The Mule Skinner Blues         by Carl McMurray

       Ernie was a Bible class teacher. He was a very tall, lanky fellow from Tennessee who had come north for the work. He taught the adult class on Sunday mornings and by all accounts did a good job. One day news came to the church that Ernie’s wife had left him. All the appropriate sympathies and comments and prayers were made and Ernie seemed to hold up under the strain. Then one Sunday morning one of the brothers said good-bye to him in the usual fashion, with a, “See ya tonite Ernie.”

      Ernie just replied, “I don’t think so,” and kept walking.

      He walked out of that church building that morning and left God behind.

       Twenty years later a very tall gentleman somewhere in his seventies, accompanied by a dignified and quiet wife, walked into the church foyer where I was greeting folks and asked to speak to the elders. We didn’t have elders at that time so I grabbed a brother and we all stepped into the office to chat for a moment. He introduced himself as Ernie Taylor and told me the story above. In addition to the above, he explained that in the ensuing twenty years he had done two things of note. One was to meet Bess, a wonderful lady from a Greek family who just exuded dignity and loved to laugh. The second thing he had done was to repeatedly drive past our church sign, only to be stabbed in the conscience every time he saw it. Although the church he had left earlier was no longer in existence he wanted to come back to the Lord, and come back he did.

       In his mid-seventies Ernie said that he had a lot of time to make up for and he wanted to work. He begged for a job. I must say he embarrassed many of the younger men because he ended up taking over the mowing. Up till that time we had always had some trouble getting volunteers to mow, but Ernie solved that. He took it over. He mowed, he trimmed, he sharpened blades on the mower, changed the oil, and  when he couldn’t get the job done, he loaded that riding mower in the back of his little pickup and transported it to the shop and back. I’m still not exactly sure how he got it in and out by himself.

       Ernie cared for that mower and that yard until we sold that church building and built a new one, and by that time the increased acreage and Ernie’s old bones made it necessary for him to hand that task off. But Ernie didn’t quit. When the church doors were open he was there, greeting, smiling, and participating. He never missed. He was at every Bible class, every get-together, every gospel meeting, every conference and lecture. He and Bess made the happiest and most hospitable couple. And Bess’ Greek food was always welcome.

      For a few years Ernie worried about Bess. She was no spring chicken either and she was not a Christian. Ernie studied with her, pleaded with her, and had myself and visiting preachers come by and try to persuade her also to obey the gospel of Jesus Christ. He never “ran interference” for her or tried to protect her from the truth. After a few frustrating years, Bess finally broke down and admitted that  the reason she had refused baptism was because she was deathly afraid of the water. Ernie was as surprised as I was to hear her secret. I made promises to Bess right then and she trusted me. We met at the building and she let me lead her slowly, one step at a time, down into the water. Once there and when she had calmed down and gathered herself together, I slowly lowered her into the water, reassuring her every inch of the way. At last, and for just a moment, she was buried in water.  It was a great moment for Ernie, to be one spiritually with such a good woman whom he loved dearly. And it was a joy for me to be able to speak at her funeral a few years after that and know that she passed on as a child of God in every way.

       When Bess passed from this life it took a lot out of Ernie, but he stood strong and tall. About a year after her death he adopted Bess’ daughter, at her age of 59. Her own father had died when she was nine and Ernie just loved that girl. When Lorna and I would visit that church for years afterward, Ernie was always there. Eyes beginning to fade, but still lanky and laughing. First with a cane, and later with a walker, if he couldn’t do anything else, he could welcome folks to worship; and he did, even in his nineties.

       Ernie taught me the reality of the parable about the eleventh hour workers who show up to work. It really never is too late as long as breath remains in us. He taught me that whatever stage of life we find ourself in there is still something that we can do to encourage the Lord’s cause. He taught me that laughing is contagious and it’s so much more pleasant than complaining about the problems of age. And he taught me not to give up on someone who sincerely loves the Lord. There may be something that they’re wrestling with that I have no idea about.

               Ernie Taylor, who always referred to himself as just a farm boy from the south, just a mule skinner from Tennessee, went to see Bess last week. If it was possible I’m thinking she probably had a pan of baklava waiting on him. That woman could sure cook. He went to be with his Lord where now his eyes are clear again, his shoulders are strong, his back is straight, and at the great gate those huge hands of his are probably extended in welcome to everyone who comes after him.