A Drink of Water

A STORY FROM THE CAP ARCHIVES, 1977

By Christian Appalachian Project Founder Rev. Ralph Beiting

To listen to Rev. Ralph Beiting tell this story, follow this link: http://bit.ly/DrinkofWater

I remember one day when we were out on Highway 421, about half a dozen miles out of Hyden, Kentucky. There was a nice cluster of houses, so I decided to stop and do some preaching. The house that was most centrally located had a nice porch and a shade tree in front, and just seemed the ideal place for a preaching stop. I knocked on the door and a little old man answered.

“I wonder if we might ask a favor of you,” I inquired. “We need some electricity to run our amplifier.”

“What are you up to?” he asked.

I said, “We’re visiting here in the area, and I’d like to talk a little bit about Jesus. We’d like to sing some religious hymns and spend about a half hour or forty-five minutes with you all.”

“Well, I’m a preacher myself,” he said, “so I reckon I couldn’t do anything but say yes to that.”

So I gave a signal to the young men, and they began to bring up the extension cord while others started setting up the loudspeakers and amplifiers.

The minister man looked at me and said, “By the way, what kind of religion are you?”

“I belong to the Catholic Church,” I said.

He said, “Now whoa, just back off there now. I don’t want to get involved with anybody that’s from that Catholic Church. I just reckon we better forget all about this.”

“Well, we just can’t forget all about it,” I replied. “It’s an important subject. God is worthwhile; no matter who speaks a good word on His behalf, it’s worth hearing.”

He said, “Yea, but I don’t want to have anythin’ to do with Catholics.”

After a little while I saw I wasn’t going to get anywhere, so I said to him, “Let me ask you another question. If I came here today and asked you for a cup of water to drink, would you give it to me?”

Rev. Beiting was well known for preaching throughout Appalachia.

“Why you know I’d have to give that to you,” he replied. “The Bible says, ‘As long as you gave a cup of water in my name, you gave it to me,’ so I’d have to give you a cup of water.”

“Well, what I’m asking for is not a cup of water,” I said. “All I’m asking for is a plug full of electricity.”

So he said, “Well, I don’t reckon I understand exactly what you’re saying.”

“Well, it’s the same difference,” I said. “All I’m asking you to do is give me a little electricity for my plug; it’s the same thing as asking for a little water for my cup.”

“I don’t quite follow you,” he said. “But it sounds like it’s got something to do with the Good Book, so I’m going to do it. But if I hear one thing out of the way, out comes your plug.”

We spent about 45 minutes preaching and singing, and all the time I’m wondering if the plug is coming out or not.

When the whole thing was over, he came up and shook my hand, saying, “You know, mister, you’ve done an awful big favor for me. I’ve been a preacher for a long time and it seems to me that I’ve got the wrong idea. Here I didn’t want you to preach about Jesus, ‘cause you’re a different religion than me. What you said about Him was good; I wish I could’ve said it as good.

I’m just ashamed that I thought about stopping somebody who was saying a good word for Jesus. Anytime you’re back in this neighborhood, you’ve got to promise me you’ll stop here. You’ll get all the electricity that plug can handle right here from my house, and you’ll get a cup of water too, something cold to drink.”

Well, I stopped there for the next three years. The last time I stopped, the old man had died. I often remember, though, that summer day in Leslie County, where prejudice had a funeral. We buried a little bit of it. There was understanding, respect, and appreciation. It’s a nice kind of thing to remember, I think.

Rev. Beiting loved to sing and always incorporated music into his street preaching whenever possible.