NANA'S BIRTHDAY

     

          This past Monday, February 27, would have been my grandmother’s 110^th birthday!  I was born on her birthday and each year I cannot celebrate my birthday without remembering hers.  She always said I was her birthday present, and it established a strong bond that continues to this day. 

“Nana” lived two doors down from our house.  Growing up, we spent as much time with Nana at her house as we did our own.  All the major holidays and big events were celebrated at Nana’s house.  Whenever we gathered around her large dining room table, there were always others who joined us.  Nana was very mindful of neighbors and friends who didn’t have family, and if she found out someone would be celebrating a holiday alone, she insisted they come to her house and dine with us. 

        Nana had a profound influence on my life.  When I was in the second grade, my teacher Mrs. Howell (no relation), would routinely assign me speeches to make before the class.   February was busy as I had an Abraham Lincoln speech followed quickly by one on George Washington.  I would normally go to Nana’s house after school and tell her what my assignment was.  It was amazing that even before I told Nana, she had the World Book encyclopedias out and had done other research on my assignment.  She helped me write the speech and then Nana and “Auntie” (my great-aunt who was a High School English and Drama teacher) would coach me on memorizing the speech and my delivery.  I guess I never thought it was odd that none of the other kids in the class were ever assigned speeches.  Come to find out, Nana, Auntie, and Mrs. Howell were in cahoots with each other. 

        When I was sixteen and made my church aware that I felt called to preach, someone told me, “Your grandmother has been praying for this since the day you were born.”  Seems she was doing more than praying!

        Nana loved the church and served in many capacities of leadership.  She started our church library and would always arrive at church an hour before Sunday School to open the library.  Most Sundays I would be with her.  We got there before the preacher did!  She was Mrs. WMU, she always hosted the visiting revival preachers for a meal, visiting missionaries stayed at her home, and she would sometimes play the violin in the worship service.  She loved Ridgecrest and for a number of years attending Ridgecrest for a week in the summer was our summer vacation.

        Nana also loved to travel and instilled within me the same love.  When I was small I would listen to her exciting stories of her European travels.  She brought me some wooden shoes from Holland that stayed in my room for years.  Her niece was a Pan Am flight attendant, back with that was a glamorous occupation and she and my grandmother would fly all over the world. 

        When I was old enough to travel, she took me on some amazing trips, including two trips to Alaska and a six week odyssey that took us to Salt Lake City, Yellowstone Park, San Francisco, Los Angeles, the Grand Canyon, Carlsbad Caverns, Dallas, Texas, and two weeks in Hawaii!   It was on that trip that my suitcase was stolen.  While I was devastated, Nana reminded me that I had a Bible in that suitcase, and she was convinced that it was all part of God’s plan.  She told me that whoever stole my suitcase would read the Bible and get saved.  And she believed it!  

        Nana wanted me to get my education.  When I graduated from seminary she told me I wasn’t through yet!   “You need to get your doctor’s degree,” she said.

        In May of 1983 I graduated for the last time with my Doctor of Ministry degree.  I called her that night and she told me how proud she was.  It was the last time I ever talked to her.

        She died in her sleep early on a Sunday morning.  Of course, she was always early on Sunday mornings. 

        Monday night, just before the Bible Study, the class sang “Happy Birthday” to me.  I then shared with them that it was also my grandmother’s birthday, and I know Nana would be proud to know I celebrated my birthday by teaching a Bible Study!  

REMEMBER YOU ARE DUST

        We observed Ash Wednesday this week.  I find the Ash Wednesday service to be the one of the most difficult services for me personally.  Ministers get to do a lot of things: celebrate births, officiate at weddings, baptize believers, dedicate babies, comfort families at funerals, and visit hospitals and nursing homes, (and preach sermons) but nothing is more difficult for me than to place ashes on the forehead of a friend (and when you have been around as long as I have, everyone in the church is my friend) and say the words, “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.”  

        I am basically telling people they are going to die.  And I find that hard to do. 

        Twelve years ago in March of 2000 we were in Israel for Ash Wednesday.  Dr. Bill Leonard from the Wake Forest Divinity School was on that trip with us and he and I talked about having an Ash Wednesday service for our group.  The problem, that we did not anticipate, was where to find some ashes.  The correct way to prepare the ashes is to save the palm branches from the previous Palm Sunday.  You burn the palm branches and mix them with olive oil.  (Not cinnamon like the Lutheran Minister did one year for the community service.   People went around town for a week with a cross burned into their foreheads!)  

