September 05, 2020
I have preached many funerals, speaking of the glories of Heaven to the saints, and the warning of eternal damnation to sinners. But this one is different. This is my Dad. And I can only speak what’s in my heart.
Apostle Paul wrote in his final letter Philippians:
“For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain…. For I am in a straight between two things, having a desire to depart, and to be with Christ; which is far better [for me]. Nevertheless, to abide in the flesh is more needful for you.” (Phil.1:21-24).
My dad, Brother Hardy, like Apostle Paul, loved his sheep and wanted to serve them as their Shepherd for as long as he could. For 62 years, he faithfully pastored us and established us in the faith and the power of the Holy Spirit. He preached every week until he was 85 years old. Even then, he did not want to give up the pulpit. In January 2015, we made the decision that I would start preaching every other Sunday, because after preaching on Sunday morning, he was wiped out for a week.
I preached the next Sunday, but the following week his body completely collapsed with weakness, and he could not preach again. After that, he wanted to go home to be with the Lord. He said that he had never done anything his whole life but preach, and if he couldn’t preach anymore, it was time to go home. With each passing year, his desire to be with Jesus intensified. Every Sunday morning when I came into the office, I’d say, “How you doing, Dad?” He would always reply, “Okay”, followed by “I want to go home.” And he didn’t mean Arbuton Avenue!
Two days before he passed, he barely spoke and slept a lot. But one time he shouted out: “Take me, Jesus!” And on Friday, August 28, 2020, He did.
I think of what the scripture says in Acts 13:36 about David: “For David, after he had served his own generation by the will of God, fell asleep, and was laid unto his fathers.”
My dad served his generation, and he served it well. He never failed to give us the whole counsel of God. He genuinely loved people, freely touching them, and giving some of you goofy nicknames. I’ll never forget what a dear black sister from New Jersey told me down the campgrounds years ago: “Sharon, your dad loves people. I watch him, and he is always touching people. That shows his humility and how much he loves people.” I believe we can all agree with this.
And if you happened to sit on the front two rows, you got more than a touch! He might lean on your shoulder, poke you in the ribs or smack you on the side of the head. And when you went through the prayer line, he might pull your nose like a father would his little child. When he pulled your nose, he was saying, “I love you!”
These were his ways of showing his deep affection for all of us. He had grown up in a broken home with an atheist father who fought his mother all the time. This continual tension in the home made him rebel against his father. He became unmanageable and was sent to Maryland Training School for boys at the age of 10. He never knew what it was to freely give and receive affection in a loving family.
When they were young, he never told my mother that he loved her, and when she would complain, he would say, “I’m still here ain’t I?”
He gave me and my brother Chochie silly names. I was “Roonie-Boon,” and he was “Kahjah-Knocka” This is how he told us that he loved us.
In the last few years, he became childlike and very sentimental. He told my mother dozens of times a day that he loved her, and how pretty she is. She told him: “Why didn’t you tell me this when we were young?”
And for the first time in over 60 years, he started calling me “Roonie-Boon” and saying: “I love you.” He was very tenderhearted and would cry in a minute. During the four weeks he was in rehab, he cried every day to come home.
But—when it came to preaching the unadulterated, non-compromising Word of God, my dad was not a people-pleaser!
One of the greatest compliments that people often gave him was: “Brother Hardy, your message has never changed.” And because of this, most of us here today are deeply rooted and grounded in the truth, and we know how to fight the devil; we not only walk in deliverance, we know how to minister deliverance to others.
He served his generation with exemplary faithfulness so that we can serve our generation as salt and light in this wicked world. So we can put on the whole armor of God and stand against the wiles of the devil.
Allow me to turn back the hands of time to when he first got saved.
We’ve all heard his stories about Sister Hardy—aka “Mrs. Legion” and how hard she fought him. She did everything in her power to get him to backslide, including beating him up, trashing the house, calling the police and telling them that he beat her up and wrecked the house. She had a friend who was a cop who trumped up his charges, and when they went before the judge, he told my mom: “You need to get rid of him, he’s a religious fanatic!”
She tried to have him drafted in the Army, but he had a police record so they didn’t want him. The only reason she didn’t leave him was she did not want me to be in a broken home. She was hateful and spiteful against him, but he stayed the course for six long, tumultuous years. As much as he loved her, he would not compromise for her. She coaxed him to go to nightclubs and go dancing like they used to do, and promised that if he did, she would go to church with him. But he didn’t fall for it. He would not compromise, because he knew behind it was Satan’s scheme to get him on his territory.
Instead, he did his fighting on his knees, praying fervently for her salvation for six years. When evenings came, she would go out drinking and partying with her friends, and he would go to church. It really looked like Doranne Hardy would never get saved, and she told him that many times: “I don’t want to get saved. I will never want to get saved, and God can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved!”
But because he would not compromise, she is sitting on that pew today, 88 years old, almost married 70 years, and his co-laborer in the Ministry for over 60 years.
And many of you are sitting in these pews today because Brother Hardy never compromised and gave us the Word of God without fear or favor!
