Jephthah`s Daughter
By Bruce McLver
Dr. Bruce McIver, a native of North Carolina, a graduate of Mars Hill College, Baylor University, and Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary, is Pastor Emeritus of Wilshire Baptist Church in Dallas. He is the author of Stories I Couldn’t Tell While I Was a Pastor now in its tenth printing and Just as Long as I’m Riding Up Front now in its third printing. I concluded my Sunday morning sermon, announced the closing hymn and invited those wishing to become members of Wilshire to meet me at the front of the sanctuary. As we sang, a handsome young man bounced down the aisle. He shook my hand and greeted me enthusiastically, “Pastor, this is my first visit here but there’s no question in my mind; I want to be a part of this church.”
I was thrilled. “Wilshire can use a few more people like this around here,” I thought, “And so can I!” Following the service he lingered to visit briefly. He told me he was the new manager of a world-famous resort located near the Metroplex. His roots were “Baptist” and he was glad to be “home.”
“But I want to get to know my pastor personally,” he added. “Could you and your wife drive out and be my guest for lunch? I’ll have it catered from our dining room and we can relax and eat in my office.”
A few days later Lawanna and I drove through the impressive gates of the resort, parked our car beside a stretch limo and were ushered into an opulent office for the luncheon date. The gourmet meal, including a large steak, was cooked to perfection, the hospitality was gracious; and the visit was delightful…until….
“Tell me how you came to join Wilshire,” I probed in my best pastoral voice.
“It’s an interesting story,” he replied. “Early one Sunday morning I was turning the dial on my radio and came across the broadcast of your service at Wilshire. I was deeply moved,” he added.
ˆ I should have stopped there, but vanity pressed me on to ask, “What moved you?” “The sermon,” he answered softly. “It was so different…so unusual….I never heard another one like it. It was a masterpiece.”
I flushed in mild (and enjoyable!) embarrassment but I recovered quickly and struggled to rein in my ego. After all, I did need to maintain some semblance of humility.
“Do you recall what the sermon was about?” I pursued. “It was on ‘Jephthah’s daughter,”’ he answered. “Seems like Jephthah was an Old Testament leader…had a daughter…and made some kind of a vow…I think the story’s in the Book of Judges.” Then he added with a choke in his voice, “A strange sermon, but one of the most meaningful I’ve ever heard.”
I nodded weakly as he continued with growing passion, “I listened to that sermon and made up my mind. I want to be a member of a church whose pastor can preach like that.”
I gulped, sat in silence for a moment, glanced at my watch and suggested to Lawanna we should be heading back to Dallas. The drive home was a quiet one, broken at last by Lawanna’s observation, “I don’t remember that sermon. When in the world did you preach on Jephthah’s daughter?” “I didn’t.”
“Who did?”
“Bill Hendricks,” I mumbled. Dr. William Hendricks — brilliant scholar, esteemed theologian, scintillating preacher, close friend — had preached a month earlier while I was away one Sunday. “He listened to Bill and thought it was me,” I added with sagging spirits and deflated ego. “Well, you’re no….” (“Don’t say it,” I thought; “Don’t even think about saying it!”)
Lawanna knew it; I knew it; and it didn’t take long for our new member to figure it out. A few weeks later he left Wilshire and joined another church! I figured he was still looking for “Jephthah’s daughter,” or cousin, or something.
ˆ My ego was badly bruised for a time, but it slowly healed — with the help of a strained, far-out rationalization: “He wasn’t my convert; he belonged to Bill Hendricks!”
The years have come and gone. In retirement I continue to preach the Bible — all of it. Everything, that is, except “Jephthah’s Daughter!”