        We certainly didn’t pack any old palm branches to carry with us to Israel.  You don’t go into a store and purchase ashes, not even in Jerusalem.   We didn’t know what we would do. 

        The night before Ash Wednesday (Fat Tuesday) we noted a Catholic group staying at our hotel gathering for an Ash Wednesday service.  Bill talked to the priest and discovered that they were flying home the next morning and therefore were observing Ash Wednesday that night.  Bill explained our dilemma and the priest graciously said we could have all of his remaining ashes.  I don’t know if Bill told him we were a Baptist group or not!

        Ash Wednesday was a beautiful day in Jerusalem.  We visited the Garden of Gethsemane, one of the most sacred sites in the Holy Land.  There is a beautiful church, “The Church of All Nations” that rests over the traditional site where Jesus prayed, “Not my will, but thine be done.”  On the steps of this church, in the very garden where Jesus prayed and then was arrested while his disciples fled, we prayed, sang hymns, read Scripture and received the imposition of ashes. 

        Standing on the very site where Jesus yielded totally to God’s will, within sight of the Temple Mount and the old walls of Jerusalem, we received the ashes as we heard the words, “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.” 

        Never had I felt so vulnerable and weak.  One day I will surely die and I will return to the dust. 

        But then I will hear the words, “I am the resurrection and the life, the one who believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live.  Whoever lives and believes in me shall never die!”

        Thanks be to God!

ITS ABOUT THE PEOPLE

      The last three Wednesday nights were some of the best attended in recent memory.  Everyone was interested in hearing from three outstanding specialists.  All three of these physicians came to our church without charge.  The arrangements were made through Wake Forest Baptist Health-Lexington Medical Center.  I was especially pleased since I serve on the hospital board, both here in Lexington and in Winston at Baptist. 

        A few weeks ago when I received my hometown newspaper, I couldn’t believe the headlines.  The local hospital was closing!  For good!   When I was growing up the town actually had two hospitals, but one closed a number of years ago.  I realized as I read the articles that the same sad story could have happened to us.  

        When our hospital board first started talking about merging into a larger system, I didn’t know what to think.  I didn’t realize how bad things were financially for us until we got into the merger process.  The truth is if we had waited much longer, it might have been too late, like it was for my hometown. 

        I found myself on the merger committee and spent a lot of time a few years ago talking about what our new hospital would look like as a part of a larger system.  I also spend a lot of time talking to my good friend, and trusted confidant, Dr. Bob Team.  Bob was so happy we were going with Baptist. 

        There are so many good things about our relationship with Baptist.  Jamie Young told me that because our two hospitals are one system, the transfer of their newborn baby Jacob to Brenner’s Children’s Hospital was seamless.  I highlight some of the other benefits below.

        My newspaper article won’t run for a couple of weeks, but after reading about my hometown hospital going out of business, here is my first draft on my March 3 article: 

IT’S ABOUT THE PEOPLE

        My mother insists that I receive my hometown newspaper, the “Hartselle (Alabama) Enquirer,” even though I told her that the only names I recognize are those in the obituaries.  It was therefore not surprising when I did not recognize the name of Sandra Smelser in a recent front page article that I read in its entirety.  She was at a candlelight vigil and was quoted as saying, “It’s the only job I’ve ever had after graduating from high school.”  With tears in her eyes she added, “It’s just like losing a family member.”

        Sandra Smelser was employed for 43 years by Hartselle Medical Center, my hometown hospital.  On January 31 of this year, the hospital closed its doors, going out of business.  Several attempts to sell the hospital or merge with a larger healthcare system were not successful.  The hospital, that first opened in 1948, stopped admitting patients a week before the end.  Signs on the doors announced the hospital was closing.  All remaining patients and Emergency Department admissions were shipped to hosptials in neighboring towns on the 31st. 

     I read the article with great interest, not only because it is a painful tragedy for my hometown, but also because I realized that it could have happened here, in Lexington. 

        Five years ago, shortly after I went on the Lexington Memorial Hospital Board of Directors, our hospital President, Mr. John Cashion, told the board that he felt it would be good for us to study the opportunities of merging into a larger healthcare system.  He understood what I as a new board member did not, that in the rapidly changing world of healthcare, small community hospitals were struggling to survive and it would only get worse.  As we spent several months systematically exploring our options, our hospital’s financial situation grew more and more serious.  The question was no longer “will we merge?” but “with whom?”

        We looked at several viable options.  Each one of the larger systems offered us something attractive.  But when we sat down for the first time with Donny Lambeth and other representatives from Baptist Hospital, it was like we had come home.  There was a sense of immediate trust.  We shared core values.  It felt like family. 

