MY EASTER IN GREECE

        A wonderful group of young people along with parents and leaders are leaving this Thursday for Greece along with their beloved Choral Director, Lee Mabe, who was recently named Lexington’s “Citizen of the Year.” 

        I have had the privilege of traveling to Greece three times and each time the experience has been awe-inspiring.   In the late 1990s we took a great group of folks to Greece to follow the journeys of the Apostle Paul.  This trip came to mind since we left right after Easter and the kids are leaving this Thursday, Maundy Thursday.  It was on our trip in the 90s that I learned the Orthodox Calendar is often different that the Western Calendar, so rather than being in Greece on Easter Sunday, the youth will experience a second Palm Sunday this Sunday, April 8.  Last year, 2011, Easter was actually observed by both traditions on the same day, April 24, but this year and the year we went, they are different.   Both traditions use the same formula for calculating Easter, “The first Sunday after the first full moon on or after the vernal equinox,” but the churches base the dates on different calendars.  Western churches use the Gregorian calendar and Eastern churches the Julian calendar.  It’s actually even more complicated because the two traditions differ in their definition of the vernal equinox.  Western churches use a fixed date, March 21, and Orthodox churches set the date according to the actual equinox as observed along the meridian of Jerusalem, site of the Crucifixion and the Resurrection. All of this is very confusing, but the bottom line is that the youth will experience two Palm Sundays this year and the year we went, we experienced two Easters—and that is what I want to tell you about!   My Easter in Greece. 

        We were visiting the island of Rhodes on Easter Eve and learned that the Greek Orthodox Easter celebration was scheduled for that night.  We arrived around 11:00 p.m. and found hundreds, well over a thousand, people surrounding the Greek Orthodox Church.  There was no way that all of those people were going to get inside the church and most of us didn’t even attempt to go in.  After all, we were told, the action takes place outside the church.

        Precisely at midnight deep in the sacred chambers of the old church, a single candle, the Christ candle was lit by the High Priest.  All of the other clergy wait.  Following an ancient liturgy (Greek Orthodox are called “Keepers of the Tradition” and scholars say they may come closer to early worship in the church than any other tradition), the High Priest emerges carrying the candle with great pomp and ceremony. 

        Outside the church everyone is anxiously waiting.   We have been given candles and we wait and watch the entrance of the church.  As the first member of the clergy emerges (beginning with the lowest and ascending in importance and rank) a wave of anticipation swept through the crowd and you could feel the excitement, much as when the first members of a football team emerge from the tunnel before a huge game. 

        There were a number of the old priests, dressed in black with long, flowing beards, but they were preparing the way for the big man, the High Priest, who finally emerged carrying the lighted candle.  The crowd momentarily erupted with joy but then quickly was hushed as the High Priest prepared to make the most significant and explosive pronouncement of his life.  There was a dramatic pause, the crowd held their collective breath and then, then the High Priest thundered “Christos Anesti!”  (Christ is Risen)

        The crowd exploded with the response, “Alithos Anesti!”  (He is risen indeed!)  Then the crowd cheered, but it more than a cheer, it was a joyous, thunderous, exclamation of celebration and victory!   Jesus is alive!   Then people began to sing.  They sang and sang as the old priests lit their candles from the Christ candle and then proceeded to light the peoples’ candles.  As each Candle was lit, the affirmation “Christos Anesti” was shared. 

        That night a perfect stranger who no more could speak English than I could speak conversational Greek shared the light of Christ and said, “”Christos Anesti!”  “Alithos Anesti” I said in return and I turned to light the candle of another stranger who at that moment, became a brother in Christ. 

        The goal of every family was to keep the candles burning until they made it home and then the children would light the candles on the table that would be filled with a joyous feast—yes, they would feast throughout the wee hours of the morning.

        I have always recalled that experience as one of the most powerful spiritual moments of my life.  A long way from home, on a Greek island far away, I experienced the power of the Risen Christ and shared his light and love with strangers.  My hope and prayer is that these young people who travel to Greece will also find Christ’s light and love.  

WHEN YOU KNOW THE ENDING

        We were watching the North Carolina basketball game last Sunday when it came time to leave for a meeting at the church.  “I’m going to record the rest of the game,” I told my wife.  “And if it is an exciting finish I want to watch it when we get home.”  I’m not a Carolina fan, but since I have a daughter who graduated from UNC, a grandson who is a student in Chapel Hill, and another grandson who lives and dies with the Tar Heels, I was pulling for them to win.  They were also representing our state and the ACC.  I wanted Carolina to beat Kansas. 

        I heard the final score before I returned home.  I promptly erased the recording.  It makes a difference when you know the outcome.  It’s hard to be excited when you know the ending is not good. 

