You Are My Brother

    On Thursday afternoon in Turin we were strolling down the Via Roma and decided to visit the little church of Santa Christina on Piazza San Carlo. This beautiful Baroque style church was designed in 1620, but it took 100 years to complete construction.  It suffered damage in the Second World War. There is a beautiful organ inside and gorgeous frescoes and carved statues.  

         We paused for a few minutes inside to absorb the beauty of this holy place.  We were seated on one of the back pews.  I got up to explore a small chapel on the side and Joyce remained in her seat.  When I came back Joyce was engaged in conversation with a Priest and a young lady, who was his niece.  They were from a little island off the southern coast of Italy and she was bringing her uncle to see the Shroud of Turin.  They asked Joyce what brought her to Turin and she was telling them about our Sabbatical and the fact I was a minister.

         When I walked back to where they were seated, the Priest smiled and extended his hand.  I responded by saying, “Hello Father.”   

         He looked at me and said, “No, not Father.  You are my brother.   We are brothers in Christ.”   

The Unforgettable Prayer Service

         When Joyce and I first visited Torraccio di Chiusi in 2010, there were several nights that we were the only guests.  Bruno had prepared all of our meals, but we were told that Bruno had the night off and in his place, Stefano, the owner and former Italian Senator would provide our meal. It was a night we will never forget!

         We were in awe that a such a great man, a powerful corporate executive, a former Senator, would be so humble as to prepare our meal.  As we enjoyed the excellent meal, we learned about each other.  Stefano told us how he and Donatella decided there was more to life than power and money.  He shared how they had adopted a little girl from Ethiopia.  

         Then he learned that I was a minister, although I don’t know that he understood exactly the role of a Protestant minister because he kept calling me Father.   But when he found out I was a minister, he became very emotional and shared a personal story with us.  When Stefano and Donatella first purchased this ancient property, one of the first things he discovered in the almost 1000-year-old house was a chapel. Stefano took this as a sign of God’s blessing and he told us that the very first part of the house he restored was the chapel.  Then through tears, he asked if after dinner we would go to the chapel with him to pray. We have never forgotten that powerful experience.

         On Saturday morning, Joyce and I asked Maria if the chapel would be open on Sunday.  She smiled and said, “Of course.  So, you can lead the prayers.”  

         At dinner Saturday night a couple from Denmark remarked, “We hear you will conduct prayers in the chapel tomorrow.  We must leave early, so we cannot be there.”

         Then Stefano came to us and said, “You will conduct prayers in the chapel.  What time?  If okay, I will invite my family.”  

         At first Joyce thought he was asking what time we would be in the chapel so he would not conflict with us. But I said, “No, he wants me to lead a prayer service for his family.”

         So you must understand this picture.   Here I am, a Baptist Minister from North Carolina being asked to conduct a prayer service for a powerful Italian family who live on the Via Francigena, the Pilgrims’ highway to Rome that has been traveled by Popes, Saints, Cardinals, Bishops, Priests and the everyday faithful!  Talk about being overwhelmed!

         I thought about how I should go about the service.   Should I look up a Catholic Prayer service?  Should I try to lead this service as a Priest would?   But the more I thought about it, the more I decided to simply be myself.  I would make a few remarks on what an honor it was to conduct the service, then I would lead an opening prayer, read a Scripture lesson, make a few remarks on the Scripture, and close with a prayer.  

         I decided to use Mark 10: 35-45, where James and John are requesting places of power and authority in the Kingdom and Jesus tells them that the greatest among us will be our servant. 

         Stefano invited Marisa, who prepares our breakfast each morning, to join us for the service.  

         Joyce and I walked over the beautiful little chapel shortly before 10 a.m.  Marisa and Sisi, who also helps in the kitchen and cleans the rooms, were already in the chapel lighting candles.  Then I saw that Marisa was bringing water and wine and a silver chalice.  Oh no, I thought, they are expecting me to perform the Mass.  

         Joyce asked me what I would do.  I told her that I would explain to Stefano that I am not authorized by the Roman Church to conduct Mass.  I must respect their traditions and their line of authority.  

         When Stefano arrived, I explained to him that I could not offer communion, but could lead a service of prayer and Scripture.  

         “Yes, of course,” he said. “I know that.”

         Then the couple with him, who were close friends, said, “We travel to California often.  We understand what you are saying, but prayer is a wonderful way to begin our day.”

