July 7, 2009: A Man Of Substance

There's a story I've shared from the pulpit but never on this page, and today I'd like to write it out.

Sometime around the year I was born my father painted the church basement. He donated his labor. Mr. Lemm, a wealthy man, gave money to buy the paint, and Dad did the work. After painting all day on Saturday dad was exhausted, and so naturally fell asleep during the sermon on Sunday. (Which is why, to this day, I don't mind it if people fall asleep during my messages. Dad did it: it must be ok.)

Dad was snoozing away when the offering plate was passed, and the usher foolishly nudged my 13-year-old brother Dave and chuckled as he pointed to the slumberer, inviting my brother to share in the joke at his father's expense. Dave wasn't amused. He was still seething over the fact that Mr. Lemm had been publicly thanked from the pulpit for his generous gift while Dad's contribution of labor had gone unnoticed.

Afterward Dave spoke to Dad and unleashed some of his anger. He asked Dad if it bothered him that Mr. Lemm was thanked and honored while all his hard work was ignored. Dad said simply, "Dave, my reward is not here."

After my father passed away suddenly when I was 17 (and began immediately to enjoy his great reward), my brother took me aside and told me that and several other stories that illustrated Dad's wisdom and faith and integrity. Though I had known, for example, that Dad lost his job in his mid-fifties, I hadn't known that it was because he refused to defraud clients as his corrupt boss insisted. Nor had I known about his boss's deliberate attempts to humiliate him, nor how Dad not only endured that disrespect but kept amazingly quiet as he covered for the fool's mistakes behind the scenes.

About 20 years later my sister happened to meet the former chief of the Oak Lawn Fire Department. "Are you Al Harker? she asked. "I think you knew my dad, Lowell Lundquist." "Lowell was your father?" he said. Mr. Harker sat down in a chair. His eyes filled with tears and he said, "Lowell Lundquist was the most honest man I ever knew."

I told that story at our church's recent graduation banquet, and concluded by imploring our young people to maintain absolute integrity at all times, so that, 80 years from now, maybe long after they're dead, somebody will tear up at the mention of their name and say, "Jonathan Luk was the most honest man I ever knew."

I selected Jonathan's name at random - he was one of our 8th grade graduates - but afterward found out that the pick was providential. A few minutes later Jonathan came up to me and told me that earlier that day when he picked up some Baker's Square pies, he gave the cashier a $20 and a $5 for a $24.95 bill and received $15.05 in change – as though he had paid with two $20s. He returned the $15 to the cashier, telling him, "You gave me too much." The stunned cashier explained that he could lose his job for mistakes like that, and said to Jonathan, "You're my hero." I rejoiced too with Jonathan and told him, "That's the man you want to be for the rest of your life."

In the film Almost Famous there's a great scene where a mom played by Frances McDormand confronts a rock star, Russell Hammond, who has befriended her 15-year-old journalist son. She challenges the musician's lax moral code and flexible ethics with angry vigor, and warns him not to corrupt her boy. But then she relents and says, "Now go do your best. It's not too late for you to be a person of substance, Russell."

Those words appeal to me: "It's not too late for you to be a person of substance." That is a message I want to get across to the younger generation as I find myself plodding through middle age. These days in particular I'm wondering how to get that message across to a couple young men whose mother is a lying, faithless, perverted soul who made them her sworn confidants as she plotted secret betrayals of those who loved her dearly. How, after being morally abused like that, will they not grow cynical of the values of faithfulness, honesty, self-denial and purity? Only by God's grace. This morning the contrast hit me with the force of a thrown rock: my father - his memory be blessed! - humbly hid his virtue from his sons; whereas the mother of these boys coldly employed them as shields under which she hid her vice.

But it is not too late, I choose to believe it is not too late, for them to be men of substance still.

A prayer for all who waver between honesty and lies, faithfulness and betrayal, purity and perversion: "God, grant by the power of your Spirit that I be a person of substance whose character will be found worthy. Thank you for the example of those who went before me and never compromised their integrity. Give me grace both to honor their memory and to walk in their steps, for the glory of your Son Jesus. Amen."