Insufficient Faith

By Pastor John Terpstra

Insufficient Faith introduces James Bakker, a man who makes a profession of faith to be a Christian early in life. For years, he lives by this faith but discovers the distinction between holding to a faith that does not bring true salvation and receiving Jesus Christ in a way that radically changes his life.

The author, John Terpstra, weaves into this story the insights he has gained from nearly four decades serving as the pastor of the same church and seeing firsthand how people come to discover the differences between insufficient and sufficient faith.

Insufficient Faith challenges people who have an insufficient faith to question and examine themselves to see if they be in the faith, as Paul admonishes in 2 Corinthians 13:5. The novel also causes believers to present the gospel the way they must present it to follow the charge given in Colossians 4:34.

Jesus did not commit Himself to the multitudes who believed Him to be the Christ because He knew they were unbelieving believers. They remained spiritually dead. Insufficient Faith tells the story of a man who had an insufficient faith and who, for years, was an unbelieving believer. Could it not be true that Bible-believing local churches have such people as members? Could it not be true that others who were attached to local churches but have left the church did so because they had an insufficient faith? The answers to these questions will emerge from the pages of Insufficient Faith.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Mar 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9781973619123

Pastor John Terpstra

Pastor John Terpstra, a seminary graduate, has served as the pastor of the same church for thirty-seven years. His rich history of experience in ministry shapes his writing. Terpstra currently lives in Barron, Wisconsin.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his saints.

—Psalm 116:15, emphasis added

Dad died on April 12, 2017, at the age of eighty-three years and 362 days. Visitation was at Schneider Funeral Home in Onalaska, and burial was going to be in one of the last lots left in Asbury Cemetery on Brice Prairie, just across the street from Dad’s house and down the road from ours. He would be buried next to Mom, who preceded him in death by twenty-seven years. He never remarried, and the last three years of his life he longed to be with her.

I didn’t dread the funeral at all. If the truth was known, I was looking forward to it. Dad used to say that there were three reasons the death of a saint was precious to the Lord: because of the type of life he or she has followed; because of the way the believer dies, not kicking and screaming but ready and eager to be with the Lord; and because of where he or she ends up. Dad filled the bill on all three counts.

The last three years of his life were frustrating and painful. He had kidney failure and was on dialysis. We were thankful for the extra time he was given. He made it to weddings and saw the births of grandchildren, baptisms, graduations, and other milestones. Dialysis also gave me and other family members and friends quality time with him. He went down to the Lutheran hospital three times a week for treatment and would spend several hours there. He needed to be transported, and often I chose to sit there with a book or a laptop and talk. More times than not, I listened. I suppose much of what he said was nostalgic. There were random stories from his childhood, from his dating life with Mom, and from our childhood. There were the history stories and even thoughts on current events. On the other hand, Dad lived a significant life and had a powerful story to tell.

My husband, David, and I arrived at the funeral home at one thirty. It didn’t open to the public until 2:00 p.m., but the family gathered first for a private viewing, hopefully to get the tears out of the way. It didn’t work, as during the day, every time I saw someone who was attached to Dad, there would be that initial grief, and the waterworks would start.

David loved Dad too. Dad was so accepting and encouraging. They were a lot alike in many ways. Both were fearless witnesses, and both had a good sense of humor. I was two years older than Dave, and he doggedly pursued me for a while until he won my heart. I remember Dad once telling me, You don’t have to date or marry him, but you do have to treat him kindly and with respect. This followed a time when Dave visited our church. He was a member of the south side church crosstown. I saw him and asked Mom if I could help her in the nursery so that I would not have to sit with him. Dad was watching all of this, and when the service was over, he saw David in the hallway looking for me. He told Dave, Becky is hiding in the nursery, waiting for you to leave. Go get her. I was so embarrassed when Dad told me what he said, even though it was true. Dave persisted, and I could not have asked for a better man with whom to share my life.

There were thirty-three of a possible thirty-seven family members at the funeral home for the initial viewing. Dad planned the funeral arrangements. His plot had been purchased twenty-seven years earlier when he purchased Mom’s. Because the cemetery was close to being full, Dad bought two more plots at that time. He once quipped that these two were up for purchase on a first-come, first-served basis. Dave and I purchased them.