         The fact that Stefano understood I am not a Catholic Priest, but still asked me to conduct services for them made it even more remarkable.  

         The small chapel is a beautiful and peaceful sacred space.  We sat together for a few minutes.   There was Stefano, the other couple, Joyce and Marisa, but where was Donatella?   

         Stefano said he hoped she was coming.  I said we were in no hurry, we would wait.  We waited for just a moment, then Stefano said, “Let us begin.”

         I stood and when I did, everyone else stood.  I started by saying it was a great honor to stand in this sacred space and conduct the service.  Then I remarked on how we were standing on Holy Ground.  We know for a fact that many Popes have traveled on the Via Francigena. In November of 1148 Pope Eugene III returned to Rome on the Via Francigena and dedicated the Cathedral in San Gimignano.  St. Francis made his pilgrimage to Rome on the Via Francigena in 1206.   Who knows, maybe Simon Peter or the Apostle Paul also traveled this way.  So yes, this is Holy Ground.

         Then I offered my first prayer.  I turned to the Altar and prayed, asking God to bless Stefano and Donatella and their family.

         Following the prayer, I thought they might be seated, but they continued to stand.  I read the text from Mark 10 and commented on how people seek greatness in the world by assuming power and authority, but Jesus said we find greatness in service.  I made note of the fact that we were of different nations, different cultures, and different languages, but we worshiped the same God and we are all members of the family of God.  

         I shared the story of the Priest in Turin who after I called him “Father” said “No, not Father.  I am your brother, your brother in Christ.”  

         Then I offered a closing prayer and focused on finding forgiveness and grace at the foot of the cross. 

         Marisa is from Peru. She speaks very little Italian and almost no English.  During the last prayer, Marisa had one arm around Joyce’s waist, Joyce had her arms on her shoulders, and she was lifting her other hand to God.  The tears were streaming down her face.

Stefano was also very moved and expressed heartfelt thanks and gratitude. He hugged Joyce as he expressed his gratitude.  The couple with Stefano said they were very touched by the service.   Surely, we felt the presence of the Lord as we stood together on Holy Ground.

         As we were leaving the chapel, Donatella came in.  “Oh no!” she exclaimed.  “Am I late? Have I missed it?”

         I told her not to worry, that Joyce and I would have prayer with her.   We stood and faced the Altar.  Donatella took my hands and I prayed. She was in tears.  She embraced us as the tears of grace flowed from her face.   We don’t know what exactly is going on in her life, but for those few sacred minutes, we all felt the powerful presence of God and his peace, his “shalom” that passes all understanding.

         We slowly walked away from the Chapel knowing that we had just experienced a miracle.  We will carry this experience with us for the rest of our lives.

         Stefano is in the kitchen again tonight, just as he was in 2010, preparing our dinner.

That Could Have Been Us

       Forty-five years ago in late March I was sitting in a dorm room with several other guys discussing the biggest news in sports and it wasn’t the NCAA Basketball Tournament that had just ended with NC State dethroning mighty UCLA.  The major league baseball season was about to begin and the mighty Babe Ruth was about to be dethroned by one Henry Aaron. 

        Baseball is a game of numbers and the number 714 had defined the mythical Babe as the “Sultan of Swat” for all time.   They say that records are meant to be broken, but 714 career home runs was considered sacred by many and they dared anyone to challenge it.  Babe Ruth, the man who had a candy bar named for him, had transformed the game of baseball from a curiosity of the few to our national pastime.  He continued to be revered and adored long after his death.  Babe Ruth was baseball.   But this story was much deeper than a sport. 

        Babe Ruth personified a white man’s game.  It was 12 years after Ruth played his last game when Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier.  The fact that the Holy Grail of baseball was about to be captured was one thing, but considering that a black man from Alabama was about to accomplish it was the stuff of social revolution. 

        Henry Aaron, who played for the Atlanta Braves, finished the 1973 season with 713 home runs.  He only needed one more to tie the holy record.  The off season had been tumultuous as Aaron received many death threats and defenders of the Babe tried to diminish his accomplishments. 

        The Braves were scheduled to open the season in Cincinnati, and when rumors circulated that Aaron may sit out the first few games so he could break the record at home, the Commissioner of Baseball stepped in and ordered the Braves to play Aaron.  The drama continued to build.

        The Braves home opener was on April 8 against the Dodgers.  The small group in the dorm room discussed whether we should try to attend that game.  What were the odds that April 8 would be the night that the greatest baseball record of all time would fall?   We could drive to Atlanta in less than 3 hours.   We finally decided that we should go.   I called to see if we could get tickets.  