We all know what a great man of God Brother Hardy was. And everyone has a “Brother Hardy” story. But He Was My Daddy.
I can tell you today that I am my father’s daughter. He had the greatest influence on my life than anyone else in my life. He cast such a huge shadow, that I will never be able to walk out of it. And because he was such a spiritual giant, it is hard to differentiate between who he was as my father and as my spiritual mentor.
When I was two years old, he and Granny, Mother Hardy, took me on street meetings around Baltimore. Without a PA system, and he didn’t need one when the anointing came upon him, he preached in classic Brother Hardy, fiery mode. Granny was on the sidelines holding me in her arms, and I was waving my hands and yelling along with him. It may have been jibber jabber, but the fact is, I was catching the anointing!
When I was a preschooler, Granny used to watch me while my mother worked. My dad would drop me off and go running errands. I would look out the window on Granny’s third floor apartment on Lombard Street, patiently waiting for him to come back. I would say,” Where’s my Peck?” Granny had a picture of him on the mirror in her bedroom, and I would go in there and look at the picture and say, “There’s my Peck.” I don’t know why, but I was afraid he wouldn’t come back for me, and that goes to show you just how young the devil can start sowing lies of rejection into people’s minds. Of course, he always came back for me.
He was always there for me and for my young sons when I was a single mom after their father left, struggling to raise them and make ends meet. My parents’ support got me through that horrible time, and my dad became more than just Pop-Pop. He took them under his wing, and I think it’s safe to say that he was also the greatest influence on their lives. They will never get away from the long arm of the Gospel, because of what he taught them, and more importantly, lived before them that the Bible is true, and Jesus Christ is the only way to eternal life.
When I was 13, he began taking me out with him on evangelistic meetings in tent revivals and auditoriums. He put me on the front lines to lead the song and exhort. To his credit, he gave me hands-on training at that early age, and gradually took me into the deeper waters of ministry.
I became his ghost writer and editor of his sermons and books. Often when he would go chasing one of his sermon rabbits, he would not come back and finish a very important point. But I knew my father so well, I knew exactly what he would have said, and I could finish it for him. In earlier years, we spent hours on the phone discussing scriptures and doctrine, and the Holy Spirit would inspire us as we talked.
When I was in my late 20’s we took NT Greek classes together in Bowie, and afterwards we went out to eat. Those were special times together that just he and I shared. (Because nobody else wanted to learn Greek!)
I especially remember Summers down the campgrounds. After the evening service, a bunch of us would sit around asking him Bible questions. He could answer any subject you brought up; the Scriptures would begin to flow, and revelation would follow. Many times we sat there till three and four in the morning, listening to his teaching, and relishing every tasty morsel. This was a man who never went further than the ninth-grade because of his juvenile delinquency. This was a man who taught himself New Testament Greek, which is not an easy language. He used to joke that he not only butchered the King’s English, but he butchered street talk. Such was his self-deprecating humility.
Can I speak to his humility?
He never assumed a fancy title: Apostle, Prophet, Bishop, Evangelist—he didn’t even use Pastor—he was comfortable with being “Brother Hardy.” He was not one for ecclesiastical show. He always said that he grew up on the rough streets of Baltimore where he always had to fight because of being picked on for his short size.
Remember his story about how when he was a kid, every day one boy who was a bully would come after him and beat him up. Even though the boy was bigger, my dad would not give up. He kept fighting back. Then one day, he got the upper hand. The boy punched him in the nose, and the blood was dripping on my dad’s “robin’s egg blue sweater.” He would wipe his bloody nose on his sleeve and kept fighting. That day he beat that bully, and he left him alone after that.
He would tell us “When you are in a combat with the devil, and you get a bloody nose, just wipe the blood off your nose and keep fighting!”
For many years, right into my adult life, even after I had my own children, I would beg God to let the rapture come before my father died. I straight up told God that there was no way I could live without him in my life. I sincerely believed this with all my heart. I could not imagine life without him. He was my father, my pastor, and my employer.
Now that I’ve become a senior citizen, I began to realize that the Lord might not come for my dad before He comes for His church in the rapture. When I had to step into his shoes in the pulpit, it really hit home. I watched his body and mind failing him, and I knew how much he wanted to go to Heaven.
On Father’s Day, I wrote him a very personal letter.
As I wrote, I started sobbing from deep down in my belly. The tears were flowing like a torrent, until I could not even see the computer screen. I was actually shocked at my response. I cried and cried, until I was literally cried out.
All the years of being his daughter, all the lessons learned, all the teaching instilled in me, the transference of the anointing, the bold faith he always acted upon, the strong, loving approval that only a father can give to his daughter, flooded the dam of my heart, and it burst. There was no holding it back, and when it had finally abated, I knew more than ever how richly blessed I am to call this man my father.
In the last year of his life, it was difficult to get him to church on Sundays, especially in bad weather. My mom struggled getting him in and out of the car with his walker. One Sunday she wanted him to stay home, but he insisted on going. He said: “I want to go and hear my favorite preacher.” This will stay with me the rest of my life that he would call me that.
