Called to Controversy

by Ruth Rosen

  * Trinity Baptist Church occupied a building that had no facility for baptizing by immersion (which is more in keeping with the Jewish cleansing ritual known as the mikvah, where the entire body must be submerged). Pastor MacDonald conducted baptisms on occasional Sunday evenings at the First Baptist Church of Lakewood, Colorado. Moishe and Ceil were baptized there on July 28, 1953.

  * Despite Uncle Dave’s explosive reaction, Moishe said, “He was also the first one in the family who showed me any respect. After I finished Bible college and I came to Denver to be ordained, he said, ‘I don’t want to encourage you to follow this religion, but I’m glad that you followed my advice and got an education.’”

  * Yiddish word for nonsense or craziness.

  TWELVE

  It’s not so bad to be out on a limb if Christ is the branch.

  —MOISHE ROSEN

  Ceil had taken the streetcardowntown to meet Moishe at the sporting goods store. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her near the door. He rang up a sale, counted back the customer’s change, and started toward her. As he reached the door, one of the Gart brothers shouted after him, “Hey, Rosen, where you going?”

  “It’s my lunch hour,” Moishe explained, still on his way out.

  “No, it’s not, We’re too busy; we need you to cover.” He punctuated his demand with some rather colorful language. Moishe liked and respected three of the four Gart brothers; unfortunately, this happened to be the fourth.

  Moishe felt caught between his duty to the store and to his wife. Normally, he would not have hesitated to get back to work. But Ceil arranged her day so they could have lunch together.

  Moishe swallowed hard, forcing himself to remain calm. He said, “But my wife made a special trip. She wouldn’t be here if you’d told me earlier you wanted me to work through lunch today.”

  The man shrugged.“Well, that’s too bad,” he said, adorning the terse phrase with a colorful adjective.

  None of the other brothers used language like that in the store, much less in front of a lady. Finding this lack of respect for Ceil intolerable, Moishe announced once again that he was going to lunch.

  “If you do,” the man growled, “don’t bother coming back. You’re fired.”

  Moishe put a protective arm around Ceil and left without another word. They walked to their favorite lunch stop: Joe “Awful” Coffee’s—where the coffee wasn’t awful. (The owner’s last name was Coffee, and the restaurant was named for a locally famous boxer, Joe “Awful.”) Moishe, acutely conscious of being newly unemployed, considered getting hot dogs at the dime store instead, but didn’t want to spoil the day.

  “You don’t have to worry, you know,” he told Ceil reassuringly. “I’ll start looking for another job right away.”

  “I’m not worried.” She tried to match his optimistic tone.

  “I think it could be a pretty good adventure, looking for a different kind of work,” he said while they ate. “I’ve been doing the same thing for six years now. Probably it’s time for a change.”

  Ceil nodded. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

  Moishe already had an idea of the kind of work he wanted to do. As a teenager, he’d been influenced by a writer/philosopher named Eric Hoffer (later known as the longshoreman philosopher) and his book titled The True Believer. Moishe had heard a radio interview with Hoffer, in which the man explained that most philosophers were too “heady” to understand everyday life or care about working-class people. He insisted that until a person had worked with his hands, he was not worthy to be considered a philosopher.

  Moishe had a philosophical bent and found Hoffer’s ideas challenging. He’d even wondered occasionally if his skill as a salesman was taking the easy way when he ought to be shoulder to shoulder with those who lived by the sweat of their brow. True, he’d sweated plenty while swinging a sledgehammer in the family business, but then he’d had no choice.

  After lunch, he went home and began poring over the classified section of the newspaper. He avoided sales opportunities in favor of manual labor. Before long, he found an opening for a carpenter’s helper. With his good work history and positive attitude, Moishe got the position without much trouble. Soon he was shoveling concrete, sanding wood, hammering nails—and discovering that he was absolutely no good at it. Six weeks into the job his boss shook his head sadly and said, “Rosen, I never seen anybody work so hard and fail so badly. I hate to do this, but I won’t be able to use you after this week.”

