The Old Order Changeth
Gordon saw many changes during the almost eight years he served the Newmarket and Ascot Vale churches in North Melbourne. The narrow, single-storey slum houses gradually gave place to new 30 storey concrete buildings which eventually housed more than four thousand people.
“I’ve changed too,” he remarked to Beverley as they discussed their work. “I’m not the callow, inexperienced student who took over these churches. One way and another I’ve learned a lot. Remember Mrs Gasip?”
They both smiled. One of Gordon’s most unnerving lessons occurred during his first few weeks as a student minister. Eager to do the right thing and to help wherever necessary, he attended every church function that he could sandwich in between studies. So when invited to present a devotional at the first meeting of the 1958 Newmarket Christian Women’s Fellowship he went along, never dreaming that he was in for a battle.
There were six mature ladies present, plus the leader, Mrs Gasip. In two months he had learned a lot about Mrs Gasip. She ruled the roost at home and in the housing block where she lived she cowed all the other women. Her sharp tongue and bossy manner were most evident at church and he had already noticed that rather than cause a fuss, the other members bowed to her every whim.
Mrs Gasip was a big woman with a strident voice and a preference for vividly-coloured floral print dresses. A little sleuthing among the church books showed him that three out of the five previous student-ministers who served at the church had not only left the Training College but, apparently intimidated by locking horns with the formidable Mrs Gasip, had given up all thought of the ministry.
Although he was so young, Gordon had some rather rigid ideas as to the dignity and role of student ministers and he sensed that confrontation with this strong-minded lady was inevitable.
It began innocently enough. As the business discussion of the Christian Women’s Fellowship progressed, one of the ladies mentioned that the Sunday School was growing and they really needed an extra teacher.
“Oh, that’s easily settled.” Mrs Gasip spoke decisively. “Beverley Vernon can come and help you.”
Gordon looked up and smiled, he thought she was joking. Beverley lived in Box Hill and attended her local Church. Once or twice she had come to Newmarket to hear him preach, but that was all. He shook his head.
Mrs Gasip’s face flamed. Obviously she was not joking so he quickly explained, “Beverley can’t teach Sunday School here. She teaches a class at Box Hill and she has a mid-week Girls’ Club with about sixty members. She can’t possibly leave all that to attend this church.”
Mrs Gasip’s eyes hardened and she straightened up in her chair.” If we want her to teach here, she will,” she said. “We are paying you and you are to serve wherever we decide.”
Gordon smiled as he replied evenly. “The church is paying ME. It is not paying my girlfriend. You can’t expect her to give up her church work and come all the way down here simply because I am your student minister.”
No one spoke. Gordon’s argument was logical and Mrs Gasip knew it but she was not going to back down. Her eyes narrowed and she leaned across the table and stared at the youth who had dared to question her decision.
“The Bible College sends us students to train them,” she said coldly. “One of the first things a student-minister must learn is to obey the decisions of the church.”
For just a moment Gordon hesitated. He felt the tension in the air. It seemed as if the six-woman audience was holding its breath awaiting the outcome. Was it worth risking his job? He decided that it was.
He gazed straight into Mrs Gasip’s face as he said calmly, “When the church speaks officially through its board or membership vote, I will listen. You are only one person, Mrs Gasip. What you say is your opinion only and I do not have to obey you. You may run the Christian Women’s Fellowship as you wish but your authority does not extend to matters beyond that.”
Mrs Gasip gasped. Obviously no one had ever spoken to her like that. For a few seconds their eyes locked and she glared wordlessly at him. When he refused to lower his gaze she turned her back and continued with the meeting.
Gordon excused himself and rose to leave. Something told him that he had established a basis for his student-ministry.
Soon after that incident, Mrs Gasip moved to another church. She made a great performance about her departure but no one appeared to be really sorry to see her go.
“Yes, I remember her. But the worst of all was that Functional Church Board idea that you had.” Beverley blushed at the recollection. “I never felt so nervous in my life.”
