Life Out Of Death

It has been an unusual season of pastoral ministry for me. I have officiated at 6 funerals in less than two weeks, attended others, and visited with families whose loves ones are struggling with life and death.

At each funeral service, I am clearly reminded that I speak to more lost people than on any given Sunday. On a Saturday two weeks ago, I officiated at the funeral of one of our long time members. Her nephew spoke at the service. By that afternoon, he himself died in a tragic motorcycle accident. The thought I had was that my funeral message was the last one he ever heard. I am so glad I made it clear how to know Jesus Christ as savior.

At another one a few days later, I shared the way to Jesus Christ. I then added (a bit uncharacteristically) that if anyone prayed to received Christ, I’d love to hear about it. As one lady made her way past the casket and out the door, she took my hand and said, “I prayed that prayer.” Out of death, comes life.

So lately, more and more I have been thinking about eternal things- things that really matter. Life and death issues. Buildings get built, and ultimately fall, but a soul won to Christ lives eternal.

Bro. Berry Is My Hero

Pastor Berry followed me as pastor at the first church I served right out of seminary. That was 20 years ago. He now celebrates his 20th anniversary at the same church. That is quite an accomplishment, given the propensity of pastors to "move to a new field" quite frequently.

Most will not recognize Bro. Berry's name. He serves in an out of the way place at a church that seems almost forgotten and literally sits a mile from Mexico. The church itself has an interesting history. It occupies a former cantina and holds Sunday School in rooms formerly dedicated to the pleasure of the Cantina's customers. The Church's fellowship hall sits on the site of a pit that has been since filled in that housed the former cantina.

The church has largely served an Anglo congregation and is surrounded by Spanish speakers. One of my frustrations was being unable to speak Spanish. Bro. Berry is fluent in Spanish and started a Spanish work at the church since his arrival. Over the years, the church has had it struggles. During one particularly painful trial, it almost lost all of its property and buildings to a pastor intent in building his own kingdom instead of Christ's.

If I named Lakewood Church, Second Baptist Houston, First Baptist Atlanta, or Saddleback church, you could probably name the pastor. I could talk all day about Bro. Berry and his church and most folks would respond with puzzled looks.

I have often said that it may well be that many pastors who labor faithfully in relative obscurity will hear a "Well done, thou good and faithful servant" long before some T.V. celebrity pastors will. Somehow we have bought into the largely American cultural belief that the larger the church, the better the pastor.

Bro. Berry is my hero, not because he is relatively unknown, has served his church for over 20 years, or even because he speaks Spanish.

I got a letter from some members of his church this week. It mentioned the pastor's anniversary and upcoming celebration. It also noted the church's recent struggles with finances. The letter noted as well that pastor Berry had served the summer months with no pay as a volunteer. The writing was quick to note, however, that finances had improved a bit and Bro. Berry's salary had been caught up. This past summer, the choice was either pay the electric bill. (in a South Texas summer this is quite a chore) or pay the pastor. The pastor chose the light bill over himself.

This was done without fanfare. This was done unknown to much of the world. But the Lord knows.

After I read that letter, I had tears in my eyes. This pastor served for free last summer to keep his churh open. Compare his unselfish act with those who constantly solict more money for their ministries and promise miracles to those who give. Think of Bro. Berry in South Texas when you are tempted to think that most preachers are in it just for the money.

For Bro. Berry, it wasn't about the money. It was about the kingdom.

Happy Anniversary, Bro. Berry. You're MY hero.

Dear Folks...

Among my parent's things as we cleaned out old papers and began the task of clearing up the estate, we found this letter I had sent them 28 August 1997, days after my 40th birthday:

Dear Folks.

Thank you for so many things:

1. Giving me life.
2. Giving me a Christian home.
3. Encouraging me.
4. Disciplining me when I needed it.
5. Being a constant in a changing world.
6. Caring for my wife and children- we had a wonderful time in Arkansas and you helped make it possible.
7. Insisting I get a good education.
8. Helping me buy cars, record players, and a building.
9. Praying for me.
10. Always showing love.

That's my top ten! Thank you also for the birthday money. I bought an organizer for my desktop. I had the best birthday I ever had. I'll have to tell you about it. Again, thank you for keeping Caleb, for the money, and so many things for which I could never thank you enough.

I love you both,
David

It Finally Happened

Slightly over a month ago I officially joined the "Over The Hill" club. (I have a vehicle decal and certificate to prove it.) I joined the ranks of those age 50 and over. The day was pleasant enough, with friends coming over that evening to share a meal and birthday cake. There were also various attempts to embarrass me. I admit they were successful when they took a picture of me outfitted in goofy glasses and buck teeth. I thought it was the end of the matter until this embarrassing photo appeared in church and on my pulpit the next day! Of course, no one admits to this prank nor knows anything about it.

I think I had fairly well adjusted to my new sense of mortality until I arrived home from being with my family during my mother's surgery and death. I had collected a number of receipts for meals and such. It was a bit of a shock when I discovered the receipt which I now display, with apologies for the poor contrast. If you notice closely, you will discover that along with the meal, I was blessed with a "senior discount." Now that is not so bad, but I did not ask for the discount! My insecurity kicks in and I ask myself, "Do I really look like a senior?" Admittedly, the hair is grayer, and the wrinkles are more numerous. But am I really looking my age? Apparently the clerk thought so and didn't have to ask, nor did I have to tell.

I mourned the passing of my mother. Now I mourn the passing of my youth. Both can never return. But in many ways I wish neither of them back.

Oh, well. It's not all bad to grow older. It even pays.

Expected, But Unexpected

Sometime last Friday night, my mother went to be with Jesus and all those who have gone before her in Christ. She had a surgical procedure done that day from which she never awakened on this side of eternity. Early Friday morning, after being informed that my mother had not yet awakened from the surgery, had no brain functions, and was supported by a respirator and IV drugs, my brother, sister and I decided to let her go. Within about 30 minutes all physical activity ceased. On one level, it was a relief, for it confirmed the fact that she was sustained only by life support- something she would not have wanted.

We buried her yesterday in a service that was fitting for one who had loved God, her family, her church, and growing things. Surrounded by these things, we had a service of remembrance and victory. My brother, Phil, and I shared brief words of Scripture and tributes. Jaylon and Karen Wall sang wonderfully. Her pastor, Scott Neathery, paid a wonderful tribute spiced with quotes and verses from Streams In The Desert devotional that she used for many years.

Mother had been a staunch member of First Baptist Church, Wake Village. She had served on various committees and in many ministries. She was a prayer warrior and a soul winner. Perhaps I am biased, but she was one of the Godliest women many others and I have ever met. The memorial service was a fitting tribute to a woman who no doubt heard “Well done, thou good and faithful servant” when she dropped the robe of flesh and rose.

Mother had faced breast cancer, caring for my father until his death with Parkinson’s and a number of other problems such as caring for my autistic brother with courage and faith. The past few years wore down her spirit and body, but her faith never wavered. So when it was time for her to cross over Jordan, she was ready.

My family and I just were not quite ready. But then, is anyone ever completely ready for a loved one to die? Thus the title of this entry- “Expected, But Unexpected.” We will all die one day. But will we all be ready? If “our hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness” then we will be ready. If not, then no amount of time will prepare us for eternity- without Christ.

I wish we’d all been ready.