        This Sunday at high noon hundreds of people from area churches will gather at the Square in front of the old courthouse for a Community Palm Sunday Celebration.  It will be a festive atmosphere.  You will hear shouts of “Hosanna!  Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!”  Trumpets will sound, worshipers dressed in their Sunday finest will wave Palm fronds, different choirs dressed in colorful robes will sing “All Glory, Laud, and Honor,” and the local clergy dressed in liturgical vestments with purple stoles will pray, read Scripture and proclaim the Good News of Jesus Christ!

It will be a celebration which raises an interesting question.  How can we celebrate when we know that the ending will not be good?  If we follow Jesus throughout Holy Week, we will find tensions building in Jerusalem as he drives the money changers out of the Temple, the religious authorities will conspire against him, the people will turn against him, and finally one of his own disciples will sell him out for a pocketful of money.  Jesus will be arrested, paraded back and forth between political leaders, victimized by a travesty of a trial, and finally sentenced to die by crucifixion.   His closest followers will go into hiding, he will be severely beaten and ridiculed, and after a humiliating death march through the city forced to carry his instrument of torture and execution, he will be stripped of his garments, nailed to a cross, and lifted up for all to see on a public hill called Golgotha just outside the city walls.  

Just knowing that this will happen tempers our celebration, but yet, we still celebrate.   We know that even though the immediate ending is not good, there is a greater ending that transcends all human expectation and experience—a greater ending that transforms our very existence.  It teaches us that the worst case scenario is never the last word.  There is always hope, always light, and always a reason to lift up our heads and hearts and yes, celebrate, even in the most desperate situations. 

As people of faith we understand that pain, suffering, injustice, and death are all a part of life.  We can erase the recording, but it doesn’t change the reality.  It’s how we view the reality of suffering that makes all the difference.  Left on its own, suffering, pain, affliction, and failure will overwhelm us, driving us into a deep, dark abyss of depression and despair.  Life loses all meaning and purpose and we are plunged into hopelessness.  But if we understand that Jesus not only died for us, but he died to suffer with us, we can allow him to absorb our anguish and despair through his crucifixion.  Fredrick Buechner wrote, “Because of the cross our greatest pain endured in love and faithfulness, becomes the greatest beauty and the greatest hope.”  Therefore we can sing, “In the cross of Christ I glory!”

And so this Sunday, Palm Sunday, we celebrate precisely because we know how it will end.  And next Sunday, Easter Sunday . . . well, nothing can ever erase that ending!

Scheduled to appear in The Dispatch, March 31, 2012

       

Elsie Banks Loved to Laugh

          We are in the midst of a Lenten sermon series on the Fruit of the Spirit.  This Sunday we are talking about goodness.  I was thinking about the best way to define goodness, and I thought about Elsie Banks.  Elsie personified the meaning of goodness.   But last Sunday we talked about kindness.  Kindness defined Elsie’s life.   And there was love, and joy, peace, patience . ..

        In Elsie’s life the Fruit of the Spirit were not only present, but active, vibrant, transparent and contagious.  

        Elsie died at her home Tuesday night after an extended illness.  Her funeral service was Saturday at First Baptist Church where she was an active and faithful member for the majority of her life. 

        There are nine “fruits” of the Spirit.   While Elsie displayed all nine in her life, perhaps the one that stood out above all the rest was “faithfulness.”  

        Elsie did not have an easy life.  She was raised at the Junior Order Home, and while that was a difficult journey in many ways, Elsie would quickly point out all of the positives, the love, the support, the life-lessons, the encouragement that we received there.  

        She experienced a great deal of loss in her life, her parents, her husband, her brothers, but most painfully, her son.  For many years she battled a serious and life-threatening illness.  But through it all, while some would have become bitter, callous, and angry with God—Elsie was faithful. 

        In good times and bad, Elsie was faithful.  In times of sickness and distress, Elsie was faithful.  Through heartache and loss, Elsie was faithful. 

        She loved First Baptist Church.   It was her extended family.   And it was rare that an event was taking place at our church without Elsie.  Whenever the church bus or one of our charter buses pulled out of the church parking lot on a trip, Elsie would be on board.  We had some great times traveling together and Elsie was always at the center of the action, her joy and enthusiasm were contagious.  Everyone loved to be with Elise. 