        The nice lady at the Braves office told me that only a few tickets remained for the game.   After I gave her the order she said, “Okay, I have five tickets for opening night on Monday, April 8.”   “Wait a minute!” I said.  “Monday night?”

        We didn’t realize that the game was on a Monday.  That meant we would get back to school in the wee hours of the morning with classes to attend.  After a quick discussion we decided to get tickets for the Friday night game.  After all, chances were just as good Aaron would break the record that night.

        Henry Aaron tied Babe Ruth’s record on the first pitch of the season.  He returned to Atlanta on April 8 needing one home run to break the mark.  We were all crowded around the TV in the dorm, watching the packed house at Atlanta Fulton County Stadium as “Hammering Hank” came to bat in the third inning.  As the ball left the park and the crowd went crazy, we watched in silence as two fans jumped on the field and followed the new home run king around the bases. 

        Finally, one of my friends said quietly, “That could have been us.”

        We went to the Friday night game.  I even caught a foul ball that I have in a display box in my office.  But when I see it, I think about missed opportunity.   So many times life gives us an opportunity to do something great.   I’ve learned not to wait, not to delay.  I need to “Seize the Day” every day because 45 years later I can still hear those painful words, “It could have been us.”

Be Kind

Twenty-five years ago I wrote a Dispatch column titled:  “Lordy, Lordy, Look Who’s Forty.  Glory be, I think it’s me!”  That was 25 years ago, so . . . well, you can do the math.   Let’s just say I’m now a card-carrying, bona-fide, certified, qualified member of the Medicare generation.  In other words, I am officially old!

        I was telling my grandchildren a story and said, “When I was a little boy, cars didn’t even have seatbelts.”   “Wow Gdaddy,” they said.  “They had cars when you were little?”

        My grandson saw the sign in front of our church that has my name and the inscription, “Founded 1881.”   He studied it for a minute and said, “Gdaddy, you have been here a long time!”

        They say that getting older makes one wiser.  I’m not so sure about that.  In that column 25 years ago I think I shared some of my “wisdom” that I had acquired through the years, but I can’t remember what it was.  But now that I have traversed this planet for three-score and five years, allow me to share the most important truth that I have gleaned along the way. 

        Be kind. 

        That’s it.  The greatest advice, the principle truth, the primary wisdom, the most important thing a person can do is to be kind.  Kindness will not only make a difference in the world, it can transform it. 

        There is something more important than being right—and that is being kind.  Kindness is a gift.  Kindness is a blessing.  Kindness is the power to impact the lives of others in a redemptive way. 

        The Italian psychologist Piero Ferrucci not only believes in the power of kindness, but feels it is a necessity in today’s fractured world.  He warns against the danger of “global cooling” as our world becomes more anxious, difficult, frightening, and divided.  He observes:  "In these days of rising impersonality, when a computer voice will say hello and thank you at the supermarket, and people look at their smart phones and not at you, and eat in front of a screen, warmth and human contact are a dangerously dwindling resource."

        Kindness has many components:  love, forgiveness, empathy, compassion, honesty, patience, and understanding.  Kindness is like a breath of fresh air, like a fine-tuned musical instrument, like a bubbling mountain stream.  Kindness not only sees the good in other people, it enables them to see the good in themselves.  Kindness is contagious, it is life-giving.   It inspires hope and trust.  It lifts us up to a higher level of living. 

        Dr. Ferrucci in his book The Power of Kindness reveals that “the kindest people are the most likely to thrive, to enable others to thrive, and to slowly but steadily turn our world away from violence, self-centeredness, and narcissism- and toward love.”

        The Apostle John was the only one of the twelve disciples who lived to old age and died a natural death.  The story goes that when he was elderly he suffered from dementia, but the believers always made sure he was present at their gatherings because his kindness never diminished.  They said he would smile and repeat over and over, “Love one another.  Love one another.  Love one another.”   

        And so Gdaddy, now that you are old, what wisdom do you have to share with us?  “When I was a little boy, back in the horse and buggy days, we would travel to the church down in LA (Lower Alabama) in the deep snow and learn Bible verses.  One of the first verses I learned was ‘Be ye kind, one to another.’  After sixty-five years I can’t think of any better advice than this:  Be Kind.”  

                                                       

Don't Give Up on the Church. There's Hope!

