Vance Havner (1901-1986) was one of my favorite preachers. He grew up in “Jugtown”, just about a mile or so from where my brother currently lives, and about 12 miles from where I grew up in Hickory, NC. (My brother is a potter -see my blog entry “Potter Principles” on December 9, 2007).I did not encounter the name Vance Havner, however, until I was in a bookstore in California after graduation from college. A friend pointed out to me the book The Best of Vance Havner. As I read the chapter “Journey from Jugtown” I fell in love with Vance Havner. He wrote:
I grew up in the North Carolina hills. From our front porch we could see at night the lights of five little towns. From the back porch one could see Grandfather Mountain, Table Rock, and companion peaks standing like sentinels along the western skyline.
My home community was called Jugtown because in the early years there were little shops up and down the road where the potters wrought vessels of clay. I lived the simple, happy life of an old-fashioned country boy. I tramped the woods with a shepherd dog. There was plenty of outdoors, and all the plain joys of rustic youth uncushioned by modern conveniences. It would drive a teen-ager frantic these days but I thrived on it.
Father was an austere but devout Christian, the pastor's right-hand man at old Corinth Baptist Church. The country preachers always stayed at our house on Saturday before the fourth Sunday in each month, when they came by horse and buggy to preach the monthly sermon. Some of those sermons were long enough to last a month and sounded more like filibusters - but it was sound preaching. Father always let me sit up late on those Saturday nights, before the open fire, and listen to him and the minister talk about the things of God. It beat all the television that has been seen since.
Father should have been a preacher. Two of his brothers did preach; one as a Baptist, the other as a Methodist. Mother was a gentle, kindly soul content to be a housewife. Her life as a "keeper at home" would be anathema to the emancipated woman of today.
I grew up with a Bible in one hand a bird book in the other. Pilgrim 's Progress, Foxe's Book of Martyrs, and a set of good classical literature formed our library. I never knew the day when I did not feel that I should preach and write. I memorized Bible portions, made little Sunday School talks, and sent my first "sermon" to our small-town newspaper when I was nine.
When I was ten, I professed faith in Christ. A revival was in progress at Corinth Church, but I came to Jesus alone in the woods. Always following an unbeaten path, I did not go to the mourner's bench as the custom was, but made my decision in a solitary place. There was no dramatic experience such as some can relate; I came as a child in simple trust. I did not understand all about the plan of salvation. I do not understand all about electricity, but I don't intend to sit in the dark until I do.
I was baptized in the South Fork River and a year later I asked the church to license me to preach. I began with a talk at the First Baptist Church of Hickory, twelve miles from my home. I have been in bigger towns and churches since, but none looked as large as did Hickory that night. Dad and I went over in an early Ford with thirty horsepower - twenty of them dead. I stood on a chair and spoke while the pastor of the church stood on one side and the state evangelist stood on the other: like Aaron and Hur holding up the hands of Moses.
[I grew up in this church. My father told me the pastor of FBC Hickory that stood by Vance was the man that drew my grandfather to move from Petersburg VA to Hickory. See my post “Modern Antique” on February 8, 2008]
For several years I preached on Sundays in town and country churches as a boy preacher. Of course, crowds came out of curiosity. Then I went to a Baptist boarding school called South Fork Institute. I was not a star student, but often sat listening to a bird singing outside rather than to a professor teaching on the inside. I went next to what is now Gardner-Webb College. It was during the First World War. We were singing Tipperary and Over There, and girl students wept as boy friends left for camp and for France to make the world safe for democracy. It hasn't been safe for anything since.
The principal of this school advised me, one day, to blaze my own trail instead of following the prescribed course of ministerial training. He told me that I was no genius, but would do well to follow an unbeaten path. I went on to Catawba College for a year, then to Wake Forest. I was restless and wanted to preach. One day, I packed my belongings and left. A professor saw me at the railroad station and said, "Young man, you'll regret this." I haven't regretted it yet. I am not advising others to follow that course, but I believe it was best for me.
Vance Havner served as pastor of several churches early in his career, but for most of his ministry was an itinerant prophet at church revivals and evangelism and bible conferences. He wrote forty books and was one of the most widely quoted preachers of the last century. With his dry humor and sharp mind he spoke truth that put a smile on your face but pierced your heart.
I heard Vance Havner at various conferences and once in a seminary chapel service. When I heard him preach I was always amazed that such a slight, wiry man could pack such a mighty punch with his delivery and message.
I met him only one time. I was his chauffeur to drive him to a preaching engagement. When he greeted me at the door of his small apartment, he warmly invited me in and showed me his humble dwelling.
As we rode to and from the conference where he addressed several thousand people, I was overwhelmed by his humility and honesty. He spoke with compassion about the struggles of some of his friends who were “household names” in the Christian world. I remembered reading how he stated his mission, “to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.”
My home community was called Jugtown because in the early years there were little shops up and down the road where the potters wrought vessels of clay. I lived the simple, happy life of an old-fashioned country boy. I tramped the woods with a shepherd dog. There was plenty of outdoors, and all the plain joys of rustic youth uncushioned by modern conveniences. It would drive a teen-ager frantic these days but I thrived on it.
