Christ Is Risen! There Is Good News To Share!

Good news, oh, the chariot's coming

Good news, the chariot's coming,

Yeah, I don't want to be behind. (Spiritual)

Dear sisters and brothers, this is one happy preacher writing this story. Why? Because good news is coming soon! It's coming in the morning! Easter Sunday morning!

Sunday morning I will stand before the faithful, and a few who haven't been so faithful, and announce: "I have good news to share!" The economy is still hurting, health insurance is unaffordable, the world seems to be on the brink of war, but I have good news to share. In spite of sickness, tragedy, natural disasters and suffering, I have good news to share. The world is full of evil and hatred, wars continue to escalate, terrorism lurks in the shadows, but I have good news to share. The good news will reverberate from coast to coast, nation to nation, ocean to ocean, and continent to continent. Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia!

I've always been excited about Easter. One of my earliest childhood memories is sitting with my dad on Easter Sunday on a folding chair on the front porch of the sanctuary because there was no more room inside. I vividly remember the bright Easter sun, the singing birds and the blooming flowers announcing the good, glad, glorious news of the resurrection much more powerfully and creatively than our pastor; bless his dear heart, who was droning away inside the building.

When I was called to my first church I learned that I would not be preaching on Easter Sunday. Dear Miss Louise, bless her dear heart, she had been the music director at our church since the Reformation.  She informed me that Easter Sunday was reserved for the annual Easter cantata. In the spirit of the Reformation I started to protest, but she, in the spirit of the Inquisition, told me that all of those people who came to church on Easter didn't want to be bored with a silly sermon. No sir! It was an Easter cantata they wanted and an Easter cantata they would get.

I cried that Easter Sunday. People thought I was moved by the cantata, but I was crying because I thought I would have to move in order to preach an Easter sermon. But the good Lord must have heard my cries because a couple of years later he moved Miss Louise. Bless her dear heart, he sent the chariot for her and I knew that good news was coming.

For my first Easter sermon I went out and bought a stunning, three-piece polyester light blue suit with matching patent leather blue shoes that shined so much you could see yourself in the reflection. I worked up a mighty fine Easter sermon and generously applied the Old Spice to drown out the Easter lilies and some hair tonic to doctor up my hair. (The light blue suit, the blue shoes, the sermon, and my hair have all disappeared, but I think I still have the Old Spice.)

I was so excited I barely slept Saturday night, but the next morning, Easter Sunday, I stood in the pulpit looking like an Easter egg and smelling like a barber shop, but just as happy as I could be. I couldn't tell you what I said, but I had good news to share.

As people sniffed the air and looked quizzically at my blue outfit, they told me it was a good sermon. After locking all the doors to the church I walked out into the bright Easter sun, heard the birds singing, saw the flowers blooming and I realized that all creation was announcing the good, glad, glorious news of the resurrection much more powerfully and creatively than I ever could, bless my dear heart.

Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia! That's good news to share!

A Century After His Birth A Calling Is Fulfilled

Harry M. Philpott was born 100 years ago on May 7, 1917, in Bassett, Virgnia.  Two years later his father purchased a bankrupt furniture plant and moved the family to Lexington, North Carolina.  United Furniture became a thriving industry and the Philpott family started a legacy of community involvement and service.  As the six Philpott sons grew up in the Lexington City Schools and the First Baptist Church, they all seemed destined to follow in their father’s footsteps in the furniture industry.  But in 1935, 18 year-old Harry discovered a different destiny.  He heard the voice of God calling him to be his prophet and in September, 1935, Harry Philpott was licensed to preach the Gospel by the First Baptist Church of Lexington, NC.

        He started to live out his calling as a Navy Chaplain in the Second World War.  After the war he earned his Ph.D. at Yale Divinity School where he became a Teaching Fellow for Dr. Luther Weigle, a preeminent Biblical scholar who was the lead translator for the Revised Standard Version of the Bible.  Harry Philpott participated in the work of the translation, or in his words, “I did most of the grunt work.” 

