Wouldn'T Let Me Go to Hell

My Bible says in Ecclesiastes, Remember now, thy creator, in the days of thy youth. I don't believe I'd be here today, friends, addressing you now, if it weren't for a godly pastor who wouldn't let me go to hell. I was a teenager, growing up in the wicked big city of Chicago, and I was also growing up in a home where my parents were not Christians.

My father never darkened the door of a church and referred to himself as an agnostic, but I don't think he even knew what that even meant. He was just a godless man, and he went to a godless eternity. My mother had a religion, but having just a religion won't get you into heaven.

She kept a big Catholic Bible on her living room coffee table, but I don't believe she ever read it. She also kept by it booklets from the Watchtower Society of Jehovah Witnesses. I don't think she saw any difference between them.

I never knew what it was like to grow up with praying parents or being a Christian home until a neighbor of ours, who was the father of one of my schoolmates, and he was also a pastor of a little assembly across the alley from where we lived. This man saw me out playing one day, and he decided he wasn't going to let me go to hell, so he asked me if I'd like to have a job and make some money. I was in elementary school, and I loved to make money.

Even when I was a kid, I always was doing odd jobs like raking leaves or shuffling snow or running errands for old ladies to make money. In fact, I had a lot more of it back then than I do now. Anyhow, this man, this pastor, gave me a job in his Bible bookstore.

I learned how to change a lint oil rag on a mop and clean the floor. I learned how to operate an old-fashioned cash register. I sold gospel tracts and developed a great fondness for them.

And at the same time, I was getting a paycheck each week as a 14-year-old boy living in a godless home in a wicked city like Chicago. This pastor asked me if I would like to have breakfast with his family a couple of times a week at their table in his home. I said sure.

He was a nice man, and I enjoyed his company, and I respected him. I'll never forget, I sat at his table, and he did the strangest thing. He bowed his head and prayed for people.

He went first around the table praying for his two sons and his dear wife, and he even mentioned me in his prayer. Then he began praying for this country, for missions, for missionaries, for strange lands I never even heard of before. And I was shocked because I had never seen a man pray before.

Does that shock you, friends? Like I said, this man wouldn't let me go to hell. He gave me my first Bible, and he inscribed it and signed his name. I still have that Bible.

He invited me to his church, and I got to where I couldn't wait to hear him preach. I began to enjoy singing hymns with the simple people there who called themselves Christians. They didn't dress like the world.

They didn't act like the world. They didn't speak like the world. They didn't have TVs in their homes like the rest of the world.

They lived separate lives from the world, and I took notice of all these things and wanted them to be a bigger part of my life. I'll never forget one week of revival meetings they had at that church because an itinerant evangelist from Canada by the name of Ernie Wakefield was preaching, and my pastor introduced me to him saying, Ernie boy, I want you to meet another Ernie, Ernest Ernie Wakefield. And as that Canadian evangelist with my name preached that night, God began to go to work on my heart, bringing conviction of sin.

And when the invitation was given, I was the first one to go forward as I gave my heart to Jesus. And I was so excited, I went home and told my parents what I did, and they cussed and got mad and began to make fun of those Christians, and they forbade me to ever go back there again. And within six months' time, they moved me across the country, far away from that kind of influence, and I went back into the world.

But a seed of grace was planted that day, and the prayers of saints have watered it through the years. I don't believe that pastor in Chicago ever quit praying for me. As a matter of fact, I have a handwritten letter from him when he was an old man telling me he still prayed for me and my family.

Like I said, he wouldn't let me go to hell. My parents would have, but he wouldn't. Now, I say all this, friends, because I believe our teenagers today are in great jeopardy.

Some are in ungodly homes like I was. Some are in religious homes, but without Christ. Some are experimenting with alcohol and drugs and sex, and they are far away from God with no knowledge of Him at all.

I believe it's a big mistake to think as a parent you can just drop your kid off at church and stick them in the youth group and your responsibility is done and they will be okay. I believe some church youth groups are the worst place you can put your kids, that is, if you don't want to lose them to the devil. Gone are the days of the family altar in the home where the kids of the family sat under the influence of a praying mother or praying father.

We just leave it up to the church today to take care of our kids' souls. Some churches do, but some don't. Let me ask you, friend, do you know of a teenager whom you could start praying for? Do you have the name of a young person that you won't let them go to hell? Like I said, I wouldn't be here speaking to you today if it weren't for a man who didn't want me to go to hell.

Let us pray.