        As everyone knows, we made the decision to go with Baptist (now Wake Forest Baptist Health).  Have we been disappointed?  What do you think!

        We have a world-class cancer center, new cardiac and pulmonary rehab services, bariatric surgery, reconstructive surgery, ENT head and neck surgery, and vascular surgery.  Over 25 new physicians have been added to the staff, Wake Forest Baptist physicians now staff our much improved emergency department, outstanding specialists see patients in Lexington, the employee base has grown, the financial condition is much improved and we are beginning a major expansion of our Physical Therapy and Emergency departments.  Wake Forest Baptist has matched well over a million dollars in foundation funds, the hospital is engaged in the community in a positive way and annual capital expenditures have increased by almost 2 and one-half million dollars.  We can be assured of world-class quality health care right here, in our own little town.  But even with all these incredible improvements, there is something more important.

        At the candlelight vigil that was held on the night my hometown hospital closed, one (now former) employee said, “It’s more than just bricks and mortar.  It’s about the people.” 

        From the first day we sat down with Baptist Hospital we realized that “it’s about the people.”  It has been true from day one and it continues to be.  I’m thankful that rather than holding a candlelight vigil for what was, we continue to celebrate what will be!

                                                               

                                            

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED

        This past Monday morning at 9:32 a.m. a Priority Mail package was delivered to the Religion Office of the Lilly Endowment in Indianapolis, Indiana.  With the acceptance of the package my Sabbatical experience that started back in the fall of 2007 was finally, officially complete.  My report to the Lilly Endowment started with two words:  Mission Accomplished. 

        Our church graciously provides a Sabbatical for the ministers every seven years.  My first Sabbatical was in 2001, in my eleventh year of ministry at First Baptist.  I was eligible for another Sabbatical in 2008, but our church’s financial situation had changed and I knew that I would need to find outside funding.  That was when I looked into the Lilly Endowment, the premier foundation for Sabbatical grants. 

        I have a couple of minister friends who had received Lilly grants and I talked to them in the summer of 2007.  They told me how generous the grant could be (up to $45,000) but also told me that since they had received their grants, the competition and requirements for the grant had become much more intense. 

        In the fall of 2007 I received the application packet for 2008.  It was much more involved than I ever anticipated.  I realized the application process would take months and the amount of work, planning, and coordination that the application required was staggering.  I had to ask myself the question “Is it worth it?” 

        One of the key components of a successful application was the coordination and involvement of the minister and the congregation.  The Lilly Endowment doesn’t even use the word “Sabbatical.”  They speak of church renewal that is shared and coordinated between the church and pastor.  So one of the first things I did was invited several members to join in planning the church renewal experience.  We determined that the renewal would revolve around storytelling with the theme, “This is Our Story, This is Our Song.”

        It was in this group that the idea of intergenerational SS classes was suggested.  We started working on the requirements of the detailed application. 

        The application had to be submitted by early May, but I would not hear anything until October.  Detailed itineraries, budgets, program ideas, themes, a ten-page narrative, and other documentation such as my ordination and our church’s tax exempt status from the state of North Carolina were all required.   When I finally mailed the exhaustive application form in May of 2008, I was very confident that it would be accepted.  

        As October neared I closely watched the mail.  Nothing came.  The month started and the first week passed, then the second:  nothing.  By the third week of October I was getting discouraged.  Finally, on one of the last days of the month, a single first class letter arrived from the Lilly Endowment.  “This doesn’t look good,” I thought, and I was right.  The letter informed me that our proposal had not been accepted and went on to explain that the endowment had received more applications that ever before.  The letter did state that I could call and set up a telephone interview to determine the reason the proposal had failed.  I almost didn’t do it.

        After getting over the disappointment of being rejected, I finally made the call.  A time was established for the following week.  I was scheduled to talk to the director of the entire program. 

        She was a very pleasant woman who quickly put me at ease.  The first thing she said was, “You had an excellent proposal, one of the best we have seen.”  I was shocked.  I didn’t know what to say.  She quickly added, “And I guess you are wondering why you didn’t get the grant if your proposal was so good.” 

        “Well, yes,” I stuttered. 

        “Because you will kill yourself,” she said with a laugh.  “You are going from one conference to another, flying all over the country.  You are on the east coast one week and in California the next!  You are supposed to have some fun!  Redo the proposal, but don’t schedule so much.  Have fun!”