        His calling took him into the educational arena and in 1965, he became the President of Auburn University in the sleepy little town of Auburn, Alabama.  A year before he came to Auburn, Governor George Wallace stood in the schoolhouse door of the University of Alabama to prevent black students from enrolling.  Only after a federal order enforced by the National Guard did George Wallace stand down. 

        No such theatrics were necessary at the “Loveliest Village on the Plains.”   While the University of Alabama was integrated by a federal mandate, Auburn University was integrated by Harry Philpott.  During his tenure, the entire university including athletics became fully integrated.  For the one who heard the voice of God calling him at the age of 18, this was a matter of righteousness and justice.  It was simply the right thing to do.

        Dr. Philpott’s passionate conviction for justice and equality was not limited to his professional arena.  The new President who grew up in First Baptist Church in Lexington, NC became a member of the First Baptist Church in Auburn.  As a typical Baptist church in the deep south, the congregation was all white and women were excluded from ordained leadership.  It was Harry Philpott who led his church to change.

        On March 19 our church called the first female minister in the 138 year history of our congregation.  When Meagan Smith was asked by one of our members if she felt any pressure being a female minister, she responded by saying that it was not until she went to seminary that she realized many Baptist churches limited the role of women.  She explained that she grew up in a church with several female ministers as wonderful role models.  That church was First Baptist Church in Auburn, Alabama.

        When I called the pastor in Auburn to talk about Meagan, I asked him if he knew of Harry Philpott.  “Harry Philpott!” he exclaimed.  “He is the patron saint of this church.”  He went on to tell me that the church was open and progressive primarily because of the influence of Dr. Philpott. 

        Growing up in First Baptist Auburn, Meagan was influenced by a wonderful couple, Virgil and Donna Starks.  Virgil was a Sunday School teacher, they were youth leaders, and Meagan was close to their family.  The Starks are African-American.  If not for Harry Philpott, they would not have been in Meagan’s church.  Virgil Starks was also my brother’s best friend, but that’s another story for another day!

        First Baptist Church of Lexington was full of great joy and excitement on March 19.  Our congregation unanimously and enthusiastically welcomed Meagan into our family.  We have been searching for a new minister for a year.  Little did we realize that this calling actually started one hundred years ago when a baby boy was born in Bassett, Virginia. 

        “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I called you to be my prophet.”     Jeremiah 1: 5

                                                             

Reach for the Stars

One of my favorite stories from Lexington’s history is about an amazing group of businessmen who dared to reach for the stars with a bold vision over 100 years ago. In spite of the fact Lexington was strategically located on the main line of the Southern Railroad; it remained a sleepy little hamlet at the turn of the 20th century with Wenonah Mills being the only major industry. (Dixie Furniture started in 1901.) In 1909 the town learned that a new railroad was being constructed, the Winston-Salem Southbound that would intersect with the mighty Southern precisely in Lexington. Town leaders knew this was a golden opportunity, but it would take more than two railroads to attract new industry. It would take a great vision and bold dreams.

The Lexington Board of Trade was established and the leaders immediately started to dream. They planned a lavish banquet at the March Hotel, inviting potential business partners across the state and region, to promote Lexington as a town of progress and promise. Those important visitors probably didn’t expect a great deal from this little town, so they must have been shocked at what they experienced.

Rather than simply promoting Lexington as a regional center of commerce and trade, the town business leaders had a much more expansive vision. Decades before the Internet, television, or even radio, they promoted Lexington as a city that was destined to become an “international center of business and trade.” They even planned an international menu for the banquet that included Cuban cigars. The main course was, naturally, barbecue — three types of barbecue: pork, beef, and opossum! (I’m not joking! They served up opossum to those swashbuckling tycoons.)

