This one is a little longer, so get a cup of coffee.

While in Bible college in Tennessee the ministry students were urged to take part in the school’s church program. The school owned and operated 83 little struggling churches in the Tennessee countryside surrounding Chattanooga. Marsha and I were newly married, just 19 years old, when we were called to one of these churches as the Youth Pastor. It sounded kind of fancy, but it was a church of around 20 people in a storefront with only a couple of Youth. The Pastor was also a student and we both got credit for working in this little church in the mountains. The biggest problem we faced was that the church was 85 miles from the college in Chattanooga. We didn’t even take in enough offering to pay our gas. But I knew that we were going to have a MIGHTY Youth group.

We went to the church in October 1975. The pastor was going to graduate from college in December. He resigned from the church in November and, at 19, I was the interim pastor of a storefront church 85 miles from home in the backwoods. To the locals, it was an old former restaurant. To me it was a cathedral.

Of course, I didn’t consider myself an interim pastor. I was the pastor. At 19 I had arrived. Fearless. Bold. Dumb as a stump. I decided to start preaching against all manner of sin. Bootlegging earned a few sermons, as did various other sins. But, it was the bootlegging that got me in trouble.

Typically, we would go up to the church on Saturday morning, fix the church bus (1957 International) by replacing the parts stolen off of it during the week, and then visit folks in the community for the rest of the day. We would sleep in one of the Sunday school rooms and then be ready for church the next morning. On Sunday we would have morning services followed by visiting in the afternoon and then church that night, followed by a two hour trip back to Chattanooga. Not a problem, normally.

One Sunday night I was in another part of the church as people were coming in. Marsha stuck her head into the room and said, “Uh, Honey, there is someone here who wants to speak with you.” We hadn’t been married long, but I could tell she thought something wasn’t quite right.

I stepped out into the main room and there sat the biggest man I had ever seen. Once, when I was in high school, I had the opportunity to eat dinner with the Baltimore Colts. Bubba Smith era. This son of the mountains was bigger than any of the Colts I met that night.

I stepped up to him and started to introduce myself. He interrupted.

“Ah know who you are, preacher boy. My name’s Big’un.”

Well, I had heard about Big’un. He was a legendary bootlegger. Rumor had it that he had killed a government agent who was investigating an alleged whiskey still somewhere in the mountains two years earlier. No body was ever found and the government didn’t send anyone else to investigate. The only thing anyone would say about it was that Big’un had the biggest and best bootlegging operation in the mountains. He was something of a local hero, both feared and admired. As for his name, I had assumed it had to do with his successful business enterprise. Now I knew it had to do with his size.

He continued. “Ah hear you got something agin moonshiners.”

Remember now, I was young and bold. And stupid. This is why wars are fought with young men. At these early ages you feel as though you can handle any situation. So, I agreed with his statement.

“Yes sir,” I said, lifting my chin. “I think bootlegging is one of the things that is keeping the folks in these mountains from moving forward. It is not only sin but it holds you all back.” Fighting words.

Big’un reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a snub-nosed revolver. He held it just where my wife and I and our one Deacon could see it.

“Okay, preacher boy. Ah’ll just sit here on the front row and listen tonight an see what you have to say about moonshininers.”

Now that made me mad. It scared Marsha, but it made me mad. What’s more, she knew I was mad, which scared her all the more. I had another sermon topic in mind for that night, but I turned and stepped into the pulpit and started preaching against the bootlegging trade. We didn’t sing songs or take an offering or anything. I just preached. Big’un sat there for awhile with his hand in his coat pocket, then he got up and left.

I was euphoric! I had stood up to the biggest bootlegger in the mountains. I was tougher than tough. I was also stupider than stupid. Looking back, I have to admit that I don’t know what I would do in the same situation now. Time has a way of tarnishing the brass of youth.

As it turns out, I hadn’t quite won yet.

Marsha went with me every other weekend. We lived and worked at an orphanage in Chattanooga and Marsha worked every other weekend. The next weekend I went up alone.

Early on Saturday morning I arrived at the church. There was a Lincoln sitting in the parking lot and behind the wheel sat Big’un. He emerged from the car and told me to get in. We were going for a ride. I told him that no, I had much to do and couldn’t go for a ride. He produced his pistol and told me that I was going to go for a ride with him. Right now.

Knowing what I know now I am sure would not have shot me. But at that moment I was sure that he would. I was also fairly sure he was intending to take me off somewhere in a lonesome valley and shoot me, but if I could prolong the shooting I thought I might have a chance. I got into the car.

We took off and headed up a mountain. As we neared the top I realized that all the homes here were extremely nice. This was the upscale neighborhood. We passed many fine homes until we came to a home that was a showcase type of a home. Big’un hadn’t said a word to this point. Now he pulled to the curb and turned to me and explained what was about to happen.

“Preacher, this is my home. Years ago Ah met this pretty li’l gal up in Knoxville name of Victoria. She was perfect, an’ Ah knew Ah had to marry her. She wanted to marry me, too. Her daddy wasn’t for it because Ah was a mountain boy an’ because there was no way Ah could provide for her like he wanted. An’, she’s stone cold deaf. He didn’t think Ah could handle it. Well, preacher, Ah knew Ah was in love, so Ah set out to prove my love. That’s when Ah got into shinin’, to make enough to provide for her. She doesn’t know what Ah do and we’ll keep it that way. Ah learn how to talk sign language, too. Finally, after a couple of years Ah went back and showed her daddy my bank account and Ah talked to them in sign. All that time we had been writin’ back and forth, and she really did love me. We got married and we have been just real happy.

“But lately Victoria’s been wondering what happens when a person dies. Ah don’t know about them things, so Ah can’t help her. Ah been goin’ around trying to find a preacher. Ah want one who ain’t a coward, though, so Ah kinda been trying to scare’em a little. You’re the only one who didn’t back down, so you are going to walk in there and tell my Victoria about what happens when you die.”

Well, okay. Maybe I wasn’t going to die at a young age and leave Marsha as young widow. I did go in and sat down with the two of them. Victoria was everything Big’un wasn’t. She was small. She was elegant. She was refined. She was beautiful. But, as we walked into the house, Big’un changed, too. It was as though that rough shell came off and he became a gracious host and a loving husband. I had never seen anything like it.

This was the first of several visits. I would talk and Big’un, whose name was actually John, would sign. She would ask questions in sign and he would translate to me. Not only was she deaf, but she could produce no sound at all. She would laugh and make no noise and I found out that she could cry without noise, as well, as she did when she heard that Jesus had died for her. Big’un came to think of me as a friend, although I never got to where I was comfortable with him.

Both Victoria and John accepted Christ. The school supplied a new pastor shortly after that and I don’t know what became of them. They would be in their late 70s now. I pray it has been a good life.