They both fell silent thinking back to another big obstacle that Gordon met during the early months of his student ministry, and one which he encountered again and again through the years ahead, resistance to change.
When he took over the inner city churches most of the members were aged and nothing had changed for decades; whereas his young brain buzzed with ideas. He wanted to see new members, new developments, new ways of doing old things.
He soon found that in a world of unavoidable changes, ageing members clung to their church and the old order of service as an anchor, the one stable item in a topsy-turvy world. They regarded new members as a threat, particularly if they were young and well- educated. Every innovation appeared as a challenge to their authority, and every suggested forward move was an implied insult to their leadership.
These tensions usually rose in Church Officers’ Meetings. The members of the Church Board, naturally comprised the half dozen oldest, most faithful and most respected church members. Persons who had the welfare of the church at heart, whose judgment could be relied upon in anything—except a forward march. These experienced men and women had seen many enthusiastic young student-ministers come and go while they, like Old Father Thames, just kept rolling along.
Gordon had only recently begun his studies at the Bible College. He had not yet learned about Church Boards and the power that they wielded, nor had he been taught how to handle them. His first tentative encounters gave him opportunity to note the resistance to change, but he was too naive to realize the strength and significance of the opposition.
In his enthusiasm he thought that all he needed to do was change the personnel of the Board. Not vote all the oldies off, oh no, he could detect an impossibility when he met one: but vote some young people on. With even numbers of old and young voters surely there would be a chance to have some of his bright ideas accepted.
He discussed his idea with Beverley. The two twenty-year olds spent most of their brief times together worrying and wondering how to handle the problem. Before he left Box Hill to return to college, he had it all worked out. He was going to introduce a brand new programme of church administration called the Functional Church Board.
Instead of one Church Board there would be separate committees for each aspect of church life: Evangelism, Education, Welfare, Finance, Social activities and so on. Each member of the dissolved Board would lead one of the other committees and report to the church monthly.
Beverley listened carefully and agreed that it was worth trying. Back at Ascot Vale Gordon announced a special meeting for next Sunday afternoon when the new plan would be presented, discussed and voted upon. He felt sure the members would go along with his ideas and break the monopoly of the few who resisted change.
But it was not to be. The next Saturday morning, when Gordon was at home in Box Hill, he felt an agonizing pain in his side.
“A ruptured appendix, my boy,” Dr Kemp looked over his glasses. “Get yourself straight to the hospital. You need an immediate operation.”
The next thing Gordon remembered clearly was waking up in the small cottage hospital with his mother and Beverley at one side of his bed and Dr Kemp at the other.
“Got it in the nick of time,” Dr Kemp exulted when he saw Gordon’s eyes open. “Just saved you, my lad. Now don’t worry about anything. I’ll be over to check you tomorrow morning and then I’ll go to the city and preach at your church for you. Can’t get anyone else at such short notice, eh?”
“Thank you,” Gordon sighed as the doctor and his mother left. That had taken care of filling his pulpit, but what about the afternoon meeting he had announced? As full consciousness returned he began to worry about that.
“They’ll all come and there’ll be no one to explain my ideas to them,” he moaned to Beverley. “I haven’t discussed the Functional Church Board idea with anyone except you.”
Suddenly he brightened. “You know all about it, Beverley. You know my plan. You could easily explain it to them. Will you go and do it?”
Beverley quailed. It was one thing to support Gordon in all his previous ideas and innovations but this was asking too much. She was not a public speaker. She couldn’t talk to a Church Board. However, after a little more discussion her love and loyalty to Gordon won out and she agreed to go to Ascot Vale on Sunday afternoon and present his idea to them.
During the church service Dr Kemp explained Gordon’s absence and asked the members go ahead with the afternoon meeting. At 3 o’clock a curious crowd gathered in the church hall and Basil Sterling, the church secretary, chaired the meeting. He began by saying:
“You all know that this meeting has been called to discuss some new hair-brained scheme of church government. Well, I want you to know that I do not agree with any new suggestion. There is nothing wrong with our Board as it is, but Mr Moyes wants you to discuss his idea. His girlfriend, Beverley, will now explain it to us.”