Did Lexington become an international center of trade? No, not even close. They probably should have left off the opossum, but what did happen changed the course of our town for the greater part of the 20th century. Because the visionary leaders of Lexington dared to reach for the stars, business and industry more than doubled over the next few years. The difference was not so much convincing others that Lexington would be a great place to locate a business, but it was the leaders convincing themselves that Lexington was an exceptional place to work and call home.DefaultsDone

Two years after the international banquet at the March Hotel one of Lexington’s business leaders who dared to reach for the stars was in New York City. He was bragging about his hometown and how much he loved Lexington. A textile manufacturer overheard the conversation. He had always wanted to have a mill in the South and the more he heard, the more Lexington sounded like the perfect place. He introduced himself to the Lexington man and told him how impressed he was with what he had heard. By the time the two men had finished talking, Mr. Erlanger had decided that Lexington, North Carolina, would be a place he would like to call home. Erlanger Mills opened in 1914 and played a significant role in Lexington for the rest of the century.

The scripture reminds us that where there is no vision the people perish. Our forefathers had a grand vision for their hometown. My prayer is that we will also reach for the stars and dream great dreams for our hometown. Just make sure we leave the opossum out of it.

Underground Church is not a game in many places in the world

There was subversive activity at the YMCA one Sunday night in February involving almost 75 Lexington teenagers. It took place after dark, after the Y had closed for the evening. The youths were sneaking around the darkened Y searching for a secret meeting place. Guards were on duty. Some of the youths were stopped and questioned. Some were escorted to prison. The ones who did make it to the secret meeting place waited in silence, not knowing who would find them. Finally, the teenagers who had been arrested were brought in to join their fellow trespassers. It was a night that they will never forget.

The events at the Y that Sunday were staged. Six downtown youth groups joined forces to participate in “Underground Church.” The youths are told that they are living in a country where Christianity is illegal, but there is an underground church movement called the Ichthys Society. Ichthys is the Greek word for fish. The fish symbol was used by Roman Christians to identify believers in the persecution of the church.

We had volunteers patrolling the Y as guards. They would stop and question the teenagers and check their passes that contained the figure of a fish. Some of the passes were authentic and some were counterfeit. A counterfeit pass would result in imprisonment. If one stated publically they were a Christian, they would go to jail. A number of the youths were incarcerated. It goes without saying that these young people have a new appreciation for freedom of religion.

While “Underground Church” was a game last week at the Y, this is real life for many Christians in today’s world. There are many places where Christians are persecuted, dispossessed, tortured, and killed because of their faith. North Korean Christians must hide their faith at all times. Just owning a Bible in North Korea is grounds for execution or deportment to a harsh labor camp. Despite this oppression, Christianity is growing and believers gather to sing silent hymns in cramped basements and crumbling buildings.

Radical Islamists in Somalia have stated that they want to purge the nation of all Christians. People suspected of following Jesus are likely to be killed on the spot. Over 700,000 Christians have fled Syria since the start of their civil war. The ones remaining are tortured and some have been executed. In Iraq, Iran, Sudan, Nigeria, and dozens of other nations “Underground Church” is not a game, but a dangerous way of life.

We are blessed to live in a land of religious freedom. Our founding fathers had the wisdom to guarantee every expression of religious faith. While Christianity has always been the predominate faith in the United States, we must be careful not to make Christianity the “favored religion.” Protecting the rights of Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, and those who claim no religion is vital to protecting our own. Once one faith is favored, the door is open for the favored ones to degrade and intimidate the others. All faiths must be protected equally and no one faith should be elevated over the others.

Following Jesus was never supposed to be easy. Persecution was a way of life for the early believers. Gathering for worship is as easy today as gathering for a civic meeting or a ball game. Perhaps that is why we take our faith so casually — because we risk nothing to practice it. We wanted to remind our teenagers that gathering for worship is a sacred privilege that many in the world don’t know. Jesus said, “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness sake, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.”