        Elsie’s joy was communicated through the sparkle in her eyes and her loveable laughter.  All I had to do was mention a memorable experience from one of our trips, like the banana pudding we had at Natural Bridge, Virginia that didn’t have any bananas, or the trip to West Virginia when it rained the entire time and we had chicken for every meal, or the continental breakfast we had in Williamsburg at which everyone was rationed two mini-muffins, or my 50^th birthday Cruise when we hit the Nor’easter coming back up the East Coast and everybody in the group was too sick to eat the cake, or the time we celebrated Martha Kinney’s birthday in Savannah and everybody on the bus was laughing, but no one can remember the reason why—and Elsie’s eyes would sparkle and she would laugh.  

        In the 31^st chapter of Proverbs, the wisdom writer is describing a virtuous woman and he writes:  Strength and dignity are her clothing and she laughs at the time to come.  To be able to laugh in times of distress, sadness, pain, and suffering, is the visible sign of faithfulness.  The writer goes on to say:

She speaks wisely.
She teaches faithfully.
She watches over family matters.
She is busy all the time.
Her children rise up and call her blessed.
Her husband also, and he praises her.
He says, "Many women do noble things.
But you are better than all the others."

The passage concludes by saying:  Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.

THE DAY MR. LOONEY DIED

        There are two things I read in my hometown newspaper—the obituaries and a feature called, “A Look Back” that reports on what was going on in my hometown 50 years ago, back when I was a boy. 

        I’ve often told the story of my first encounter with death.  Mr. Looney was a kind policeman who often worked the school crossing on Main and Milner Streets.  Back when I WAS A BOY, I would walk to school!  (Yes, it was rough back in the day!)  The Main and Milner crossing was one block from my house, two blocks from the school.  (Okay, give me a break!  It was only 3 blocks but I was just a kid!)

        Mr. Looney knew us all by name, or at least our family name.  I was “little Howell.”   He would joke around with all the kids, sometimes let us play with his handcuffs, and he would make sure we were safe and sound. 

        One morning I saw Mr. Looney on the way to school.  I’m sure he called me “little Howell” and had some encouraging words for me.  He wasn’t there when I walked home.  I stopped at my grandmother’s house and she told me that Mr. Looney had died.  It was a sudden heart attack, just after working the school crossing. 

        My memory doesn’t always serve me well because in my mind we got in her car right then and went to the funeral home.  More than likely it was the next afternoon when we went to the funeral home.  It was the old Peck Funeral Home up on the hill across the tracks from the Hartselle Depot. 

        We walked into the viewing room and I remember flowers everywhere.  And there, in the middle of the floral arrangements, was a casket with Mr. Looney, dressed in his police uniform with his hat resting to his side.  My grandmother walked up to the casket.  She beckoned me to come join her but I was reluctant.  I had never seen anyone in death before. 

        She started talking to me, telling me that this was just Mr. Looney’s body.  His spirit, she said, was already in heaven.  Mr. Looney was rejoicing in heaven.  He was up there with Jesus and all of his family and one day, we would be there too. 

        Then she said to me, “Do you want to touch him?”  

        Well, I didn’t, but Nana didn’t give me a choice.  She took my hand and placed it on Mr. Looney’s cold hands.   A chill went up my spine.  She was teaching me a life lesson about death.  “Death is a part of life,” she always said.

        That event had quiet an impact on me.  Obviously, I have not forgotten my first encounter with a dead man.  The other day in my hometown paper, I read that 50 years ago Police Chief Looney had a sudden heart attack and died.  His funeral was scheduled for First Baptist Church.    

        So it has been 50 years.  I would have been an eight year old boy in the second grade.  And I never remembered him being the Police Chief.  Of course, my hometown was so small there were probably just a handful of policemen.   But even so, it was the Chief who worked the school crossing and made friends with all the kids.   Fifty years later, Mr. Looney is still influencing me. 

        Now, here is the “rest of the story.”   I don’t know if that experience had anything to do with it—but I think it did—when in college I got a part-time job at a funeral home.  I certainly wasn’t scared of being around the dead.  My grandmother saw to that when I was in the second grade. 

        I have always felt that my experience in a funeral home gave me a better understanding of how to relate to families at a time of death, which I do right often as a minister. 

        And here’s another interested twist.  Having experience at a funeral home in college led me to find a job with Bright Funeral Home in Wake Forest when I was in seminary.  When I went to work at Bright, they were still running ambulance service, so I was certified as an EMT.  When I was called to my first church, they quickly found out that I was an EMT with ambulance experience so I was soon a volunteer with the rescue squad.  My youngest brother, Jon, came to see me and went on an ambulance call with me.  He must have liked it, because he later got a part-time job with an ambulance service.  Today, he is the CEO of HEMSI, the emergency medical services of Huntsville, Alabama.  

        Somehow there is a connection that goes back 50 years to the day that Mr. Looney died.   Death, after all, is a part of life. 

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.