The Greatest Lesson I Ever Learned - Dr Barry Chant

As I entered full-time ministry in 1995 I read a book compiled by Dr Bill Bright entitled, "The Greatest Lesson I Ever Learned". It was a collection of stories from Christian leaders. It inspired me to ask various Christian leaders in Australia that I knew (or, mostly, knew of) for their story. These have been sitting in my computer for 10 years waiting for publication, but I didn't collect enough to warrant publishing them. So, I am now posting them as blogs so the stories can get out there. I trust you enjoy them as much as I do.

Geoff

Barry Chant

Dr. Barry Chant is a regular speaker at church services, seminars, conferences and conventions. He has written over a dozen books, ranging from theology and church history to family life and children’s stories. He has degrees in arts, theology and a diploma in education. He has over 30 years experience in pastoral and educational ministry. He is founder and president of Tabor College, a multidenominational Christian Education Centre with campuses in Adelaide, Melbourne, Sydney and Perth. He is married to Vanessa, and they have three adult children and eight grand children.

{Dr Barry Chant is currently the pastor of Wesley International Congregation}

NO OTHER BOAST

Sadly, my memories of my mother are rather shadowy, although there are glimpses that shine like patches of sunlight in the covered walks of my childhood years. Of the little black compact she used, inlaid with mother of pearl, with its distinctive aroma of inexpensive, but not cheap, perfume. Of sitting at lunch with her and two of her sisters, Auntie Gwen and Auntie Pops, in the cafeteria in the Myer store in Adelaide, eating flapjacks with raspberry jam and cream. Of standing at her knee while she helped me memorise Psalm 121 for a Sunday School examination. (I still cannot hear the words, ‘I will lift up my eyes to the hills . . . ‘ without thinking of her.) Of crying out for her in the middle of the night in the blistered pain of a bad case of sunburn. And then of visiting her in the busy ward of the Royal Adelaide Hospital where she lay, although I did not know it, fighting a vain battle against the cruel, networking cancer that would eventually take her life at the young age of 40. In my childhood innocence and ignorance, while she and my father talked, I used to sit listening to the radio on the primitive headphones they used in hospitals in those days.

In the last few months of her life, I lived with the next door neighbours so that my struggling father could cope a little more easily with his job, with running the house and with caring for Mum. Finally, in November, 1948, my mother fell asleep for the last time.

In September of the following year, Dad desperately needed a holiday and, with plenty of encouragement from me, asked Neil Adcock, the minister of our local Finsbury Park (now Woodville North) Baptist church, if he could somehow get me into a Crusader boys’ camp, run by Scripture Union, for a week or so. Technically, I was too young. I was just ten years old (‘almost eleven!’) and the minimum age was twelve. Because of my family circumstances, they allowed me to go.

The camp was at Victor Harbour, a South Australian country town. We were accommodated in a corrugated iron building, divided up into dormitories with four double bunks each. The meetings and meals were arranged in marquees. I must have enjoyed the camp, for the memory of it is vivid. One afternoon, we had a treasure hunt which took us all around the nearby sand hills and beaches. The final item was a note which told us to run back to camp and tell the cook we wanted snails on lettuce for tea! I was the first one to return. I was really proud of myself. It was only in later years that I realised the other boys had allowed me to win.
And then there was a stalking game at night in the sand hills, where each team wore a coloured piece of wool around the wrist. When your bracelet was broken you were either a prisoner or ‘dead.’ Here they were not so kind. I was despatched in the first ten minutes!

The speaker at this camp was a wonderful children's evangelist named A.H.Brown. His story-telling ability was legendary. If I live another fifty years, I shall never forget his breath-catching, heart-stopping narration of the tale of Nebuchadnez­zar's fiery furnace. And I am sure I shall never hear anyone tell it better.

My first encounters with Mr Brown were not promising. One night we were all sitting around a camp fire and he related an African fable in which a rabbit climbed a tree. Protected by the half-darkness, I turned to the lad next me and exclaimed smugly, 'How long since rabbits have been able to climb trees!'

I was not as well hidden as I thought. Mr Brown stopped short, turned slowly, glared at me, and said sternly, 'I told you when I started that this was only a fable.' My embarrassment was acute.

On Sunday morning, one of the lads went down the street and bought a newspaper. I didn't know it, but we had been expressly told that going to the shops on Sunday was forbidden. I picked the paper up, sat on a seat outside and began browsing through it. Suddenly, a voice called urgently. 'Quick! Bring it in here!' I looked up somewhat puzzled and began to wander into the dormitory. Behind me, the others could see what I could not see -- the figure of Mr Brown looming awesomely upon me.

Before I reached the door, he caught me. 'Well,' he said. 'Not only do you break the rules and buy a newspaper, but you try and hide the fact by running inside when you see me coming!' He gave me no chance to explain. The paper was confiscated and I was then unpopular with its owner as well!

That night we all went to the Church of Christ for the evening service. Mr Brown was the preacher. He spoke on John 3:14-15 --
Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the desert, so the Son of Man must be lifted up, that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.
He told a dramatic story about an old medieval manuscript which depicted people trying desperately to save themselves from the desert snakes. Some fought them; others prayed; others worked to save their friends; others relied on medical care -- and all failed. But those who simply looked at the snake on the pole were saved. And so he invited us to look to Jesus.
I sat at the end of one of the church's unusual slatted pews, stirred by this simple, vivid message. Young as I was, and out of favour as I had become, I felt impelled to stand to my feet. I did. I looked. And I was saved. It was 8 September 1949.