Put Your Jesus Glasses On When Interpreting Scripture

        There was a big picture of Neil Armstrong standing on the moon with the earth in the background hanging behind his desk.  He was proud of that picture and he should have been, because he helped put him there.  He was an engineer with NASA back in its heyday, back when they were fully funded, fully staffed, and working day and night  to achieve President Kennedy’s dream of putting a man on the moon by the end of the decade.  They succeeded, too, as the picture behind Tom’s desk bore witness.

        After the moon landings, NASA slowed down.  The funding was cut.  Public support wavered.  Many of the most dedicated NASA employees found themselves without a job, including Tom.  He moved to North Carolina, to his wife’s hometown, and became a member of the church I was serving as pastor.   That is why I was sitting in his office one day, looking with admiration at the picture of Neil Armstrong, trying to find something pleasant while Tom lectured me on the Bible. 

        “When I worked for NASA,” he said pointing to the picture, “everything we did was according to the book.”  We had a manual for everything, for every possible situation, for every foreseeable scenario.  There was a very deliberate, intentional, detailed protocol for every move we made.”

        Then he glared at me and asked, “How do you think we put a man on the moon?”  I didn’t answer.  I knew he was about to tell me.  “We followed the manual to the letter of the law!” he practically screamed as he pointed his finger at me.  And then he added, “And that is the only way to interpret Scripture.  The Bible is our manual and we are to follow it to the letter of the law!”

        There was no point trying to discuss the issue with Tom.  His mind was made up.  He had all the answers.  Not long after that lecture he left my church because, “I didn’t believe the Bible.” 

        I know a lot of people who interpret the Bible just like Tom.  I read their letters to the Editor.  They use this misguided approach to judge and condemn people, to discriminate against those who are not living according to their standards, and to divide and demean others with the harsh and caustic language of hatred.  They isolate certain passages of Scripture and use the Bible as a battering ram to slam those who disagree into humble submission. 

        The Bible is not a fixed manual.  The Bible is the living, dynamic Word of God.  It is alive and fluid.  Interpreting Scripture is hard work; it is not simple and straightforward, it is a spiritual exercise.  I believe that Scripture is Divinely inspired and that inspiration guides the interpreter just as it guided the writers.  And I believe you should use Scripture to interpret Scripture. 

As a Christian, I have a very intentional focus when I approach Scripture.  I seek to interpret Scripture through the eyes of Jesus.  When I read something that is judgmental, harsh, or divisive, I put on my Jesus glasses.  I filter what I read through the witness of Jesus, through his example of love, forgiveness, and grace.  When I see a Scripture passage that appears to condemn someone, I put on my Jesus glasses and see that individual as a child of God and as a person of worth.

        I learn that I am a sinner in interpreting Scripture and I have fallen short of the glory of God.  But then I put on my Jesus glasses and see that it was for sinners like me that Christ died, that he has washed all my sins away and I am a new creation in Christ!  

        There is too much harsh, critical, discriminatory, and hateful language in our world today.  Those of us who follow the Christ need to be to put on our Jesus glasses and turn the rhetoric of division into the promise of reconciliation and grace.  Saint Francis certainly had on his Jesus glasses when he wrote, “Where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon.”  May we go and do likewise.

                                                               

Advent is the Season to let our Light Shine

        Have you noticed?  Little by little, slowly but surely, the darkness continues to erode the light.  The days are getting shorter.  We didn’t notice at first.  Not back in late June when daylight would greet us when we first opened our eyes from the night’s rest.  But that is when it started and for the next three weeks it will continue.  There will be more and more darkness until December 22 when the light begins to push back and reverse the darkness.

        The church anticipates the reversal of the darkness through the season of Advent.  Many years ago I wrote my doctoral dissertation on Advent.  I argued that the dominant theme of Advent is hope.  As we recall the stirring prophecies of swords being beaten into plowshares, of peace on earth, and righteous and justice for all people, we focus on the not yet as we yearn for a better world for all of God’s children.  Hope is a contradiction of the present, a belief that our best days are still to come.         