Trying to hide her nervousness Beverley stood up and read the printed outline of his plan that Gordon had already sent out to all the board members. Then she tried to explain how the functional committees would work, each headed by a chairman from the former board but with new people under him. She went through it all carefully and when she finished, Basil said:
“Are there any questions?”
Without pausing for an answer he asked, “Is anyone in favour?” Again without waiting for reply he put it to the vote. The vote- taking was a mere formality. Rejected and humiliated Beverley was near to tears.
However, after the meeting closed and the people began drifting homeward, some of the members came up and told Beverley that they thought it was a good idea and the church needed some changes. Basil had won, but it was an empty victory.
Apparently Basil himself began to have second thoughts about his triumph over a young defenceless girl. He approached Beverley.
“How are you going to get home? By train? No, you can’t go all that way by yourself. I will drive you home.”
“It will take you a couple of hours to drive out to Mount Albert and back,” protested Beverley. “I’ll take the train as I always do.”
“No,” said Basil. “I’ll drive you home. You are a good girl and a brave one. I admire you.”
The idea of Functional Church Government died forever, but something else was born in that church meeting. The people began to understand their young pastor and appreciate what he was trying to do. Beverley had actually won the day if not the vote.
Basil changed too. As time passed he sensed Gordon’s commitment and desire to help the church grow. He began to offer support. A little later it was he who moved the Annual Meeting of the church to ask for Gordon to continue there another two years.
Later on, after Gordon’s ordination and marriage, Basil asked for another two years, and a year after that he suggested that Gordon have a a student-minister to support him.
Twenty years later, when Gordon began his national television ministry, Basil and his wife, Dorothy, were one of the first to provide a monthly donation—a generous gift that has come every month since. Today they remain two of the Moyes’ dearest friends.
Wherever he ministered Gordon not only endeavoured to build up the church’s membership, he tried to enhance the building’s outward appearance, and that took money. Himself a faithful tithe-payer, he urged his members to accept their responsibility as stewards and support their church financially as well as by their presence.
As the months rolled by a splendid rapport developed between Gordon and his parishioners and everyone worked with a will to refurbish their old buildings and attract new members. Everyone gave to their full ability—except Ernest.
“You’ll never get anything from him,” one of the deacons sniffed. “He’s so mean he never puts more than two shillings on the offering plate.”
“Well, I’ll try.” In the past Gordon’s winning smile and persuasive arguments had figuratively coaxed blood out of a stone, and he was willing to take on old Ernest.
Ernest O’Hara never failed to attend church. An upright, highly moral old man, he vociferously opposed horse racing and gambling, even though he had made his not inconsiderable fortune from the racing industry. Years earlier he had developed a secret recipe for a `vitamin-filled supplement’ which jockeys fed to their charges to give them added strength.
Gordon arranged to meet the old man privately and then he began his sales’ pitch.
“The church is badly in need of a new organ, Brother O’Hara. The ladies have worked hard and raised a lot of money with their street stalls and other projects, but they are just about exhausted.
“Now if you donated the money for an organ we could have a brass plate made stating that the new organ was a gift to the church from Mr Ernest O’Hara, one of the long-standing most faithful members. The organ would be a memorial to you. For a mere thousand pounds your name would go down in history. You—”
“Young man,” old Ernest glowered at Gordon from under bushy grey eyebrows. “When I was a young shaver like you, I earned one pound—twenty shillings—a week. My father was a great churchman and he made me promise to give my tithe to God, and I did. I paid two shillings a week to the church and I’ve done that all my life. No one can ever say that old Ernest has not done his duty by the church.”
That was the end of the matter. Until he died, the old man, who could have paid for two organs and not missed the money, continued to put two shillings into the offering plate.