        The call had lasted less than five minutes. 

        Here’s a confession.  Before I mailed the proposal Joyce told me.  “You are scheduling too much.  You will kill yourself!”   I should have listened to my wife. 

        I went back to the drawing board.  I scheduled an Alban Institute seminar on storytelling and a week at the famed Chautauqua Institute for intellectual stimulation, but then I planned a week in New York City to see Broadway Shows, a family trip to Belize, and a month in Italy. 

        “It sounds crazy,” I told Joyce.  “But what do I have to lose?”

        The new proposal was mailed in May of 2009.  On the final week of September a thick packet arrived the mail. The cover letter started with one word:  “Congratulations!” 

        The Sabbatical was August – October of 2010.  The final component was last year’s church retreat.  But then I realized that the final reports and accounting that I needed to prepare were almost as involved and detailed as the original proposal.  I don’t normally procrastinate, but I have.  I planned to complete it last summer, but never got around to it.  The reports were not due until March of 2012 so I kept telling myself I have plenty of time. 

        I thought I would complete them during the holidays but was too busy.  Finally, last month, I knew that I had to get it done.   Thanks to many of you for helping with the evaluation.  When I mailed the Priority Mail package last Saturday, I felt like I had graduated from school!  It was finally over! 

        Here is how my final report began:

Mission accomplished!  My much anticipated and carefully planned Sabbatical was everything I hoped it would be and more.  I returned from the three month Sabbatical rested, renewed, and recommitted to ministry with new energy and enthusiasm.  Specifically, the Sabbatical was designed to sharpen my skills as a storyteller, find spiritual renewal, spend time with family, rest, travel, read, and write.  My goal was to link my stories with God’s story of redemption and through the synergy of our new stories, renew our faith traditions, experience transformation in ministry, and form congregational identity and mission.  One of the big overall goals for our church was to emerge from the renewal experience with a new story for our ministry.  In many ways, I believe this was also accomplished, although this element of the program is much more difficult to measure. 

          The first significant factor that led to the success of the program was the timing and relevance of the Alban Institute Seminar, “The Power of Story to Transform Your Leadership.”  When my original proposal was submitted in the spring of 2009, the Alban seminar schedule for 2010 had not been released.  I felt that this seminar (originally titled “Narrative Leadership in Congregational Life) would be a key component to the success of my Sabbatical, but did not know how it would fit into the schedule.  The 2009 seminar was in October.  When the 2010 schedule was released I couldn’t believe my good fortune.  Perhaps, Providence would be a more accurate explanation.  The seminar had been moved to the final week of July.  My last Sunday was July 25, 2010.  My wife, Joyce, and I left early the next morning to fly to Connecticut for the seminar that started on the morning of July 26.  The seminar not only provided the context and foundation for the Sabbatical experience, but also provided the educational component that I needed to help me prepare the Intergeneration Sunday School Classes for the church.  We left the Alban Seminar and traveled to Chautauqua for a wonderful week of intellectual challenge and structure that resulted in the completion of the Sunday School lessons and provided the spiritual inspiration to launch the Sabbatical.

Thank you First Baptist Church and the Lilly Endowment for an amazing experience!  And thank the good Lord that the final report has been received, the mission has been accomplished, and it is FINALLY OVER!

         

JOHNNY PARKER'S BAPTISM

        Last week, in our Bible study on Mark’s Gospel, we focused on the baptism of Jesus.  In thinking about baptism, I recalled one of the most significant baptisms I have ever performed.  It was 30 years ago in my first church, Pollocksville Baptist.  I shared the story with my Bible studies and they encouraged me to condense this into an article for the paper.  Last week this story appeared in the Lexington Dispatch. 

        It was 30 years ago when he rode his bicycle into our back yard and stopped for a visit.  Johnny was a kind, gentle, and pleasant young man.  I’m guessing he was in his 20s.  People told us he was “a retarded boy,” a term we don’t use anymore.  Like many who are limited in different ways, Johnny made up for with an over-abundance of love and kindness.

        “How do you get that water in the pool?” he asked. At first I didn’t know what he was talking about.  “What pool?”

        “The one in the church,” he said. 

        I asked him if he wanted to go and see. We walked over to the church and I showed him the pipes that supplied water to the baptistery.  

        “Is it cold?”

        I explained to him how we heated the water with a makeshift gas stove that looked suspiciously like a still.  Satisfied, Johnny got on his bicycle and returned home.

His father approached me a few days later and told me that Johnny was talking about being baptized.  “We have never pushed baptism with him,” he said.  “There’s so much about it that he doesn’t understand.”