There is not a week that goes by that I am not reminded of the fact that the church is in trouble.  It happens every Sunday when I look out over more empty pews than people.  It happens each month when we review our financial report and constantly worry about our deficit.  It happens every year on All Saints Sunday when the number of candles we light for members who have died exceed the number of new members who have joined the church.  It’s not just my church—it’s almost every mainline denominational congregation.   No major Christian tradition is growing in the United States today.

        There are many reasons.  The percentage of adults in the US who identify as Christians fell from 78% to 71% between 2007 and 2014.  At the same time the percentage of Americans who are religiously unaffiliated grew from 16% to 23%.  Institutional loyalty is declining across the board.  Churches have a lot of competition on Sundays, including youth programs which involve the entire family.  Few businesses are like Chick-fil-A; yes, they still close on Sundays. Technology has changed our church attendance habits.  Even committed Christians are attending church less frequently.  Less than 20% of the population will be in church on any given Sunday.

        Look around your church and see who is there and who is not there.  You will see at lot of folks who look like me, old people!  And you won’t see a lot of folks who look like my grandchildren.  The most significant demographic missing from most of our congregations is young adults, age 18-29.  While this age group represents 17% of the US population, it is less than 10% of the church’s population. 

        Well friends, what do we do?  Do we bury our heads in the sand and pretend nothing is wrong?  Do we give up on the church?  Do we change everything about our church in hopes of improving things?  Absolutely not!

        I certainly don’t have the answers to our problem, there is no silver bullet, but I do know this; answers will not come through more promotions or programs or preachers.  Answers are not found in worship styles, musical selections, or theological stands.  The answers will be found when God’s people create an authentic community where everyone is welcomed without judgment and loved without limits. 

        Dietrich Bonheoffer called this community “life together.”   Martin Luther King described it as “the beloved community.”  Jesus defines it as “the Kingdom of God.”

        The church cannot be an exclusive club; it must be an inclusive community.    The church cannot build walls; it must open doors.  The church cannot judge and condemn; it must forgive.  The church must be a safe place where God’s love is found in abundance and everybody is somebody. 

        I will never give up on the church, because God never gave up on me. And remember, the church is not our church, it is God’s church.  When Simon Peter confessed that Jesus is the Christ, the son of the living God, Jesus responded by telling Peter that he was not only right but “upon this rock I will build my church and the gates of death will not prevail against it.”  The church cannot die as long as Jesus is Lord of the church and remember, “If God is for us, who can be against us?”

          What is the key to renewing the church?  It’s simple really. When asked what was the greatest commandment Jesus answered, “Love God and love your neighbor.”  That’s not very complicated, but that’s what we need to do.  Don’t give up on the church—there is hope!

                                                               

Another Year is Dawning

It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?  We are about to place 2018 in the history books and welcome a new year.  While the end of the year is naturally a time for reflection, looking back over what has past, it is also a time of looking ahead into a more hopeful and promising future. 

        I love the passage from the ancient Song of Solomon, “Lo, the winter is past; the rains have come and gone.  Flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come.”  We are about to plunge into the heart of literal winter, but in a symbolic sense the new year is a time to say goodbye to the winter of discontent and welcome a hopeful season of renewal and promise.

        With this in mind, I want to share three heartfelt commitments for the new year.  I hesitate to use the word “resolutions,” although that is what they are.  But a resolution can be most anything from major life changes to nitpicky details.  (I really want to find a better way to keep up with all my passwords—isn’t that a resolution?)  But a commitment is a deeper resolution that is grounded in my very being.

        My first commitment for 2019 is to live every day to the fullest and to savor every life experience.  In the second chapter of Genesis, God creates man by breathing into the dust of the ground the breath (the Hebrew word means Spirit) of life.  My existence is totally dependent on God’s life-giving spirit.  As my friend, Pierluigi, in Italy said, “Ray, we all live under the sky.  Life is a gift and so we must “carpe diem,” seize the day!”  I have been blessed to experience life for almost 65 years—I don’t know how many years, or even how many days, I have left.  I want to cherish every day and live each day to the fullest, glorifying God in all that I do.

        Secondly, I want to see the good in every person.  If we believe that every person is created in the image of God, then we must believe that there is inherent goodness, or at least the potential for goodness, in every individual.  Social media has made it too easy to criticize, to complain, and to focus on the negative.  We witness character assassinations at the highest levels.  My commitment is to build people up, not to tear people down.  Jesus had the remarkable ability to see the Godly potential in people who were rebuked and scorned by even the most religious and pious.  A woman at the well, a prostitute, an unethical tax collector, a thief who was dying on the cross—he said he had come to seek and to save the lost.  If someone is lost, it means they can be found.  I want to see the good, to lift up the fallen, and to share the way of light to those who are lost in darkness.