        Looking back I realize that I missed something.  Advent may be defined by hope but it is expressed with light.  We light candles.  We place lights on our Christmas trees and have elaborate outdoor light displays.  Advent is the season of hope and light.  The church doesn’t run from the darkness, it invades the darkness with degrees of light.

        The Apostle John, in his thunderous theological treatise on the Incarnation, described this lofty, mysterious, unexplainable reality with a simple metaphor:  “The light shines in the darkness, and darkness cannot overcome it.”  (John 1: 5)

        There is a reason we celebrate the birth of Jesus on December 25 and it is not because Jesus was born on this day.  (Sorry about that—Jesus was probably born in the springtime when shepherds would be abiding in the fields)  In the old Julian calendar, December 25 was the winter solstice, the day the light started to reverse the onslaught of darkness.  We celebrate the birth of Jesus who is the “light of the world” on the day the light begins to reclaim the darkness!

        One December Sunday in 1956 Mrs. Frances Spencer walked into the sanctuary of her church in Danville, Virginia, and could not believe what she was seeing.  There was a Christmas tree!  A Christmas tree with colored lights, Santa Claus ornaments, and jingle bells!  In the church, no less!   Her first reaction was to protest, to complain that this is exactly what is wrong with Christmas.  Christmas is about Jesus, not Santa Claus.  This tree represented the secular world.  It had no place in the sacred house of worship.  But her righteous indignation was soon replaced with divine inspiration.  Rather than condemn, rather than judge, rather than complain, Mrs. Spencer was led to transform what she perceived as darkness into a glorious light. 

        She asked her minister if she could have the privilege of decorating the Christmas tree the next year.  He readily agreed and over the course of the year she created a number of handmade ornaments that proclaimed the true meaning of Christmas.  She replaced the colored lights with white lights to represent Christ as the light of the world.  She named her ornaments “Chrismons” which means a monogram of Christ.  Each Chrismon was designed to represent Christ and the message of God’s love.  This is how the Chrismon tree was born and this Advent many churches in Lexington and Davidson County have beautiful Chrismon trees in their sanctuaries to proclaim the true meaning of Christmas, the light that shines in the darkness. 

        Mrs. Spencer not only left us with a great tradition, but a powerful example of how we confront the darkness of our world.  We are not called to condemn the darkness but to transform it.  Martin Luther King once said, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.” With acts of mercy and grace we can drive out the darkness.  We can feed the hungry, provide Christmas gifts for deserving children, and reach out to the lonely and the depressed.  Let’s do more than turn on the lights this Advent season, let us become the light of Christ for a world of darkness.  For when the light shines in the darkness, the darkness can never overcome it!

He Became A Father To Me

        We were an unlikely pair:  The legendary All-American player and Hall of Fame coach, educator, Mayor, and veteran radio announcer and me—a lowly Baptist preacher from LA (Lower Alabama).  For the last ten years of Harold Bowen’s storied 50-year career as the play-by-play voice of the Lexington Yellow Jackets, I sat by his side.  I was his side-kick, his color commentator, or as Harold said “a common tator.”   I loved every minute of it. 

        In one of my first sermons in Lexington I made a reference to “Jonah swallowing the whale.”  I did it on purpose to simply see if the congregation was listening.  They weren’t.  But Harold was.   He loved it and the next week invited me to be a guest on his radio show.  We spent the entire time telling jokes and talking football. 

        Fred Lohr was helping Harold broadcast the games back then.  When Fred suffered a heart attack on a Thursday night, Harold called me the next morning to see if I could help him that night.  I helped him for the next decade.

        I have dozens of delightful stories from my time broadcasting with Harold.  We made a great team and enjoyed playing off of each other.  The listeners may not have heard the most professional broadcast, but they could tell we were having fun.  And I quickly learned that Harold Bowen was all about those young men on the field.  The only rule he had was, “You don’t criticize a player.  You never call a young man out when he makes a mistake.” 