        Over the next few weeks Johnny would stop by and we would continue our discussion about baptism.  We went from the mechanics of the water, to what one would wear, to the meaning of baptism.  He nodded his head in agreement but I didn’t know how much he comprehended. 

        Finally, Johnny told me one day that he was ready to be baptized.  I explained to him that in our Baptist Church, one would come down to the front during the final hymn so I could share his decision with the church.  He agreed but when the time came, Johnny had disappeared.  I found him later that week and asked if he still wanted to be baptized.  I sensed he was fearful so I tried to reassure him.  As I was rigging up our homemade gas water heater, I wondered if we would have a baptism or not.  

        When it came time for the baptism Sunday morning Johnny was there, but he was scared to death.  I talked to him for a moment.  I really thought he was going to back out. I could hear a hush in the sanctuary.  I knew they were waiting on us. 

        We walked to the steps leading into the water.  I walked down into the water and looked up at him, holding my hand out, inviting him to come.  He hesitated.  It seemed like a long time as he stared at the water, trying to make up his mind. 

        “It’s okay,” I said.  “You will be fine.”

        Slowly, Johnny took a step and then another.  As he entered the pool he let out a yelp and loudly proclaimed, “Whoo boy, this water’s cold!”  It was more nerves than anything else.

        He stood in the water, shaking.  I said.  “Are you ready?”  He nodded his head.  I stated the baptismal formula, pronouncing that Johnny Parker was being baptized in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.   He held his breath and went under the cleansing waters of baptism.

        Just as quickly he emerged, shaking his head like a puppy coming out of a bath, and he looked at his hands as if they had been transformed.  He smiled a big smile and confidently walked out of the pool. 

        There was a transformation that day, but not just with Johnny.  Johnny was a child of God, always had been, before and after the baptism.  But as I stood there before a trembling young man in the cool waters, I recognized not his weakness, but mine.  I was not the one who lifted Johnny out of the water.  No, it wasn’t me, but a power much greater.    

        The congregation was also transformed.  Tears of joy punctuated a celebration of God’s goodness and grace.  We realized that in God’s family all are favored and all are blessed.  And I think that if I had listened closely I would have heard the words, “This is my beloved child, with whom I am well pleased.” 

                                                                Ray N. Howell III

                                                                February 4, 2012

DO YOU BELIEVE IN ANGELS?

        Do you believe in Angels?   I believe Angels are all around us and but we don’t recognize them as Angels.  Only Hollywood dresses them in white robes with wings.  Last Friday Joyce and I had an encounter with an Angel outside of Aldi’s Foods. 

        A few months ago I had my tires aligned.  I could look at my tires and tell that an alignment was needed.  Jeff, at Perryman’s Alignment told me that I would need to get new tires before too much longer.  “You definitely need them before winter,” he said.

        I’ve been waiting for winter to come.  At least, that was my excuse.  I knew I needed to buy new tires but I kept putting it off.  I had other “more important” things to do.  I was so busy during the holidays and no one wants to buy new tires for Christmas, do they?   I will get them after the first of the year, I thought. 

        Joyce’s car was due for a major service so we took her car to the dealership last Thursday afternoon.  Then we drove my truck to Durham for a show and drove back late Thursday night.  I noticed that my steering wheel was shaking a little more than normal.  I thought about needing new tires.  When I get them I will get another alignment and the shaking will stop, I thought. 

        Friday afternoon we were going to get Joyce’s car.  Joyce told me we needed to stop by Aldi’s to pick up a couple of items that they always have at a great price.  Then we would go and get her car.  I had it all scheduled.  

        When we were getting into my truck, a man walked up and said, “My wife said I shouldn’t say anything, but I think you need to know.  Your tire is in bad shape.  You can see the steel thread and there is a knot on the tire.  You need to do something about it.” 

        He pointed it out to me.  My tires should have been replaced 5,000 miles before.  I should have gotten new tires shortly after the alignment months before.  But, I didn’t listen. The tire on the passenger front was really dangerous.  Suddenly, our first priority was getting new tires for my truck.  Within a couple of hours I had brand new tires. 

        I thought about driving to Durham and back the night before.  That tire could have blown at any time. Who knows what would have happened. We not only had an Angel riding with us, but the next day in the parking lot of Aldi’s, an Angel told me something I needed to hear and instructed me to do something that I had put off for too long. 

        I hope I see him again, because I want to thank him.  But you know I may never see him.  Angels are like that.   And I believe in Angels.