Two Phils And A Stephan

Of the many reasons I have not blogged lately is the fact that my next youngest brother died, my sister is now diagnosed with colon cancer, I was trying to finish a fence project I started a month ago, and my church has had a number of crises emerge. None of this leaves much free time.

The title of this entry refers to two "Phils" I know. One is my youngest brother and one is a pastor who was preaching revival services at our church when I got the call that my brother, Stephan, died.

Stay with me. It all comes together in the end.

Stephan was autistic. He never spoke a word in his life. He lived in a world largely his own but would occasionally pause to interact with the rest of the world. He would spend hours popping plastic bags. My dad observed that he could get more pops out of plastic than anyone else. He communicated, mostly with Mother, by a series of gestures and noises. She always seemed to know what he was talking about. Once she reassured him of something like, "We'll go to the grocery store tomorrow," he'd smile big and run off. He knew that when Mother went to the grocery store, she'd bring him a magazine, something else he loved to snap and pop. He knew it was grocery day (Fridays) when he noticed the Thursday paper being thicker with all the grocery ads. He was very intelligent.

Until later in adult life, I never fully understood or appreciated the dimensions or dynamics that Steve brought to our family. Because of his habit of emitting loud noises, my parents didn't take him out very often. They simply didn't want to deal with the stares of people observing their special child. Therefore, someone had to stay home with him. My parents, thus, never went to church together- at least until Steve went to live in a State home.

We did little as a family beyond "going for a ride to the post office" on Sunday afternoon, or making a twice yearly trip to Grandmother's in Mississippi. My parents didn't have much of a social life and it was largely limited to church attendance. Perhaps because of or special situation, there was also a bit of emotional detachment from one another. Our family was different. That dynamic affected, and still does, our own families.

Anyway, back to Phils and Steves.

When I got the word that Steve had died Tuesday a week ago, our church was having revival meetings. Things were going very well. I hated to leave. I had looked forward to our revival. But our Preacher, Phil, graciously agreed to handle everything and I and my youngest son left for the funeral.

That's where the other Phil comes in. My youngest brother is named Phil and he, too, is a pastor. I left a revival with Phil to be with Phil when Stephen died. It sounds like a story out of the book of Acts.

Philip, in the book of Acts, left a revival meeting to witness to the Ethiopian eunuch. We wanted the memorial service for my brother to give honor to Christ, even though Stephan had never understood moral evil and good and salvation in order to make a personal profession of faith.

Stephan, in the New Testament, was the first martyr. His death by stoning influenced Paul, then Saul, of the power and truth of the gospel message. I pray that our Stephan's life and message does likewise.

So last week, it was a story of Two Phils and a Stephan. It's almost biblical!