  Next he tried driving a truck. That job ended on the very first day when the boss asked to see his Social Security card and driver’s license. Moishe could drive a truck, and he’d gotten driving experience in the army, but he’d never gotten a license because he had no car.

  A month before Easter he found work in a wholesale florist shop. After Easter, sales dropped and Moishe was laid off. From there he got a job as a shipping clerk in a department store, but he was fired for being too slow.

  One after another, Moishe attempted a series of jobs for which he was ill suited. The worst of it was that earlier, when he’d returned to the sporting goods store to pick up his last paycheck, he’d discovered the entire “firing” incident had been bogus. Nate, the senior partner, had never authorized the brother in question to fire anyone.

  “Why’d you take my brother so seriously?” Nate asked. “If you’d have come to me, I would have worked the whole thing out.” But Moishe hadn’t realized that was an option.

  After a string of failed attempts to work with his hands, Moishe decided that respect for manual labor was all very well, but doing work he was actually good at was even better. He thought about returning to Gart Brothers, but even if Nate wanted him back, Moishe would still have to humble himself to get his old job—and he wasn’t yet ready for that.

  When a friend mentioned that the Fairmount Cemetery had an opening for a sales manager, Moishe made an appointment. He asked Ceil to pray for him as he left for the important interview. Moishe arrived at the cemetery’s office, confidently answered the interviewer’s questions, and felt relieved as the interviewer nodded his satisfaction. Moishe then asked a few questions of his own and learned that his would be the only full-time salaried sales position. Four part-time salesmen, older men, worked during the evenings, and three women looked for customers from 3:00 to 5:00 p.m. They all worked on commission. “You can run the operation however you see fit, as long as sales remain up,” the interviewer explained. “You seem very well qualified; the job is yours if you want it.”

  Moishe wanted it.

  He sized up his staff within the first week. The four salesmen were buddies. In addition to selling cemetery plots they were in the real estate business, and some sold merchandise on the side. The women were likewise working other jobs.

  The group had developed a strategy, and one of the salesmen had explained it rather crudely. “Get ’em while they’re weeping,” he advised his new sales manager. “Someone comes in to buy a plot for mom, that’s the time to ask him or her about a personal resting place. I tell them, ‘We can get you a place next to the dearly departed, but it’s a desirable location and I can’t promise it will still be available if you wait.’” The other employees nodded approvingly.

  Moishe recoiled inwardly but did not say much. He didn’t want to quarrel with them over their ethics. He asked a few questions, ascertained that each one did, indeed, have other sales jobs and sources of income. He knew that there’d be trouble if he let some go, but not others. He wanted to start fresh with a new set of employees.

  The following week he called a meeting of the staff. “I know it’s short notice, but I’m going to have to let you all go. I think you knew there might be some restructuring when the company hired me. I appreciate all your work, but I’ll be bringing in a team of dedicated salesmen who will be working solely for the cemetery.”

  Moishe’s membership at Trinity Baptist Church had brought him into contact with several luminaries from Denver Seminary (then called
Conservative Baptist Seminary in Denver), including Dr. Vernon Grounds, who at that time was the dean.* Dr. Grounds had shown himself a friend to Moishe, and through him, Moishe learned that many seminary students needed part-time work. Moishe felt that ministers-in-training would be sensitive in caring for bereaved customers. He visited the seminary and recruited his entire sales team from the student body.

  It was the kind of move he would later refer to as “convergence” because it brought together multiple purposes. It provided more compassionate care for his customers, and it helped the theological students cover their school and personal expenses. Finally, it provided a dedicated staff whose commissions depended solely on the cemetery, which was advantageous for the company.

  Selling burial plots wasn’t nearly as much fun as selling cameras, but Moishe did well at it, and the sales job at Fairmount Cemetery turned out to be an important, if brief, chapter in his life. First, it helped him develop a spiritual discipline. This began as he walked through the cemetery grounds, initially to acquaint himself with the property he would be selling. As he passed through the rows of headstones, he found himself reminded of various people he cared about, and he began to pray for them. When he found, quite by accident, that he could walk and even observe his surroundings while praying, it revolutionized his prayer life and became one of his better habits for decades to come.

