Called To Preach: Forty Years and Counting

        Forty years ago this month I listened to the words from the prophet Jeremiah: “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you to be a prophet.”  From the time I was sixteen years old I never had any doubt that God was calling me to be a preacher.  People have asked me how I could know, how could I be certain.  Did I hear a voice? 

        No, I never heard a voice.  It was much louder than that.  It was in my DNA, it is who I am. 

        This calling became official in December of 1977 when my first church ordained me to the Gospel ministry.  Rev. Donald Myers, the retired longtime pastor of the Reidsville First Baptist Church who had been instrumental in my calling to the Pollocksville Baptist Church, delivered a heartfelt sermon in which he told the congregation not to expect me to hit a homerun every Sunday!

        I asked my father to deliver the “charge to the candidate.”  I can’t remember anything he said, but the fact my father was there was all I need to remember.  The church presented me with a Bible and congratulated me on my ordination.  I was a now a bona fide, certified, card carrying, genuine preacher!

        Four decades later with over 2,000 sermons and 500 funerals, plus hundreds of baptisms, weddings, baby dedications, hospital visits, invocations, Bible studies and blessings—I’m still going. 

        As a preacher there are a lot of things I do, and to be honest, a lot of things I could do without.  As in any job or profession there are tedious tasks that come with the territory.  I could do without a lot of the administrative work, meetings, scheduling, and especially listening to complaints.  But I cannot do without preaching.  It is who I am. 

        A lot of people, my family included, told me I should not preach the Sunday before Thanksgiving.  They were concerned with good reason because I had just had gall bladder surgery three days before.  But I told them I could not miss Thanksgiving Sunday.  I had even more reason to be thankful and I wanted to deliver a sermon on gratitude, and that is exactly what I did.  I wasn’t trying to prove a point or be heroic—take my gall bladder out but don’t take away my preaching!   That is who I am!

        I find complete fulfillment in sharing good news.  The word “Gospel” means, “good news.”  When I was in college I had a kindly religion professor, Dr. Mabry Lunceford, who constantly reminded us that “preaching is good news!”  We have the greatest possible news to share:  hope in the midst of despair, light in the midst of darkness, and even life in the midst of death.   “Why should you be negative,” Dr. Lunceford would ask, “when the Gospel is good news?” 

        In most denominations there is an ordination council that determines whether one can be ordained or not.  There was one member of my ordination council who voted against me.   This old Baptist preacher was an advocate of closed communion.  He believed in an exclusive Gospel and asked me if I thought Baptists should share communion with other denominations.  The question seems tame today, but it was a highly charged issue for him 40 years ago. 

        My answer was that it is the Lord ’s table, not mine, and I would be honored to share communion with whoever the Lord invites to his table.  Well, he didn’t like it and that old codger pitched a hissy fit right there in front of God, me, the entire council and the heavenly host.  They finally asked me to leave the room so they could calm him down.  He voted against me, but the rest of the council voted in the affirmative.

        That is one negative vote I am proud to have earned.  If I want to be remembered for anything it is that I preached an inclusive Gospel of love, forgiveness, acceptance and grace.  The Gospel is good news!  For everyone!   I’ve only had forty years to share it—I hope to have many more, because I was called to be a preacher!

Taking Care of Momma

      On a hot summer morning an old, green pickup truck pulled into the parking lot of the funeral home in LA (lower Alabama).  Larry looked out the window and said, “Well, I declare.  There’s old Chess.  I haven’t seen him in ages.”

        Chess was a tall, lanky farmer dressed in overalls.   He slowly got out of the pickup and made his way to the front door where Larry greeted him.

        “It’s a sad day, Larry,” he said.  “Momma died last night.”

        “I’m sorry Chess.  She’s been sick for a while, hasn’t she?”

        “Long time, Larry.  Long time.  It’s a blessing.  She’s not suffering anymore.” 

        Larry had known Chess for years and his compassion was genuine.  He waited as Chess pulled a red handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes.  After a moment Larry said, “Chess, tell me where Momma is and we will go pick her up.”

        “I didn’t want to bother you with that,” Chess said.  “You know how far out the farm is.  I brought Momma in.  She’s in the truck.” 

        Larry and I rolled the stretcher out to the pickup and sure enough, there was Momma.  She still had her nightclothes on and Chess have carefully wrapped her in a sheet.  We gently picked her up and rolled her into the funeral home as Chess watched.

        Chess had been taking care of Momma for years as her health declined.  When she died, driving Momma to the funeral home seemed like the natural thing to do for this old, country farmer.  He took care of Momma all the way to the end. 

