Shoveling . . . A Lesson in Ministry

My grandfather was, in my mind, the quintessential southern farmer, whose lifetime spanned the twentieth century – from 1902 to the early 1980s. When I first read Ferol Sams’ triology that focused on growing up in the poor, rural south in the Great Depression years, I felt like I was reading about the world that my father grew up in as one of six children in my grandparents’ home.

Until I was in my early teens, my grandfather was a dairy farmer. As the oldest grandson – I was privileged to spend many days with him and at the dairy barn. There were about 60 Guernsey cows and everyone had a name. Among my favorites were “Themesong,” who got her name because she was born during Vacation Bible School when I came home singing the “themesong” for that two week summer trauma for boys who would prefer to be on the farm than in a Bible School classroom all morning. Then there was “April,” named for obvious reasons, and whom I can still see in my mind the morning I discovered that she had died during the night in giving birth to a calf.

The dairy barn that my grandfather used was equipped with electric milkers, and a huge refrigerator tank where the milk was kept until Coburg Dairy’s truck came by every other day to haul to the processing plant. I grew up drinking milk out of that tank, and to this day, refuse to drink milk out of a plastic jug!

The dairy barn itself was my favorite place to be. Eight cows at a time came in the barn. Over the years they had perfected their own pecking order – and you could just about make a roll sheet and check them off in order – early every morning (I didn’t always make the 4 a.m. call) and every afternoon (I seldom missed the 4 p.m. call). The cows would come in the barn – Queen Mary was always first – and put their heads through a stanchion – which was then closed so they would stay in place while being milked. Eight cows at a time – who were being fed “sweet feed” as we called it – a special blend provided by Purina for milking cows.

If you’ve been around farm animals very much – you won’t be surprised to know that once they were in place putting food in one end, inevitably something would happen on the other end. But dairy farmers had that figured out and right down the middle of the milking room was a trough in the floor. It was about four inches deep and twelve inches wide – and was right at the most appropriate place. As soon as that action began, there was a square faced shovel that was used to push the problem out the end of the dairy barn, where it would be collected and hauled off to fertilize something later.

My grandfather wasn’t just a dairy farmer – not that to be that would be a bad thing – but he was involved in county politics. He served on the gas rationing board during World War II, was on the county’s agricultural committee that met monthly, and other similar activities. He was well respected as a gentleman, a farmer, and a wise counsel.

I remember the afternoon, just after 4 p.m. when the first round of eight cows had just entered the barn, that Mr. Goodyear, the County Extension Agent, stopped by the dairy barn. In effect, he worked for the county agricultural committee and made regular visits to see its members, my grandfather included. He was a graduate of Clemson University with a degree in agriculture and was quite impressed with what he knew about farming, though he had never been one.

Sure enough, no sooner than he walked in the barn, the eight cows eating that sweet feed began to do what cows always seem to do in those circumstances. My grandfather picked up the square faced shovel and began to shovel the manure out of the barn.

When he finished, Mr. Goodyear seemed a little frustrated by the whole scene and said to my grandfather, “Mr. Huxford, a man of your stature shouldn’t be pushing manure out of a dairy barn. You’ve got workers who can do that.” I can’t say in here quite as directly as my twelve year old ears heard it originally, but my grandfather, whose vocabulary could be a bit salty at times, said, “Mr. Goodyear, if you want milk at the end of the day, you’ve got to be willing to shovel a little manure along the way.”

Sometimes in my 32 years of working at ACC, and certainly in the 20 year journey of preaching at First Christian Church in Tyrone, I’ve thought about that saying. I’ve shoveled a dairy barn or two full of manure – but that’s okay, for I’ve also seen some cold, Grade A milk put up on the shelf. I could spend all day telling you stories of ACC students whose lives I have been privileged to influence in one way or another, “cold, Grade A milk” – that makes me forget about the manure I had to shovel to get the opportunity.

As young Christians with a life time of real ministry before us – this is not a bad life lesson to remember. None of us can afford to think we’re too good to shovel a little manure occasionally and none of us can afford to focus on the manure and forget about the milk!

We’re in good company if we take this lesson to heart. Perhaps my grandfather learned it from Paul himself. Listen to his words in Philippians 3:8,9 – More than that, I regard everything as a loss because of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things, and I regard them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, . . .”

The Greek word I translated rubbish is skubalon. In Greek, it was not exactly “mixed company vocabulary.” My grandfather would have loved that word – he used an English equivalent we would consider impolite vocabulary in key moments – like his response to Mr. Goodyear. Here’s how the standard Greek lexicon defines it – “useless or undesirable material that is subject to disposal, refuse, garbage, manure.” In their comment on Philippians 3:8 (the only place in the NT this word occurs) they suggest a paraphrase “to convey the crudity of the Greek – ‘It’s all crap’.”

So, in the spirit of my grandfather, and more to the point in the spirit of Paul’s admonition in Philippians – if we want fresh, cold, Grade A milk at the end of the day – we’re probably will need to be willing to shovel a little manure. But that’s okay – the end product is well worth the effort.