  In addition to prayer, working at the cemetery provided a context for Moishe to do what he loved best: tell others about the hope he had found in Jesus. Many customers left, not only having bought a burial plot, but also having received something even greater at no cost: the joy of reconciliation with God and the promise of eternal life through Jesus.

  Finally, one of the men Moishe hired from the seminary helped him take the next step in his call to ministry, a step that would help prepare him to change the face of Jewish missions.

  Moishe grew up in an era when it was the norm to be cause-oriented. It was understood that people were meant to dedicate their lives to something beyond their personal satisfaction. To him, “witnessing” (telling people how and what God had done for him) came naturally. He recalled, “From the start, I witnessed to everyone that I could. And maybe even to some that I should not have, because I was at work on my boss’s time.”

  He recalled, “Many people prayed with me, but I noticed that only a few stuck. That’s when I realized that it wasn’t too hard to get somebody to pray with you to receive the Lord, but that didn’t mean they were eager to start a new life. So, I realized even before I became a missionary that one shouldn’t push.” As a result, Moishe was never tremendously excited over the news of someone’s initial decision to follow Jesus. He always figured it was best to wait and watch for evidence that the person had truly had a life-changing encounter with God.

  Much of what Moishe learned in his earliest days of faith was from Trinity Baptist Church. He formed his first opinion of what a good sermon should be from his pastor, Donald MacDonald, whom he described as

  a very analytical preacher. . . . MacDonald’s genius was that he could give the backgrounding in such a way as to illuminate the Scripture in its original meaning. He’d paint a scene, draw you in. You didn’t feel inadequate or focused on the fact that the preacher knew all these details that you didn’t know; you were too busy listening and envisioning the details he described.*

  Many people at the church were scholars—several were professors from the seminary—and were much better formally educated than our pastor. But none of them claimed any greater knowledge; he was a phenomenon. And on top of that, he was a superb musician. He played the trombone and on Sunday evenings, he had this brass quartet. His music as well as his preaching brought a great deal of excellence and dignity to the ministry of our church—and that meant a lot to me.

  Harold Deinstadt was one of the seminary students Moishe had hired to work with him at the cemetery; it was he who helped clarify Moishe’s call to ministry, and thus he played a pivotal part in Moishe’s life. Harold really could not pinpoint a time or place related to their conversations that led to Moishe’s ministry:

  Martin felt God had called him to be a witness to the Jewish people, and I encouraged him to get the training to do so, and before you know it they left for Bible school in New Jersey. We saw each other daily, and I tried to be a help to him as a new Christian. He later told me I’d had a real influence in his life, and that has been a real point of satisfaction and joy for me as I have followed his career. But once Martin left Denver, that was the last of any regular contact I had with him. After I graduated from seminary, we took a church in Maine, and since we were back East we made a point to go to his house and stay overnight there in New Jersey.”

  Moishe had a much more crystallized memory of the role that Harold Deinstadt played in his life:

  He was one of the Christians who taught me a great deal, by his example and through our daily conversations. At one point he asked me if God had called me to witness for him, and I said “yes.” Then he wanted to know what I intended to do about it. I knew that God had called me that day at the Pillar of Fire Church, but I hadn’t realized that I was supposed to do anything about it, other than what I was already doing—which was to tell everyone I could about Jesus. Harold pointed out that God had called him to be a pastor, and as a result he had trained for the ministry and would go on to be the pastor of a church. If God had called me to be a witness to the Jewish people, what was I going to do about it? Harold got me in motion.

  That was how Moishe realized that when God spoke to him about being a witness to his people, he did not mean it as a hobby or a part-time job. After all, there were missionaries, like Hannah Wago, whose full-time occupation was to witness to Jewish people. Moishe spoke to Mrs. Wago about this, and before long, the American Board of Missions to the Jews (ABMJ) had offered to sponsor his education and training. He applied and was accepted to Northeastern Bible Institute (which later became Northeastern Bible College) in Essex Fells, New Jersey.