        My third commitment as we embark on this new year is to do all that I can to enrich the lives of others in redemptive ways.  I want to be a part of the solution rather than creating or exasperating a problem.   I want to make a difference in the lives of others, for that is what God has called us to.  Love God and love your neighbor—the two greatest commandments.  Jesus told us that the greatest among us are those who serve.  “Everybody can be great,” said Dr. Martin Luther King, “Because anybody can serve.  You don’t have to have a college degree to serve.  You don’t have to make your subject and verb agree to serve.  You only need a heart full of grace.  A soul generated by love.”

        I wish all of you a happy new year.  I invite you to join me in making a few significant commitments for the new year that will enable us to proclaim:  “Lo, the winter is past; the rains have come and gone.  Flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come.” 

Words Matter

Did you see where Dictionary.com selected their word of the year for 2018?  The word they selected is not new, it’s been around since the 1500s.  The word they selected is not a surprise, because we live in a world where we have learned not to trust everything we hear.  The word is “misinformation,” defined as “false information that is spread, regardless of whether there is intent to mislead.”  

        With the onslaught of social media, millions of people have the ability to share information with large audiences, whether it is credible or not.  It’s so easy to hit “share” or “send.”  It’s not so easy to determine whether what we share is true.  When we pass along misinformation, people can be hurt, careers can be in jeopardy, marriages can be destroyed—even if we are innocent in our motives. 

        The bottom line is that words matter, and words can make all the difference in the world.  We hear so many words today that are demeaning, degrading, and hurtful.  Do our words build up or tear down?  Do they hurt or heal?  Are they redemptive or destructive?

        So many people continue to carry the painful scars from hurtful and cruel words they heard as a child.  When a child hears, “I hate you.”  “You are worthless.”  “I wish you’d never been born.” --this creates a trauma that is often never healed.  But when we affirm our children and speak words of love and respect, when they grow up hearing positive and uplifting words, they have the confidence and positive energy to grow into a productive and successful adult. 

Did you see the movie, “The Help?”  Aibileen serves as “the help” for a white family and cares for little Mae, who often endures her mother’s harsh and unkind words.  But every day Aibileen looks little Mae in the face and says, “You is smart.  You is kind.  You is important.”  Aibileen who often endures degrading words of hatred and discrimination, understands the power of words and the need for little Mae to hear empowering words of encouragement and value. 

        I think about all the words I have communicated through the years.  I’ve been writing my Dispatch column for almost 28 years.  I estimate I’ve written well over 350 columns or somewhere around 250,000 words!   Mercy, that’s a lot of words!   And considering the fact that I’ve been preaching most every Sunday for over 41 years---well, that’s even more words!  

        I hope the great majority of my words have been words of grace, words of hope, words of kindness and love.  I hope that one day when people remember that old preacher from LA (lower Alabama), they will recall that his words lifted people up, gave people confidence and hope, brought people together and left them with a sense of peace. 

Words have great power.  The Genesis story of creation begins with God speaking.  Let there be . . .  It was through God’s word that the heavens and earth were created.  John begins his Gospel with the powerful proclamation:  “In the beginning was the word . . .”  The Word that was in the beginning with God is a word of love, a word of grace, a word of light and a word of life.

        This Sunday marks the beginning of Advent when we light candles of hope as we anticipate the day of celebration when the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.  John writes, “In him was life and the life was the light of humanity.”  My goal this Advent is to incarnate this living Word in my life so that I may reflect the light of God’s love and grace. 

        May my words speak of kindness and compassion.  May I always strive to lift people up, never to tear people down. May my words lead to reconciliation rather than division.  May I share truth and light through authentic information, rather than spread rumors and darkness through careless misinformation.   Most importantly, may the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in God’s sight—because, words matter.

An Outsider Drinks the Water and Loves Calling Davidson County Home!

There’s an old legend that says back in the early days of Davidson County there was a well on Washington Square in Lexington.  (I don’t know why we dropped the name “Washington,” but I’m in favor of reclaiming it)  The story goes that if a stranger came to town and drank the water from the well, he would always return to Lexington.

