If you have ever watched track and field competitions, you know that relay races are usually won or lost in the transfer of the baton. A runner rarely drops the prize on the backside of the track. The critical moment occurs when he burns around the final turn and prepares to hand the baton to the next runner. If either of them has fumble-fingers and fails to complete a secure pass, their team usually loses.
So it is with the Christian life. When members of one generation are committed to the Gospel of Jesus Christ and are determined to finish strong, they rarely fumble the baton. But getting the handoff securely in the hands of children can be difficult and risky. That is when Christian commitments between generations can be dropped. It isn’t always the fault of the parents. Some young runners refuse to reach out and grasp the baton. Either way, there is nothing more tragic than failing to transfer the baton to those who come after.
Let me tell you how the transmission of the Christian faith was handled between George and Alice McCluskey and their children. We recently discovered two yellowed biographies that I now treasure. The first describes my great-grandfather, and the second my grandfather, both on my mother’s side. My daughter discovered these documents when she was searching through boxes of family memorabilia. They reveal some of the stories and factual information shared above. These statements were written by two contemporaries and typed on old typewriters, eighty and sixty-nine years ago. There were handwritten, eyewitness notations in the margins. What treasures they are!
The McCluskeys had two daughters who survived childhood. They were named Bessie and Allie. Bessie became my grandmother and Allie my great-aunt. They both gave their hearts to the Lord on the same night, and in time, each of them married preachers. I will tell you about their journeys in a moment. Bessie and Allie had five children between them, four girls and one boy. All four of the girls married preachers, and the boy became one. My great-grandfather’s prayers were being answered year by year.
First, let me tell you the remarkable story of Michael Vance Dillingham who became my maternal grandfather. He was five feet two inches tall and his family would later call him “Little Daddy.” That is the way I knew him. M.V. was something of a scoundrel in his early life. He was a hard drinker and a gambler. His biographer described him this way:
Sometime before the year 1900, in Comanche County, Texas, a group of God-fearing people united together to pray for the “lost” [unsaved] around them. Number one on that list was Michael Vance Dillingham [also called Mike or M.V.]. He was the instigator of community all night “shindigs,” referring to card games, drinking and other worldly amusements of that day. They felt if somehow Dillingham became a Christian, others would follow him. However, Mike had not the slightest interest in his spiritual welfare. He was a carefree, fun loving widower in his thirties.1
After the death of his first wife, M.V. became embroiled in a bitter dispute with his former brother-in-law, probably over an unpaid gambling debt. His hatred for this man was so intense that he bought a gun and decided to kill him on sight. One night, M.V. took the gun and set out to murder his brother-in-law. As he walked down a dark road, he passed a revival service featuring the preaching of an anointed minister.
The Christians who had been praying for M.V. had sponsored a series of nightly meetings in their small Texas town. Their first challenge was to find a structure in which to worship. Together they built what was known as a “brush arbor.” It was made of small saplings stuck upright in the ground, with branches laid over the top. Rough-hewn benches were constructed for seats, and a handmade altar was placed across the front. For music, women played hymns on squeaky pump organs and provided accompaniment for the singing and special music. Lanterns lit the arbor at night.
My grandfather stopped on the road outside the structure. He was amused by the spectacle and stood with other scoffers in the shadows. But the sermon and the music stirred something deep within his soul. He had never heard the gospel before. Though he had no intention of going into the service, he was drawn toward it. M.V. walked to the entrance of the brush arbor and then continued down a sawdust aisle. He knelt at the altar and wept as he repented of his sins. The biographer said he lay “prone” in front of the altar as he begged God for forgiveness.
M.V. then took the gun out of his belt and placed it on the altar. He stood, faced the little gathering, and told everyone that he had been forgiven and was a child of God. He confessed his hatred for his brother-in-law, but said he had nothing but love for him in his heart. He would later say, “I could have laid down my life for him then and there.”
Dillingham left the gun on the altar, never to be retrieved. Shortly thereafter, he accepted a call to preach and began to share the “good news” with anyone who would listen. In coming years, he testified, witnessed, and exhorted wherever he went. His transformation was complete. The Apostle Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 5:17, “Therefore if any man is in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, they become new.” My grandfather became this “new man” that night in a brush arbor.
Here’s where the hand of the Lord intervened dramatically in our family. George McCluskey and his wife were many miles away, but they were also doing everything they could to bring people to Christ. George was still a farmer in San Saba County, Texas, but he decided to hold a revival meeting in the local town. He began by building… you guessed it… a brush arbor. Although he didn’t know Michael Dillingham, George McCluskey had heard about the younger man’s spiritual conversion. He wrote and invited him to come preach and sing at his revival meeting. M.V. accepted the request, and that was the first time my future great-grandfather met my future grandfather. They joined forces in a common cause and served Christ together for many years.
To top it off, M.V. fell in love with Bessie. She was George and Alice’s oldest daughter, whom we would later call “Big Mama” for good reason. They were married after a five-year courtship. Thus, my bloodline was established. Imagine the consequences for my family if M.V. had shot his brother-in-law the night he gave his heart to the Lord.
M.V. and Bessie (“Little Daddy” and “Big Mama” to our family) set out together to serve the Lord, but they had no formal training or theological instruction. My grandfather knew he needed help. He once saw an ad offering information on how to preach for the price of one dollar. M.V. sent in the money and received this printed recommendation: “Have something to say, say it, and sit down.” He said that was the best advice he ever received.
The Dillinghams had few of this world’s resources or comforts. They went into communities to preach, often without invitations or places to stay, and certainly without promise of remuneration. When churches and schools were closed to them, they worshipped in homes, rented vacant buildings, or prayed in brush arbors. Their spirits were dauntless, although there were many times when they didn’t know where their next meals would come from. When food was not available, they fasted and prayed.
At times, overripe fruit and rotten eggs were hurled at them from darkened shadows. It didn’t discourage them. They held street meetings, sang songs, pumped squeaky organs, and strummed out-of-tune guitars in Texas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, and New Mexico. They traveled on dusty trains, on horseback, buggies, and bumpy wagons. But they also preached to great crowds with much success. As the years unfolded, they held ten pastorates from 1908 to 1944 when Reverend Dillingham died. Their churches grew rapidly and people responded to the simple truths of Scripture.
Frankly, I am embarrassed to admit how quickly some of us today complain about criticism and persecution for our Christian beliefs. We know little of the deprivations that our ancestors suffered. Most of them never wavered in their faith or their mission. This is the heritage handed down from my forbearers.
Fulfillment of “the promise” made to George McCluskey was right on schedule. So far, every member of two generations was not only a believer in Christ, but each of them was a preacher or was married to one. And there were still two generations to come.