Sword Drills
Baptists, young boys, and training for spiritual warfare
Beauly only had one church, Beauly Baptist. It was a small brick structure, seating about 80 people. It didn’t have a steeple. But it had a cross. Some older churches in the region still had separate doors for males and females. Beauly Baptist had one.
The village had actually adopted its name from the church, which itself had been named after its founder's birthplace in Scotland.
The Protestant work ethic remained strong in Beauly, even in lean times when there wasn’t much work. The community worked because it valued regularity. In more ways than one.
Everything had its place. Church socials happened in good times and bad. The church’s dirt parking lot had finally been paved in the mid-70s. It was a proud moment, and the inside of the church was much cleaner for it. Particularly since old man Pike (the plumber) had a bad habit of wearing his muddy work boots to church, and stomping off the mud all over the front steps.
Next to the church was a nice grassy area with an outdoor pavilion. Weddings, birthdays and cookouts were the main events. You could see the mountains in the nearby background. A stranger would see it as a quiet, modest, well-maintained location.
The first time I stepped into the church, a flood of slightly musty smells teased my memories of childhood. Memories of Oceanview Baptist Church — where my dad had pastored — made me stop in my tracks.
I was back being a kid, lined up with six other boys in a row, facing the congregation from the raised pulpit. We were performing, showing off our Biblical skills doing Sword Drills.
We each held our Bible in our left palm, face down. Our right hand was placed face down on the top. We were steady, standing at military-like attention, awaiting our three step command to be barked out.
A Bible verse was called out: “Psalm 23:1”.
“Ready?” We were horses in the gate.
“Charge!”
Suddenly a brigade of Bibles were flipped open, as each boy ripped through the pages, desperately wanting to be the first to find the verse.
I quickly learned to cheat. After all, a preacher’s kid was born to win.
Once the boy found the verse, he first placed his finger on it and only then stepped forward. The first boy to step out, won. As long as he had his finger on the correct verse.
There were many hairline finishes, so I quickly learned to cheat. After all, a preacher’s kid was born to win.
Sword Drills didn’t come along often, so the off-season was all about training. The mental preparation came first: memorizing every book in the Bible. This repetition gave me exposure to foreign sounds like Haggai. It wasn’t long before I knew more about the Bible’s many stories than most adults. Oceanview Baptist was my personal, Holy proving grounds. For life.
Training included self-taught lessons in logic. The Bible has 66 books, with 39 in the Old Testament and 27 in the New Testament. In terms of volume, the Old Testament made up roughly two-thirds of the book. So depending on the verse, I knew where my thumb would go first for the attack.
One of the cheats involved inconspicuously sliding my right thumb over the edge of the back cover and placing it in the basic area of where the verse was located. It was a sly move, but split seconds mattered when competing on behalf of our Lord and Savior. And it was important that Jesus knew I was a winner. Somehow I knew he knew. Which was handy, because church was a big part of my life.
I wasn’t an exceptional student nor was I an intellectual. But in church, Jesus-knowledge became my own, private turboboost slipstream. And for a southern boy, this was a worthy achievement. At least while in church.
Mr. McCormack’s voice quickly snapped me back out of my olfactory journey.
“Hey there, Tim. Come on in and let me show you around,” he said, gesturing me to come forward. If Baptists know anything about church, it’s how to walk down the aisle. That’s how we become born again.
Mr. McCormack was standing in front of the communion table, which was centered directly in front of the pulpit. The white linen tablecloth said, “In Remembrance”, as though it was a tragic wartime memorial. But that’s how Baptists sometimes felt about the world. It was all about battles, and victory over sin, temptation, the flesh and the Devil. And having the strength to stand up to non-believers. Baptists had become really good at teaching siege mentalities. Good versus Evil. It’s inbred in us. It may seem subtle, but Baptist teachings are firm — it’s all about us versus them.
Beauly Baptist had about a half dozen rooms behind the sanctuary, used for Sunday School classes. Back there the wooden floors creaked. A pastor’s office and a small social hall completed the facility. Mr. McCormack showed me the pastor’s small library, the cabinets where Sunday School books were stacked, and even how to get in and out of the Baptistry. Of course, I had no idea that he’d soon be asking me to pastor. I just kept nodding my head politely, with no idea he was softening me up.
“Tim, we’re having a deacon’s meeting Wednesday night at 6:15, right before prayer meeting at 7:30. Why don’t you come by and I’ll introduce you to some of the men of the church. If you have time.”
“Sure. Ok,” I replied. “Looking forward to it!”
I knew there was no faster way to connect to a community in the south than through a church.
And, as I was soon to find out, truer words had never been spoken.