        Harold and his devoted wife, Jean, lived their lives for young people. If I hear someone say, “Harold and Jean didn’t have any children,” I correct them. They have had 100s of children and they have blessed their lives in a multitude of ways. When Jean died, Harold set up a memorial endowment in her name to help the young people of our church. He continues to bless the lives of young people.

        Harold became one of my best friends and one of my most      trusted confidants. And when my father died in 1998, Harold became a father to me. I could share things with Harold I couldn’t share with anyone else. There were times I just needed to talk and he was always there to listen.

Harold’s health had been declining for several years. He was on dialysis and it was taking its toll. But there was one thing Harold loved and that was coming to church on Sunday. His faith was deep and true. He would sit in the back and pretend to sleep, but I knew better. I knew if I had Moses building the ark Harold would catch it if no one else would.

        A few weeks ago Harold was sitting at the front of the church to see his good friend, Dave Colescott, being baptized. I wore a Carolina T-shirt, ostensibly for Dave who played basketball for Dean Smith, but really for Harold. Dave was there for Harold, too. He knew this baptism would mean as much to Harold as it would to him. We sang Harold’s favorite hymn, “There is a Balm in Gilead, “and I laughed when I remembered the night we played Mt. Gilead and Harold chastised me for pronouncing it like Gilead in the Bible. When it came time for the baptism, Harold carefully poured water from the Jordan River into Dave’s water pitcher. Two days later Harold crossed the Jordan River into the Promised Land.

        I spoke at my Dad’s funeral. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. And as I prepared to stand up and speak at Harold’s funeral, I felt the same way. When Mickey Sharpe started to sing, “There is a Balm in Gilead,” I thought I was going to lose it.

        Harold always taught me that I needed to be ready to speak at a moment’s notice. If the game is delayed, if the refs are late, if there is a weather delay, you always had to be ready to talk. And so somewhere, deep within, I mustered the strength to stand up and honor the man who was my friend, my mentor, my encourager, but most of all, a father to me.

America Is Better Than This

We ought to be ashamed!  All of us, Republicans, Democrats, and Independents should be ashamed that we have allowed presidential politics to descend to such a lowly and despicable level.  We should be ashamed that we apparently accept the sordid state of political affairs without protest.  America deserves better.  America is better than this! 

        Great leaders lift people up and inspire ordinary citizens to accomplish extraordinary things by appealing to our best qualities.  Inspired leaders help us realize that we are part of something much greater than ourselves, that democracy depends on the altruistic contributions of each citizen as we serve and sacrifice for the greater good of liberty and justice for all. 

        When John Adams was asked to compose a written “Declaration of Independence,” he deferred to his younger colleague from Virginia, Thomas Jefferson.  Adams recognized that his writing style was “ponderous,” while Jefferson’s pen was “graceful and eloquent.”  He told Jefferson that while he (Adams) was “obnoxious, suspected, and unpopular, you are very much otherwise.”  And he added, “You can write ten times better than I.” 

        John Adams recognized that Americans needed rhetorical eloquence to lift them out of their petty squabbles, territorial posturing, and egocentric debates.  One must be elevated to the mountaintop to see the grand vision of liberty. Someone must touch the hearts of the people to empower them to dream great dreams.  Jefferson did this with his majestic and eloquent words, “When in the course of human events . . .”  “We hold these truths to be self-evident . . “   “We mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.”

        The grand vision of a free and independent union almost disintegrated with the American Civil War, but once again a noble and visionary leader galvanized our nation with words that would ring in the hearts of Americans for generations as he proclaimed that “Government of the people, by the people, and for the people should not perish from the face of the earth.”  Abraham Lincoln spoke words of reconciliation and grace to all Americans when shortly before his assassination he appealed:  “With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds. . . .”

        Franklin Roosevelt lifted Americans from the despair of the depression with his words that riveted a nation, “The only thing we have to fear, is fear itself.”  John F. Kennedy inspired a young generation to selfless service with his words, “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.”  Ronald Reagan’s confident leadership inspired Americans to believe in the greatness of our country again.