        Taking care of Momma is something a lot of us have been doing.  As we get older we need to be thinking about the day when our children may be taking care of us.  There are several things we can do to make this easier.

        The most important thing is to talk about these issues.  If I am incapacitated and not capable of making decisions on my own, what do I want as I approach the end of life?  Do I want to be kept alive by every possible means?  Would I want a feeding tube?  What if my heart stops?  Do I want the doctors to attempt to resuscitate me?   Do I want to donate my organs?  What would I like for my funeral?

        As my mother is suffering from Alzheimer’s, my brother and I have talked about these issues.  We have been to the funeral home and planned her funeral.  We have DNR orders (Do Not Resuscitate), and my brother is the healthcare power of attorney. 

        One of the greatest gifts you can give to your children is to make end of life decisions while you can.   These include Advance Directives, Living Will and Health Care Power of Attorney, Medical Orders for Scope of Treatment (MOST), DNR orders, organ donation, and funeral plans. 

        Many attorneys specialize in Advance Directives, but these forms are also available online.  Your doctor and our healthcare systems all are willing to talk with you about these decisions.  Our funeral homes are always ready to work with you on final arrangements.  And as a minister, I have always appreciated those who have shared their final wishes with me. 

        The Bible says there is a time to be born and a time to die.  Sadly, I see many people who are living past their time to die.  They are not really living, but their bodies are still functioning through artificial means.  I don’t think anyone wants to exist this way.  In most of these cases Advance Directives were not made and the family was left making the difficult and heart-wrenching decision of what to do with Momma. 

        Chess took care of Momma to the end.  It was the natural thing for him to do.  We can take care of Momma and take care of our children by planning ahead.  It’s the natural thing to do! 

                                                              

         

Holy Wisdom Under the Tuscan Sky

The view was stunning: the entire experience surreal.  In a moment that will be forever frozen in time, I heard words of wisdom that will last a lifetime.

        In the beautiful, rolling Tuscan hills south of Florence in Italy, there is a little town on the top a hill that looks like it belongs in a fairy tale.  The Medieval City of San Gimignano was once one of the most powerful and wealthy cities in Italy.  The walled city can be seen from miles in every direction, as all medieval cities were elevated for defensive purposes.  It rests on an ancient Etruscan road, later a Roman Road, used by Peter and Paul, and then it became one of the most important pilgrims’ roads that led all the way from Canterbury, England to Rome, the Via Francigena.

        In medieval times rich families would build towers to display their wealth, the more money you had, the taller the tower.  At one point there were 72 towers in San Gimignano, including two identical twin towers that the architects of the Twin Towers in New York City studied.  Today there are 14 towers remaining.  From a distance, the towers rising from the walled city give the appearance of a fairy tale castle. One of those towers belongs to a friend of ours, a charismatic, charming man by the name of Pierluigi Giachi. 

        A number of years ago a large group of folks from Lexington traveled to Italy.  We covered that exotic country from the gorgeous lake country in the north to the ruins of Pompeii in the south.  The trip had many amazing highlights, but no one will ever forget visiting a lovely Tuscan winery and meeting Pierluigi.  He charmed the ladies, he entertained the men, and we left feeling like family.  Joyce and I found Pierluigi when we returned to Italy in 2010 and he welcomed us like long lost friends.

        Last month with a small group of friends we reconnected with Pierluigi.  This time he invited us into his home which resides in a 1400 year old tower in San Gimignano.  After socializing on a gorgeous terrace overlooking the valley below, he invited us to climb to the top of the tower. 

        Someone has said, “Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.”  This was one of those moments.  As I stood on top of the tower, surrounded by indescribable beauty, listening as my magnanimous friend regaled us with his story, I recalled the happy experience, the laughter and delight we enjoyed the first time we met this consummate Italian.  And then I remembered three dear friends who shared that experience with us years ago:  Bob and Marge Team and Bill Delapp. 

        I told Pierluigi how special moments like this were and shared with him that three of our close friends who were with us on the first trip had passed away.  He paused for a moment as he processed my words.  What happened next can only be described as “Hagia Sophia” (Holy Wisdom).

        Looking at me with tears in his eyes he said, “Ray, we all live under the sky.  Every day is a gift.  We must “Carpe Diem” –Seize the Day!” 

        Wow!  His profound words are still reverberating through my mind and heart.  I will never forget what he said and I hope I will incarnate his words into my life each day.  I can seize the day by living a life of gratitude, generosity, and service.  I can be positive when others are negative.  I can be redemptive when others are judgmental.  I can be kind when others are cruel. 

        We are all children of God, we all live under the sky.