My sibling, Michael, would deliver the funeral message, Joseph would read the obituary and give a brief eulogy, J.P. (James Peter) was to read the scripture, and Dave was to close the service in prayer. Dad had told Michael he wanted a simple gospel message and would come back to haunt him if he delivered some weak easy-believism sermon. He had to preach repentance.

When Michael asked him what he meant (tongue in cheek, as he had gotten the lecture before), Dad ranted, Instead of calling men and women to surrender to Christ and repent from their sin, modern evangelism asks them only to accept some basic facts about Him. This guts the gospel of its converting power. He didn’t raise his voice, but Michael heard the intensity with which it was delivered. Dad went on, Easy-believism nearly meant my spending eternity in hell.

As the family exchanged initial greetings, the funeral director moved the crowd into the chapel. There he was. I mean, there was his corpse. At almost eighty-four and with one kidney having failed him, he was only a ghost of what he had been just three years before. The funeral director had worked at giving him color, but his mouth didn’t look right. On the other hand, he was wearing a US Marine Corps uniform and wore the two medals he had received for service in Korea.

Michael took charge with some words and scripture. He read from Philippians 1:21, where Paul wrote, For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain. He said,

Dad, as we all know, had wanted to depart and be with Christ for three years. He longed for it but reasoned that each day on this planet was one more opportunity to serve Christ. We also agree that this afternoon and evening, along with tomorrow, is both a celebration of his life and one last opportunity to minister to those who will be here who are lost and to believers who are not looking at life as summed up in Christ. Let us laugh, cry, relate, tell stories, and be gracious to each and every person who is paying their respects. Make sure your life is summed up in Christ.

Then he prayed a simple and short prayer, invoking God’s blessing on the visitation.

The general public started trickling in before two. The first ones there, unsurprisingly, were Janice Johnson, her daughter Katie and son-in-law Max, and their three children. Janice was my closest friend in the world, and I came to know her through Dad’s influence. I don’t know why she didn’t come to the family showing because she called Dad Uncle Jim by his insistence. She gave me a hug, and we both cried. She actually sobbed, and then Katie started to cry. Janice said, Jesus saved me, but Uncle Jim introduced me to Him.

Church people started showing after two. There was the new pastor of Calvary Baptist in La Crosse where Dad, my family, Janice, and her daughter’s family were members. It was also the church where Dad’s parents had been members, as were my brothers. Randall Jackson was a seminary graduate, a fine preacher, and overall just a good man. Dad had been on dialysis the entire time Jackson was pastor. Occasionally, he had taken Dad to the hospital and had learned to love and respect him. I think he heard nearly all the stories—maybe a couple of times.

I was shocked to see Kay Lynn Richardson. She was eighty-five years old and, according to Dad, the single most influential person on earth to Dad’s conversion. She made the rounds with the family and came to me. Once again, there were tears. She then said, Your dad supported me and my husband, Lloyd, for nearly fifty years. He wrote me of his salvation the day after he returned from Korea. That was an answer to the prayers I had been praying since our high school days. Her husband had passed two years earlier.

Another person of interest to introduce was Mark Robb, the grandson of the deacon and Sunday school teacher Wayne Robb. Wayne had passed away over thirty years earlier. In many ways, Wayne was a godly man and was very involved in the ministry of Calvary. He was not, however, a theologian.

Then there were the Whitmans. Although not blood related to Dad, they were to Mom and us, his children. It was through Dad’s and Mom’s testimony that they came to Christ. Since Alice’s death, the third generation lost touch with us; yet Alex, who was seventy-eight, and his wife, Lois, were there, along with Amanda Moorehead and her husband, Vince, and Abby Pierson and her husband, Arthur. They were all elderly, and their sister had been dead for years. Yet they were paying their last respects to a man who had introduced them to their Savior.

The visitation demonstrated clearly that grief and joy are neither exclusive nor opposites. We definitely experienced a sense of loss, and there was a void where Dad had been. I would never again on this side of glory ask his opinion, hear his wisdom, or hear his laugh.