        Where are the inspired leaders?  Where are the eloquent wordsmiths?  Where are the noble visionaries?  Rather than inspiring us to greatness of the mountaintop, today’s politicians want to pull us down to the gutter. They speak to the dark side of humanity, planting seeds of distrust and doubt in the hearts of Americans.  They speak of conspiracy rather than commitment: of fear, not faith; of hatred instead of honor.  They focus on tearing people down, not building people up.  They appeal to every negative and weak element of the human soul.  As a result of this character assassination on the American public, the great majority of citizens will go to the polls to vote against someone.  This is not the American dream.  This is an American nightmare.

        The Apostle Paul, a gifted wordsmith, said: “Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up.” In Colossians he exhorted us to put away all anger, wrath, malice, slander, and filthy talk.  In Proverbs we read: “Speaking recklessly cuts and maims, but the words of the wise bring healing.”

        I believe in the greatness of our nation.  There are noble and visionary leaders of integrity who will step forward.  My prayer is that all of us will live by the words of the Psalmist, “Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O Lord.” 

An Old Firefighter Honors The Brave and The Fallen

        I’m an old firefighter. I have been a firefighter since 1978.  I haven’t been active in a number of years, but once a firefighter, always a firefighter. 

        I joined the Pollocksville Fire Department in 1978.  We were a small, volunteer department with only one 750 gallon pumper and a large tanker truck.  The tanker was essential because outside of the town limits there was no water, we had to bring it with us.  I moved to Roxboro in 1982 and the Fire Chief, knowing I was a firefighter, asked me to be the Roxboro Fire Department Chaplain.  For the next eight years I responded to calls at all hours of the day and night.  I comforted families in time of loss.  I delivered the devastating news that a loved one had died in a fire.  I conducted the funeral for our beloved Assistant Fire Chief who was brutally murdered by a deranged drug addict who had just been released from prison on a technicality. 

        But nothing prepared me for a heart wrenching experience early in 1990.  We responded to a house fire one cold, rainy morning.  A frantic mother was screaming that her baby was in the house.  Smoke was pouring out and it was evident that we could not save the house, but there was a child.  Two of my fellow firefighters quickly donned their breathing equipment and did what any brave firefighter would do; they risked their lives to try to save the life of a child.  I was standing by a front window when it shattered.  One of the firefighters tore through the window with an axe while the other one reached through and handed me the lifeless body of a small child.     

        I started CPR and was soon relieved by EMS workers who took the child to the back of the ambulance as they tried desperately to restore his precious life.  The child responded and started to breathe on his own.  Within an hour he was airlifted to Chapel Hill where he later died. 

        I will never forget that moment.  It is frozen in time in my memory.  I am standing there holding a little child and trying to give him back the gift of life.  And I will never forget my fellow firefighters who courageously rushed into that burning house to save the life of a child.

        Fifteen years ago on September 11, 2001, we all watched in horror as the Twin Towers in New York City came crashing down taking 2,753 innocent lives.  Most of those victims were desperately trying to get out after the airplanes crashed into the buildings, but not everyone.  343 brave and courageous firefighters were going into the buildings while everyone else was rushing out.  Those firefighters were going up the stairs while the multitudes were rushing down.  All 343 firefighters were lost on 9/11.  They were doing what my two friends did that fateful morning in 1990; they were risking their lives to save the lives of others.

        This Sunday on September 11, I get to be a firefighter again.  I’m wearing my old Chaplain badge as I share in our community’s memorial observance of 9/11.  I have the great privilege of leading the bell ceremony, a 200 year-old tradition in firefighting as we honor those brave men and women who have answered the final call as they have given their lives to save the lives of others.  We will also honor all of our Lexington Firefighters in the ceremony on the Old Courthouse Square that begins at 12:11 p.m. 

