My Tribute to John E. Goble

Your heroes will help you find good in yourself.

Your friends won’t forsake you for somebody else.

They’ll both stand beside you through thick and thin,

And that’s how it goes with heroes and friends.

When Randy Travis came out with “Heroes and Friends” in the summer of 1990, I was 9 years old, and John Goble was 6 years into his 41-year pastorate at New Friendship Church. “Brother John,” as he was affectionately known, was never my pastor, nor have I ever spent any considerable amount of time with him alone, but he did preach a lot of funerals where I work, and he even came to the church I pastor and preached in a Holy Week service we had a few years back. I knew him, I respected him, and I looked up to him—so much so that I wept at the news of his passing.

This is my tribute to John E. Goble.

“He was a good man,” my dad said today as we talked about the news of John’s passing—both of us trying to rush the conversation along lest we think too much about what it means to live in a world without John Goble. As a matter of fact, John was the man who was supposed to preach my dad’s funeral one day, but the Lord had other plans.

I’ve thought much about how I would describe John to someone who didn’t have the privilege of knowing him. With a somewhat limited vocabulary and shallow well of creativity to draw from, I’ve landed on the following comparison:

John Goble was the perfect pairing of Marshal Matt Dillon from Gunsmoke and Mr. Fred Rogers from Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.

Let me try to explain.

He didn’t pull any punches…

John had a chiseled, almost “westerny” sort of look about him. His voice had an intentional cadence, and his words were to the point. When he spoke, he would raise his shoulders, which always made him look bigger than he actually was, and his eyes seemed to always be pointing at you. He looked and sounded like a man who could clean up the streets of Dodge without having to draw his pistol or call for a deputy to help him.

Unlike some, John didn’t have to use force, theatrics, or silly one-liners to try to grab people’s attention when he preached. Instead, when Brother John stepped behind the pulpit, folks listened to this seemingly simple man “cut straight” those difficult theological truths—and we were all the better off for hearing it from him. I depended on John (when I saw his name in the obituary as the minister who would be officiating) to explain God’s Word confidently, simply, and with great clarity, and I don’t remember a single occasion when he didn’t deliver.

He always gave me the gospel when he preached. In a time when many folks believe that more is better, John did more preaching with fewer words than almost anyone I had ever heard. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not saying that his words were few, but I am saying that his words were intentional and chosen carefully. He faithfully demonstrated for me what it looked like to preach with clarity out of his meditation on the text and contemplation of the God who wrote it.

But he made me feel welcomed…

On his popular television show, Mr. Rogers would often say, “You are special because nobody in the world is exactly like you.” John made me feel that way, too. No matter if I sat with a crowd of people as he preached or in a one-on-one conversation at a cemetery, I always felt like I was welcomed into Brother John’s life and that he wanted to speak to me for no other reason than that he thought I was worth his time.

You know, even preachers can be snarky and territorial, but I never got that from him. He would go out of his way to talk about my life and encourage me in the ministry and my job.

A few weeks ago, I preached on Mark 1, where the Spirit drives Jesus into the wilderness. In a post I made on social media, John commented that Jesus walked into that wilderness as a man full of faith, trusting in His Father for His provision and protection. When I read his comment, it hit me—I had placed so much emphasis on the Spirit’s work in the life of Jesus that I failed to mention the faith of Jesus. The next Sunday, I stood and told my people that John had softly corrected me and that I needed them to consider that part of the text, too.

Correction like Marshal Dillon with Festus—but with the loving care of Mr. Rogers.

I will miss Brother John. Never again will I get to sit and listen to him comfort a family about the passing of their loved one, because where John is, there are no more funerals.

Before I wrap this up, John would have me remind you that he is now with the Master. Faith has become sight. He would have me tell you that he is not getting what he deserves but instead getting what Christ has won for him. Jesus was John’s only hope, and because of Jesus’ perfect life, atoning death, and victorious resurrection, evil has been defeated. Death has lost.

Right now, John is safe and sound—happy. John has been welcomed into a “neighborhood” where everyone is family and enjoys the joy of the Lord.

We too will meet him there one day—those who trust in this Jesus.

And that’s how it goes with heroes and friends.