On the other hand, he now was breathing the air of heaven, was reunited with Mom, and best of all, was with the Lord Jesus Christ, for whom he lived for sixty-three years. We told stories, laughed, and cried the hours through.

CHAPTER 2

The gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.

—Romans 6:23

Dad was born on April 15, 1933, on the family farm in Brice Prairie, Wisconsin. Grandpa and Grandma Bakker were both immigrants from the Netherlands. Before buying their property, they had settled in New Amsterdam, five miles to the north. Brice Prairie was a flat piece of land between the Black and Mississippi rivers, so it had rich, black soil.

He was the fifth son and sixth child born to Peter and Sanne Bakker. Peter and Sanne had been saved during tent evangelistic meetings held in the late 1920s, and as early as Dad could remember, their family of eight would pile into the car on Sunday and travel to North La Crosse, where they attended Calvary Baptist Church.

During the summer of 1944, Dad’s oldest brother, Peter Jr., was drafted to fight in the war. By winter, he left to fight in Italy. Meanwhile, Dad remembers making a profession of faith in Sunday school. Deacon Wayne Robb taught opening exercises as well as fifth and sixth grade boys. Dad was in the fifth grade and was routinely getting into trouble. This particular Sunday, Deacon Wayne was illustrating the fact that saving faith is a gift. His text was Romans 6:23, For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Deacon Robb was good at using object lessons, and he pulled out a quarter from his pocket. He held it up for all to see. It was a freshly minted shiny quarter with the date 1943 from the Denver mint. The deacon continued, Now you could work for this, and I would pay you. It is then called a wage. You see, however, in the spiritual arena, you and I are sinners, and the wage we earn from God is death. Jesus Christ, however, through His love and grace, received our punishment when He died on the cross.

He was still holding the shiny quarter for everyone to see as his voice grew quiet and intense. Salvation is now offered to all as a gift. He says, ‘Come unto me, all ye that labor, and I will give you rest.’ Come and take salvation freely. You can’t earn it and will never deserve it. To illustrate this point, who would like to come up here this morning and receive this quarter? He had heard the illustration before, so Dad’s hand shot up like a rocket. He was called up and received his gift of a quarter.

Later in Sunday school class, Deacon Robb did some serious arm twisting for Dad to receive God’s gift of salvation, which was eternal life. Along with Dad, another young man, Richard Washburn, received the gift of salvation. After Dad prayed to ask Jesus into his heart, Wayne told him, Now hang on to that quarter. Whenever you doubt your salvation, you can reassure yourself that you received the free gift of salvation. Later that summer, along with the pastor’s daughter, Kay Lynn Shannon, they were baptized and added to the church. Of the three, Dad was convinced Kay Lynn was the only one truly converted.

Sometime after Dad’s profession of faith and his baptism, there was an incident in Sunday school that he thought indicated the superficial nature of his decision. He and Richard were sitting in the back row of opening exercises whispering and laughing about something. Wayne was frustrated with their behavior and took the metal chairs upon which they were seated and told them to follow him.

The fourth through sixth grade opening exercises met in the fellowship hall. Classrooms surrounded the fellowship hall, and then to the north, a set of stairs led to the entryway to the auditorium. The adult class met in the auditorium during opening exercises and Sunday school classes. Wayne, carrying both chairs with Dad and Richard following, were led into the entryway where he angrily and noisily placed the metal chairs on the tile floor. He told the two supposed new converts to sit there until he came to get them. Dad said his initial thought was I hope Dad doesn’t hear this followed by I hope he doesn’t ask for the quarter back.

Dad pointed to this experience as typical of his total lack of repentance. His thoughts were not about how bad behavior reflected upon God and interrupted fellowship because of its disrespect to God’s Word but about the consequences of his discovery to have misbehaved at Sunday school.

Grandpa Bakker did hear the clanging of the chairs, as did most of the adults. There were a few deaf people who didn’t hear. After Sunday school Grandpa gave Dad a grave look that struck fear into his heart. Following the morning service, Wayne approached Grandpa, and the conversation went something like this, "Peter, I had a problem