Branham Stories
A Holy Man's Wife - Pastor's Wife
I've come to one of our great Pentecostal moves, here not long ago. I had a tent set up.
And the pastor said to me, he said, "My wife is the organist. "
I said, "That's good, brother."
"Do you mind her playing?"
I said, "No. No, sir. I sure don't."
And he went to the manager, and the manager, said... Brother Baxter said, "That's all right."
He said, "Brother Branham, come over here. I want you to meet my wife."
And I went over there. (Now, now, please forgive me. See, I'm not trying to make a remark; I'm trying to make a statement. See?) And the woman had one of these here manicure, or, I don't know, that stuff, you know, all fixed up, and I never seen such in my life, and a dress that was so way down in here, no back in it, and hardly any bottom in it. And I--I never seen such a look in my life. And she had great big earrings hanging down like this, and a whole lot of stuff on.
And I looked around. I thought, "Oh, me. I'm a Baptist and I know better than that." I looked again. I said... Now, please, this is not a joke. But I had to say it to the brother, and I hope it helped him, not saying it to be different; if I did, I was a hypocrite (See?), needed to be cleaned up myself.
I said, "Mister, did you say your wife was a saint?"
Said, "Oh, yes."
I said, "She looks like a hain't to me." I said, "I--I never seen such a sight in my life as a minister's wife. That don't look like the wife of a holy man."
And neither does the church of the living God, depending on her fashions, her tea parties, and bunco parties, and card games, and dances, and socials, adorning herselves like that with the world, look like a holy God's bride. When she smokes cigarettes, and dances, and parties, and soup suppers, and cocktail drinking, and all like that, and say they're the bride of Christ?
That don't look like a holy man's wife to me. No, sir. He wouldn't choose such a thing. He'd get a woman that was right, look like what He was trying to represent. I believe that's true. That might hurt a little bit.
My old southern mother's gone. When I was a little boy, we used to have--didn't have nothing to eat hardly. And we had black-eyed peas and corn bread. I don't know whether you know what they are or not. So we hadn't... She didn't have any grease through the year. And we'd... almost have to take an old... big old pan like that, and put meat skins in it. We'd get where they'd cut--the butchers would cut the meat off and give us the skin. And we'd render it out to get the grease and pour it on there.
Every Saturday night mama said we needed a dose of castor oil. And I--I just can't stand the stuff even yet. And I'd have to take it. I'd come to her holding my nose like this. I'd say, "Mama, I--I just can't take it." I said, "It makes me so sick."
She said, "If it don't make you sick, it don't do you any good."
So I think that's the way with preaching the Gospel. If it don't stir you up a little bit, get your--feel your spiritual gastronomics started right, make you a little sick to examine yourself with the Bible; see if that old temper, and selfishness, ungodliness, love of the world, television, and things at night. And leaving the church set empty, and the pews set empty, when you ought to be out there like Jesus (you got His Spirit in you), trying to get everybody in the country to come to your church to receive Christ. And we call ourselves then the bride of Christ."
