Before Ben Haden was a Dr. Fowle, who wore a morning suit replete with Edwardian tails. His voice boomed Biblical exposition in our sanctuary for 38 years. During the week, he taught Bible at the University of Chattanooga. He was renowned for his city ministry. Hospital wings and entire buildings are named for him. I was told that he never took a salary but gave it all to the church. I always squirm when I hear that one.

Before him was a man who was a great scholar, a Dr. Venable, who died five years into his pastorate. His son, 80 years old, is my clerk of session, and I am pastor to his grandchildren and great grandchildren.

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Before Dr. Venable was Dr. Bachman, who served for 50 years, a former moderator of the old Southern Presbyterian Church, and was named the Chaplain of Chattanooga. He also distinguished himself as a chaplain in the Confederate Army. He was, moreover, a leader in the old Southern Presbyterian Church, a leader in academics, and a leader in the community. He dedicated the cornerstone of our present historic downtown church by depositing in it, literally, the Westminster Confession of Faith and catechisms, the hymn book, the minutes of the General Assembly of that year, the rolls of missionaries supported, and the membership roll of our church at that time. He was a man bigger than life in many ways. His opening prayer for the sanctuary is engraved in marble over the portico of our church building. He always wore a clerical collar. I have a picture of him fly fishing, and he still had a collar on. I read that he never turned his light off on the porch of the manse for the same reason he never took off that collar. He wanted to always be available and for them to know that a minister was ready to meet their spiritual needs.

Before Dr. Bachman was a Dr. McCallie. If anyone has any question as to his pastoral legacy, you need only look out to see the street sign. Our church sits on McCallie Avenue. There is a school that he and his sons founded called The McCallie School for Boys. When every other minister left the city during the occupation of Chattanooga during the Civil War, Dr. McCallie stayed, ministering to Union and Confederate troops.

I could go on. But suffice it to say that all of the 11 pastors before me were godly, powerful, and noted for their holiness and their faithfulness to the Word of God. When you walk through the foyer just outside our sanctuary, you are overwhelmed by the larger-than-life oil paintings of these great men of God.

When I was called to this venerable pulpit, Mae and I were introduced to the officers, and they presented me with a crystal that reads, "To Michael Anthony Milton, 12th Senior Pastor in 161 Years." I accepted it with humility, but also with fear. The words made me feel small and helpless. I have a friend who often says that he feels like Barney Fife in the presence of John Wayne. I felt that way as I came into that pastorate. At times, as I move from my study to the sanctuary on a Sunday morning and pass through the hall of heroes, I still feel that those grand oil paintings of those holy men of God are hovering over me with a stern look, reminding me not to goof up what they had worked so hard to build! For I know my sin. I know my limitations. How can I follow Ben Haden, Dr. Fowle, Dr. Venable, Dr. Bachman, and Dr. McCallie? More than that, I had heard the horror stories of following in the footsteps of famous, long-tenured pulpiteers. In fact, when I was called to the church, many of my friends, like Bildad and Elihu, questioned whether God was smiling on me or judging me. Even my old mentor, Dr. D. James Kennedy, under whom I completed my internship for the ministry, reminded me that it is a hard thing to follow a great preacher. Perhaps he will remind the man who follows him of that observation.