        At some point in the ceremony I know I will recall that experience of my fellow firefighters going into that burning house to save the life of that small child.  I will be reminded that every time the alarm sounds, our firefighters never know if they are answering the call for the final time.  We thank God for our firefighters.  I am proud to be included in their family. 

Changing His Course for a Higher Calling

        One Sunday morning over 25 years ago Chad Killebrew walked into my office at First Baptist Church on West Third Avenue.  Chad was a young reporter at The Dispatch and I was still considered the “new” pastor of First Baptist.  Chad asked me if I would be interested in writing a religion column for the paper.  I hesitated because I knew I would be replacing the legendary Dr. Lee Jessup who wrote an animated weekly column.  Lee was Lexington’s pastor, a local icon, and I couldn’t imagine following in his storied footsteps.  I didn’t consider myself a gifted writer, but Chad explained I would only be writing once every four weeks.  The main reason I said yes was because of my respect and admiration for Chad.

        Chad grew up in Bryson City, North Carolina, where his family was deeply involved in the life and ministry of First Baptist Church.  The church was Chad’s second home and he has never taken his faith or his Baptist heritage lightly.  Even though Chad had been attending First Baptist in Lexington, he waited until he could meet the new pastor before he made a commitment to officially become a member.  I guess I passed muster because it happened soon after I arrived. 

        Through the years Chad and Sheila have been vitally involved in the life of our church. They are also good friends and it has been a joy to know them and watch their sons, Charlie and Andy, grow and mature. Neither Chad nor Sheila had Lexington roots, and Chad said he originally thought he would only be in Lexington a few years before moving to a larger paper, but life doesn’t always take us where we thought we were going.

        Chad’s gifts as a journalist were being recognized and he was moving up the ladder at The Dispatch.  His family was finding Lexington a wonderful place to call home.  Then Chad was named Executive-Editor, an honor he richly deserved.  One of the first major changes he made as Editor was eliminating the popular, yet controversial and anonymous, “Bricks and Bouquets,” from the Editorial page. His decision upset some people, but Chad believed if you were going to publically criticize someone by casting a “brick” you ought to have enough courage to sign your name. 

        That decision told us a lot about our new Editor.  He was always fair and balanced, always transparent and above-board.  The Editorial page was Chad’s pulpit.  His opinions were well researched, measured, and compelling.  He wrote with honesty, clarity, and integrity.  I have especially enjoyed his many editorials through the years on church and state.  Chad was “raised right” as a true Baptist and separation of church and state is one of our hallmark beliefs.  I could see his Baptist background and his foundational conviction to the First Amendment shining through his eloquent words, even as he knew many would take exception to his views. 

        In Chad’s last article before announcing his resignation, he talked about the importance of a free press in today’s volatile world.  He shared how the media is frequently maligned and journalists are easy fodder for politicians, but then added: “Readers don’t have to always agree with what we report, but I hope they will value the contributions we make to keeping people informed . . .”  

        Over 25 years after Chad enlisted me to write a religion column, I am still writing and yes, Chad, we greatly value your contributions through the years.  You have made a significant difference in our community.  You have not only kept us informed, but your editorials have kept us honest.  You have told the truth and your wisdom and insight have made us better people and a stronger community. 

        The print media has faced unprecedented challenges over the past decade.  I know it has been extremely frustrating for Chad as The Dispatch has been blown and tossed like a small ship in a great storm at sea.  But now Chad is changing his own personal course. 

        I will miss Chad at The Dispatch.  I will miss his folksy Saturday articles.   But as former Editor Larry Lyon left The Dispatch for a higher calling, so has Chad.  Now he will be investing in the lives of young people.  He will be using his vast knowledge and experience in journalism to prepare a future generation.  The students of Central Davidson High School will be blessed by his presence.  And who knows, maybe the next best selling Pulitzer Prize-Winning author may be waiting for a teacher like Chad to unlock her potential!

        Thank you Chad!  Job well done!