Father was an austere but devout Christian, the pastor's right-hand man at old Corinth Baptist Church. The country preachers always stayed at our house on Saturday before the fourth Sunday in each month, when they came by horse and buggy to preach the monthly sermon. Some of those sermons were long enough to last a month and sounded more like filibusters - but it was sound preaching. Father always let me sit up late on those Saturday nights, before the open fire, and listen to him and the minister talk about the things of God. It beat all the television that has been seen since.
Father should have been a preacher. Two of his brothers did preach; one as a Baptist, the other as a Methodist. Mother was a gentle, kindly soul content to be a housewife. Her life as a "keeper at home" would be anathema to the emancipated woman of today.
I grew up with a Bible in one hand a bird book in the other. Pilgrim 's Progress, Foxe's Book of Martyrs, and a set of good classical literature formed our library. I never knew the day when I did not feel that I should preach and write. I memorized Bible portions, made little Sunday School talks, and sent my first "sermon" to our small-town newspaper when I was nine.
When I was ten, I professed faith in Christ. A revival was in progress at Corinth Church, but I came to Jesus alone in the woods. Always following an unbeaten path, I did not go to the mourner's bench as the custom was, but made my decision in a solitary place. There was no dramatic experience such as some can relate; I came as a child in simple trust. I did not understand all about the plan of salvation. I do not understand all about electricity, but I don't intend to sit in the dark until I do.
I was baptized in the South Fork River and a year later I asked the church to license me to preach. I began with a talk at the First Baptist Church of Hickory, twelve miles from my home. I have been in bigger towns and churches since, but none looked as large as did Hickory that night. Dad and I went over in an early Ford with thirty horsepower - twenty of them dead. I stood on a chair and spoke while the pastor of the church stood on one side and the state evangelist stood on the other: like Aaron and Hur holding up the hands of Moses.
[I grew up in this church. My father told me the pastor of FBC Hickory that stood by Vance was the man that drew my grandfather to move from Petersburg VA to Hickory. See my post “Modern Antique” on February 8, 2008]
For several years I preached on Sundays in town and country churches as a boy preacher. Of course, crowds came out of curiosity. Then I went to a Baptist boarding school called South Fork Institute. I was not a star student, but often sat listening to a bird singing outside rather than to a professor teaching on the inside. I went next to what is now Gardner-Webb College. It was during the First World War. We were singing Tipperary and Over There, and girl students wept as boy friends left for camp and for France to make the world safe for democracy. It hasn't been safe for anything since.
The principal of this school advised me, one day, to blaze my own trail instead of following the prescribed course of ministerial training. He told me that I was no genius, but would do well to follow an unbeaten path. I went on to Catawba College for a year, then to Wake Forest. I was restless and wanted to preach. One day, I packed my belongings and left. A professor saw me at the railroad station and said, "Young man, you'll regret this." I haven't regretted it yet. I am not advising others to follow that course, but I believe it was best for me.
Vance Havner served as pastor of several churches early in his career, but for most of his ministry was an itinerant prophet at church revivals and evangelism and bible conferences. He wrote forty books and was one of the most widely quoted preachers of the last century. With his dry humor and sharp mind he spoke truth that put a smile on your face but pierced your heart.
I heard Vance Havner at various conferences and once in a seminary chapel service. When I heard him preach I was always amazed that such a slight, wiry man could pack such a mighty punch with his delivery and message.
I met him only one time. I was his chauffeur to drive him to a preaching engagement. When he greeted me at the door of his small apartment, he warmly invited me in and showed me his humble dwelling.
As we rode to and from the conference where he addressed several thousand people, I was overwhelmed by his humility and honesty. He spoke with compassion about the struggles of some of his friends who were “household names” in the Christian world. I remembered reading how he stated his mission, “to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.”
Vance Havner was a master of the aphorism, the pithy, proverb-like statement. Here are some quotes from him:
They didn’t hold revivals in those days, they turned them loose!
The Bible is either absolute or obsolete.
In this day people are asking, "What must I do to succeed?" instead of "What must I do to be saved?"
Many people are in a rut and a rut is nothing but a grave--with both ends kicked out.
They didn’t hold revivals in those days, they turned them loose!
The Bible is either absolute or obsolete.
In this day people are asking, "What must I do to succeed?" instead of "What must I do to be saved?"
Many people are in a rut and a rut is nothing but a grave--with both ends kicked out.
The church is so subnormal that if it ever got back to the New Testament normal it would seem to people to be abnormal.
It's about time we quit playing church in these services that start at eleven o’clock sharp and end at twelve o’clock dull.
If we don't come apart; we will come apart.
Sometimes your medicine bottle has on it, “Shake well before using.” That is what God has to do with some of His people. He has to shake them well before they are ever usable.
It is better to die for a conviction than to live with a compromise. Self-preservation is a powerful instinct, but it is not the most important thing on earth.
It is better to die for a conviction than to live with a compromise. Self-preservation is a powerful instinct, but it is not the most important thing on earth.
Two weeks ago our Sunday School class studied the move of the ark of the covenant to Jerusalem by King David. To hear Vance Havner preach on the “Steadying the Ark of God” click on http://www.podfeed.net/episode/Steadying+The+Ark+Of+God+by+Vance+Havner/1036251
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