I learned that night that Jesus Christ was my Saviour. That by Him my sins were forgiven. That in Him I had everlasting life. That through Him every need of mine was met for ever.
On the way home from the camp, in the swaying carriages of the old, rattling steam train, we sang choruses. It must have been pretty tuneless and some of the songs were rather banal, to say the least. But their words left an indelible impression on me. One of them said --
Happy is the boy who believes in Him,Happy is the boy who is freed from sin,Never to a boy did the Lord say, ‘No,’Let us every one to the Saviour go.
The poetry was pedestrian but the message was profound. It was this lesson, of our wonderful redemption in Christ Jesus, that was being bored deep into my spirit.
As I continued in Crusaders, I learned the theme song --
The Lord has need of me,His soldier I will be,His life He gaveMy soul to winAnd so I mean to follow HimAnd serve Him faithfully.And though the fight be fierce and long,I’ll carry on,He makes me strong.And then one day, His face I’ll see,And Oh! the joy when He says to me,‘Well done, my brave Crusader.’
In this song there was a clear recognition that both salvation and strength to serve came through Christ alone. It was only through the merits of Jesus that I was acceptable to God; it was only through the merits of Jesus that I could serve God. Since those days, I have found myself coming back over and over again to those wonderful themes.

Four years later when, as an early teenager, I had a life-changing encounter with the Holy Spirit, I knew that this, too, was a blessing from the Lord Jesus. To think that my body was the temple of the Holy Spirit was almost too wonderful to conceive. There was no way that I could ever be worthy of this. But through His atoning death on the Cross, Christ had made me worthy.

In the years that followed, I continued to attend our little Baptist Church. I was also greatly helped by Scripture Union, Christian Endeavour and other evangelical groups. I am always thankful that through these agencies I was brought back again and again to the foot of the Cross and the centrality of the Lord Jesus Christ. Our Baptist Youth Group regularly attended Youth for Christ rallies. Month after month in the Adelaide Town Hall, hundreds of young people would gather to sing great hymns and choruses and to hear the finest evangelistic preaching in the land. Our group always seemed to finish up in the balcony. I clearly recall standing there, looking over the large crowd, singing my heart out, my spirit thrilling with the joy of ‘this so great salvation.’

At high school, for the first time in my life, I encountered students of strong Catholic faith. In later years, I have developed friendships with many wonderful Catholic people, whose sincerity and spirituality is beyond question. In those days, however, the lines of demarcation were very clear. One young man named Paul was a brilliant intellectual and a fervent Catholic. We debated long and hard the issues of the gospel and the authority of the Church. T.C.Hammond’s invaluable book The One Hundred Texts gave me plenty of ammunition. And I found myself for the first time burrowing deep into the letter to the Hebrews, digging out its profound, yet simple, treasures -- especially the phrase ‘once for all.’ Christ died for sin once for all making a complete and perfect sacrifice for sins. And so, ‘we have been made holy through the sacrifice of the body of Jesus Christ once for all’ (Hebrews 10:10). It was the same great truth yet again.

When I was nineteen, it came about through circumstances largely beyond my control, that I left the Finsbury Park church and joined the Christian Revival Crusade, founded by the late Leo Harris. Here again, the focus was always on the Lord Jesus Christ. In fact, I had never heard people so open and fresh in their expression of love for the Lord. I remember one lady, in particular, standing in a Sunday service, her arms raised high, her face lifted up, tears running down her cheeks as she sang of her love for her Lord --
I love Jesus, hallelujah!I love Jesus, yes, I do.I love Jesus, hallelujah!Jesus smiles and loves me too.
Again, it wasn’t great poetry, but it was beautiful sentiment.

At that time, we were often criticised for focusing too much on the Holy Spirit and not enough on Christ. I guess there were occasions when this was valid. But my experience was that I had never seen or heard the Lord Jesus so openly honoured.

In the thirty five years since then in which I have been involved in Christian ministry, I have seen many trends and fads come and go. Some have been exciting; some have been alarming; some have been intriguing; some have been damaging. I’m grateful for the greatest lesson I ever learned - that more important than anything else is the fact that Christ died for my sins and that He is the only way of salvation.

A few years ago, ‘dancing before the Lord’ was the latest charismatic phenomenon. Some people were teaching that if you didn’t dance before the Lord you weren’t really free. Amazing as it seems now, there was a fair degree of acrimony over this. Some agreed; some disagreed - and often with an unwarranted level of vehemence. Personally, I refused to dance. It wasn’t just my two left feet. It was a matter of conviction. There was no doubt that true liberty was in Christ: it was only by faith in Him that we could ever be really free. Eventually, when the fuss died down and such claims were no longer being made, I danced with the best of them!

Knowing the great, central truth of the gospel has helped me over and over again to decided between truth and heresy. I am so grateful for the grounding I had in my early years. In fact, I think I can fairly say that I tend to measure everything by how closely it adheres to the message of the Cross. If there is even a suggestion that there is some other way to gain credit with God or to achieve grace, I am suspicious.

In his letter to the Ephesians, the apostle tells us that every spiritual blessing in heaven is already ours in Christ Jesus (Ephesians 1:3). Over and over again, he labours the fact that God’s grace is only given through Christ. He details God’s blessings -- predestinated, chosen, adopted, forgiven, redeemed, lavished with grace, saved, made alive, raised, seated in heavenly places -- and every one is ‘in Christ.’ In particular, it is through the work of the Cross that God’s grace reaches us. To the Galatians, Paul writes --
May I never boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world (Galatians 6:14).
This is our only boast, our only glory. The moment we begin to try to experience blessing by any other means or in any other way, we are on dangerous ground. I thank God that He showed me this at the beginning of my days. It is certainly the greatest lesson I have ever learned.