” They were men out of sight, but whose hidden ministry was absolutely essential for all the service of the sanctuary. Indeed, if their ministry was lacking, there would be no public service at all.
How we have learned to thank God for the saints of the sanctuary; those who wrestle, and labor to pull down the holy anointing of God on the public ministry. Without this, all our preaching would be but a superfluity of words, falling to the ground at our feet.
Those men of the oil were unknown, unseen, unheralded, but the king knew they were there. He had commissioned them and he would reward them.
Well, Aunt Elsie was little known, laboring in “the low plains” and in “the cellars”–on earth that is–for she was well known in the sanctuary. The Lord knew she was there. He had commissioned her and He will reward her. Thank God for the servants of the sanctuary.