I promised him to carry on the legacy of the faith that was once delivered unto the saints that he so diligently declared. I told him:
“I know you are nearing heaven, and we don’t know when the Lord will call you. But when He does, a piece of me will go with you and will not be restored until I join you.”
I believe the Lord allowed me to experience that overwhelming emotion that day so that I could be strong to get through this week with all of the stress and things that had to be done to prepare for his homegoing.
The last few days of his life, I sat by his bedside, reading from the Bible about heaven and singing songs about heaven, and telling him he was going there soon. It gave him peace, and it gave me peace too. Like the song they sang earlier, he had fought his battles, and he won his wars. He fought a good fight. He kept the faith. He had remained faithful to the end, finishing his course with honor.
If you’ve ever watched the sunset, when the sun finally drops below the horizon in the early evening, the evidence of its work remains for some time. The skies continue to glow for a full hour after its departure. Such is the impact of a life well lived for Christ. The sun of Brother Hardy’s earthly life has set. But the afterglow of his unique and memorable work and ministry will be with us all until we come to the sunset of our own lives.
This glorious Gospel is the unadulterated, pure Word of God that is forever settled in Heaven. It is perfect. But God’s messengers are not always perfect. God chooses flawed people, because we are all flawed. Abraham, Moses, David—great worthies of the OT—were imperfect men. So were Peter, John, and even the great Apostle Paul—all imperfect men. My Dad was not a perfect man, but he was the most authentic, anointed, godly, sincere, trustworthy man of God I ever knew. He believed this Message with every fiber of his being, and he used every means available to him to send it forth.
I know that he has joined Faith’s Hall of Fame in Hebrews 11:2: “By it the elders obtained a good report.” Brother R.G. Hardy has obtained a good report, and he will hear Jesus say, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a few things. I will make you ruler over many things. Enter into the joy of your Lord” (Mt.25:21).
In closing, I want to read to you my dad’s recollection of a vision the Lord gave him as a young Christian:
I remember as a young Christian, I read this account in Exodus 33 of Moses’ wanting to see God’s glory, and it stirred in me a passion to see His glory too. I had only been saved six weeks, but I was in continual prayer and fasting, and was on a high spiritual plain when the Lord gave me a vision of the glory. (And I want to tell you, this vision has carried me through many tests, especially before I really knew the Word of God.) Lying on my bed, I felt the strangeness of the presence of God and the glory coming down. I know how Adam felt when God put him in a deep sleep and performed the operation of Eve’s creation on him. He blew on his face like a whirlwind, and Adam went to sleep, and I felt the breath of God blow on my face closer and closer until I went out into another dimension. Like being up in a jet plane above the clouds, I was standing on a platform of clouds, and I had panoramic vision: I could see myself standing on this high place. Then I saw myself looking down at someone who was on his knees praying, and that someone was also me, and I was praying, “Lord, let me see your glory.” As I knelt praying, I became aware of a blinding light shining down on me, and when I looked up, I saw higher up on the clouds a dazzling creature bathed in the most brilliant light I’d ever seen. He was clothed in a long flowing robe of radiant white that was effused with light. His back was to me, but around the outline of his head and from the sides of his face, great beams of light shot out like the rays of the sun. I thought to myself, ‘This is the glory of the Lord, and He is letting me see His back parts like He did Moses.’ Then very slowly, with his arms extended outward, this dazzling creature began to turn around. As excited as I was to see his face, I was also afraid, and I thought to myself that if I looked I would die, so “the kneeling me” quickly slapped my hands over my eyes. But I knew I had to look, even if it meant death. Once again, I saw myself looking down at myself as I knelt with my hands over my eyes, and then ever so cautiously, I saw myself open my fingers just a bit, so I could peek out to see this dazzling creature in all of his glory. My heart was racing as this radiant creature began to slowly turn around, and I had no idea what would happen when I saw his face. Maybe I would disintegrate; I didn’t know, but I knew I had to look. If I died, what a way to go. I saw myself, seeing myself kneeling down, peeking through half-open fingers, waiting for the moment when I would see God in His full glory. Then the brightness of the radiance intensified, and there he stood face to face. And when I got up my nerve to look at his face, I saw the most beautiful, glorious creature I had ever seen. And on his face was the biggest smile, from ear to ear, and light beams shot out from his face in every direction. And then I realized it was me—I was seeing
myself—seeing myself kneeling down—seeing myself in my glorified body. There are not enough adjectives to describe the beauty of this person. I don’t mean physical features either: I’m talking about the glorious beauty of the glorified body. There was one dimension in the vision that the Lord did not let me see: What I, (in my glorified body, with a smile on my face like the cat that ate the canary), was seeing. I was smiling, and the glory beams were radiating, but I could not see what it was that I was seeing that was making me smile so radiantly. I believe I was seeing the Lord in all of His glory, but if the Lord had let me see this in the vision, He would have never got me back down here on earth. I don’t know how He ever got me back as it is, just seeing myself in my glorified body, but I tell you, that vision has put an extra thrust in my soul to make Heaven.”
AND HE MADE IT!
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