Preached on Tuesday, June 10, 2025 at First Baptist Church, Little Rock in memoriam Jerry Lonnie Maulden (August 13, 1936–June 5, 2025).

“Therefore, my beloved brothers and sisters, be steadfast, immovable, always excelling in the work of the Lord because you know that in the Lord your labor is not in vain” (1 Corinthians 15:58).

If we learn anything from the life of Jerry Lonnie Maulden, I hope it’s this: what we do has an impact. As Paul puts it, “our labor is not in vain.” What we do makes a difference. And therefore, we have to take what we do with utmost seriousness.

And maybe it’s just me, but that’s something this world seems to forget these days. The world is getting bigger, day after day; the world seems to be slipping out of our hands, more and more; and it feels like nothing that we do makes a difference. But as we celebrate the life of Jerry Lonnie Maulden today, let’s just see; let’s just remind ourselves for a moment just how it is that what we do matters.

My grandfather learned all this on parents’ knee: for example, his father––my great-grandfather––pointing out to him all of the WPA works with which he had been involved. His father did work that made a difference around us, work that could make us proud.

My grandfather spent a lot of his childhood either forming baseball teams on either side of the Arkansas River or by cutting it up at the then North Little Rock Boys Club––sometimes at the expense of going to class at the North Little Rock High School, but in the end, never at the expense of building up his character. He long gave credit to the Boys Club for keeping him on the straight and narrow, for making him the person that he is, for teaching him that the choices that we make matter.

But no amount of cutting class could dissuade him from the importance of an education: an accounting degree from then Little Rock University, stuffing papers over long nights at the Democrat, or working at the railroad or at Colonial Bakery to pay for it––not to mention my grandmother working to pay for it, too––because they knew that learning is something we do that matters, that makes a difference, not only on us, but on our community. Learning is a labor that’s never in vain.

He began work for the Arkansas Power & Light Company in 1965, work that he fundamentally believed made a difference. The power industry, the utility industry, was work worth doing––never in vain––and he gave his working life to it and to the people who benefited from it. Granddad said that being in leadership at the company felt like leading his baseball teams in childhood: he was always trying to surround himself with the most talented people he could find, wanting them to shine, because then, the whole team would shine. The friendships became lifelong. What we do matters, indeed.

He loved politics: being involved with politics, sure––locally, regionally, nationally––but even just talking about politics, even with people he disagreed with––even a political lightweight like his grandson!––because he knew that, at its best, politics is the arena in which a society can be improved, that progress can be made, that work worth doing can be realized. (That’s something else we probably need to remind ourselves of these days, too.)

He loved this congregation, and he worked on its behalf as faithfully as he could, not least because this place met him at a time when he felt that, for far too long, he had said no to God. “Oh, I’ll get to you later. I just can’t right now.” That was his refrain. As he often told me, eventually, some years later, he told God, “I’ll never say no to you again.” And that life of faith was fashioned and forged and chastened and encouraged here at First Baptist Church. (I can feel my Grandad nudging me to say: if y’all don’t have a Church, find one. It’ll change your life.)

But in my grandfather’s life, there was something that stood over all his impactful work, the most important and consequential relationships he ever had––as he would say, only second to his life with God––and it was truly the centerpiece of his life: his family.

Parents, whom he loved dearly: Thelma and Gay.

Siblings, whom he loved dearly: his sister, Jean, who died too young, and his brother, Windell.

Children, who lit up his world: my aunt, my uncle, my mother, and their sister, Kelly, who died far too young, but surrounded by unflinching love, characteristic of the Mauldens.

Children-in-law, whom he loved like they were his own––because they were.

Grandchildren, who lit up his world all over again.

Great grandchildren, who lit up his world a third time over.

And at the heart of all this, his dear Sue, my grandmother, his best friend. They married on April 6, 1956 at Highland Presbyterian Church on Twelfth Street and they honeymooned in New Orleans, the furthest these two newlyweds had ever driven. And that was only the beginning. They made vows “till death do them part” that day, and for 69 years, they made good on those promises.

What we do with our life matters. The choices we make have an impact. And therefore, what we choose to do deserves our utmost seriousness.

Now, it would be easy—far too easy!—to conclude from all this not only that what we do matters, but also, that what we do is all that matters. Our productivity is the “end all be all.” The “self-made man” is what makes the world go round. What we do defines our worth, not only before the world but also before God Himself. It would be easy to think that way today. Grandad struggled with this his whole life. But the Gospel of Jesus Christ breaks in and blows up that kind of thinking. To all of that, the Gospel firmly and lovingly says, “No.”

In John’s Gospel, another Thomas said to his Lord, “we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” Jesus said to him, and to each of us, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”

We are not the way. No, it is Christ: He is the way, and the truth, and the life. If we think of ourselves and what we do as the way to the Father, then we are most to be pitied.

The single greatest work done in the history of the world is the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead. As Karl Barth once put it, “the resurrection of Jesus Christ was like a boulder crashing into the pool of history.” 

So writes Paul to the Corinthians:

“Then comes the end, when Christ hands over the kingdom to God the Father, after he has destroyed every ruler and every authority and power. For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death.”

“Death has been swallowed up in victory.”

And it is for that reason—and no other reason!—that what we do matters. Notice what Paul says: “In the Lord [our] labor is not in vain.” The world turns not because of what we do, but because of what God has done, once and for all, on our behalf: for my grandfather and for you and for me and for all of God’s creation. “For as all die in Adam, so all will be made alive in Christ.”

Right now, Grandad is being drawn ever nearer to that new life with God in Christ, together with Thelma and Gay, with Jean and Windell, with Kelly, and with all who have gone before him.

Why? Because death has no victory. Death has no sting. And therefore, what we do in this life is not in vain. Therefore, the choices we make here and now have as their end not nothingness, not an empty void, but God’s unrelenting victory for us. That’s the Gospel: God has done something unimaginable, something that has changed everything forever, and therefore, in Him, our labor is never for nothing.

“Therefore, my beloved brothers and sisters, be steadfast, immovable, always excelling in the work of the Lord, because you know that in the Lord your labor is not in vain.” Amen.