  Naturally word reached Ben that his son was planning to become a missionary. One day, to Moishe’s great relief, he received an answer to a fervent prayer. His brother, Don, called and said, “Dad wants to see you.” The meeting was arranged, and a reconciliation of sorts took place.

  Since the heart-wrenching session a year earlier with the elder Rosens, Moishe and Ceil had honored Ben’s edict that they have no direct contact with them. They had, however, made it possible for Don to take Lyn to her grandparents’ house for weekly visits. Ben now made it known that he did not want to be estranged from his son and daughter-in-law any longer. They would be welcome in his home as long as they did not attempt to discuss religion.

  Ben also made it known that he was genuinely concerned about his son’s mental health. He could not fathom how a sane Jew would choose such a life. He’d seen that his son was willing to be rejected, even disinherited—and for what? Had Martin considered that it might be a delusion? Would he make just one appointment to see Dr. Cohen, who was a psychiatrist? Ben was willing to pay for the visit.

  Moishe could see that his father was not being sarcastic or mean-spirited, and he agreed to see a doctor, strictly for his father’s peace of mind. It began with a phone call. “Before I make an appointment there are a couple of things I need to know,” Moishe told the doctor. “Is it possible, do you think, that a sane Jew could believe that Jesus is the Messiah?” If the doctor felt that was grounds for declaring him insane, Moishe would not have seen any point in going. However, the doctor did not dismiss the possibility as insane. Moishe continued, “Then, if you examine me and find me of sound mind, will you give me a written statement to that effect?” When the doctor agreed, Moishe made the appointment for the very next day.

  At the psychiatrist’s office, Moishe explained that he was there because his father wanted assurance that Moishe was not insane.

  “Can you tell me why you think he doubts your sanity?” asked the psychiatrist.

  Moish
e began, “I have become a believer in Jesus, and lately I have felt the hand of God guiding me . . .”

  The doctor leaned forward and asked, perhaps a little too eagerly, “Tell me, Martin, just where on your body do you feel the hand of God?”

  “No, no!” Moishe quickly explained. “That’s idiomatic. I didn’t feel the hand of God physically. I just meant I had an inner conviction, a strong sense that God had a certain direction for my life.” The psychiatrist’s initial assumption was not lost on Moishe. He realized that in just a year he had picked up a great deal of church jargon. He determined that he would never talk to anyone who wasn’t a Christian in a way that he himself would not have understood before he became acclimated to Christian culture.

  Moishe continued to explain his plans to go to Bible school and become a missionary. The doctor asked routine questions and concluded that Moishe probably had a condition that he described as a low-grade depression, which he did not regard as serious, nor did he suggest any treatment. He wrote a brief letter certifying that in his professional opinion, Martin Meyer Rosen was of a sound mind, with no indication of insanity. Moishe often joked that no matter how often people accused him of being a meshuggener (crazy person), he had written proof of his sanity.

  Meanwhile the job at the cemetery continued to go well. Moishe not only kept his sales relatively high, but he had many opportunities to tell people about Jesus. Yet none of them were Jewish. Jews didn’t buy in Fairmount Cemetery because Denver had a Jewish cemetery, and members of the community would not have considered it proper to be buried elsewhere.

  More and more, Moishe found himself thinking about Gart Brothers Sporting Goods Store. Nearly all the employees were Jewish, and Moishe cared about many of them. Not that he begrudged gentiles or strangers the opportunity to hear the gospel, but he longed to tell his own people about the Messiah. He recalled, “There were only a few months left before I would be leaving Denver. I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving without doing my best to be a witness to the people at Gart Brothers. So I decided I better humble myself.” He got his job back, but he knew he had to keep his sales up to stay on the job. He did, and he had that job until the family moved to New Jersey.