        Almost 30 years ago I came to Lexington and drank the water—I’ve never left!  I love calling Davidson County home, although I am occasionally reminded that I’m really an “outsider.”  Evelyn Harris and I produced a big historical celebration for the City of Lexington back in 2003.  We were celebrating our 175^th anniversary and Joe Sink, who was then Editor of the Dispatch, had secured a bunch of money from the New York Times to finance the festivities.  We were having a grand old time spending Joe’s money and the Civic Center was packed twice to witness a spectacular performance. 

        Not long after the event a lady stopped me in a store and in gushing terms told me how much she enjoyed the production.  Then she added, “It’s just a shame that an outsider had to come in to do something like that.”  Well, here’s an “outsider” who loves calling Davidson County home!

        Our county has one of the richest histories in the state.  Did you know that one of the early revolutionary movements in the American Colonies started here?  Benjamin Merrill led a large group of “Regulators” in protest to oppressive taxes by the British.  Merrill became an early martyr for freedom when he was executed by the British in 1771.  Four years later the town of Lexington was named by brave Patriots just weeks after the “Shot Heard Round the World” was fired.

        Did you know our county was a leader in race relations as far back as 1929 when the Davidson County Public Library became the first County Library in the entire south (not just the state, the entire south!) to open its doors to citizens of color?

        It is fitting that the most significant and distinguished landmark in our county is a historical treasure—our antebellum Courthouse.  Standing tall and proud, she is the shining light in our county, the symbol of our spirit, the herald of our history, and the visible declaration of our democracy. 

        Even greater than our rich history is our generous spirit.  I love calling Davidson County home because people truly care about others.  This is a community with a caring heart.  I’ve seen miracles great and small as Davidson County citizens have responded with generous hearts to Davidson Medical Ministries, the YMCA, Crisis Ministry, our Hospitals, the Community College, Cancer Services, the Hospice house, Pastor’s Pantry, our Children’s Homes, the United Way, and many more.  But by far the most amazing fundraising effort was the drive led by Ardell Lanier and Max Walser to build a chapel at the prison.  It was one of the worst times for our community economically, yet the true heart of our community emerged above every obstacle and conventional wisdom and today a beautiful chapel stands as a symbol of hope and forgiveness in the middle of our prison camp.

         There are times that living in Davidson County is like being in a Norman Rockwell painting, like stepping back in time, sampling a juicy slice of authentic Americana.  It happens every year in the third week of September at the Davidson County Agricultural Fair.  Where else can you find cows, horses, chickens, rabbits, pumpkins, pies, pickles, cakes, quilts, crafts, country ham, pinto beans, candied apples, babies, politicians, cotton candy, and a beauty pageant! 

        It happens every year on the 4^th Saturday in October when close to 200,000 people descend on downtown Lexington to celebrate BBQ.  It happens every Friday night in the fall when high school bands play loud and proud and the football team runs on the field for another run at glory.  It happens on hot summer nights as a glorious sunset illuminates the sky above the baseball diamond while the crowd cheers their team and jeers the umpires.  It happens every summer when over 150 deserving children get to spend a week at Kamp Kiwanis thanks to the generosity of strangers.   

        Remember that old “outsider?”  Well, I get to bless the BBQ each year at the BBQ Festival, I get the take up tickets and work at the fair, and I get to share the joy of Kamp Kiwanis with those special children because I belong to the Kiwanis Club.  I have been privileged to serve on many of the committees and boards raising funds for caring agencies.  I was able to write a book on the rich history of our county and was honored to speak at the rededication of our historic antebellum Courthouse.  For over 10 years I broadcast American Legion Baseball games on hot summer nights and Lexington High football games on crisp football Friday nights with my dear friend, Harold Bowen.  And for almost three decades I have been able to share my thoughts and reflections through a monthly religion column in the Dispatch.  Not bad for an “outsider!” 

        And I didn’t even mention my day job.   My greatest joy is serving as the Senior Minister of the First Baptist Church of Lexington.  Did I tell you that I have been there almost 30 years?  This should not surprise you.  I’m only the third minister since the Second World War.  And guess what?  All three of us were “outsiders!”  But we did drink the water and that’s why we love calling Davidson County home!

Praying for the Day When Peace and Tranquility Will Return Once More

“I see the world being slowly transformed into a wilderness. I hear the approaching thunder that, one day, will destroy us too. I feel the suffering of millions. And yet, when I look up at the sky, I somehow feel that everything will change for the better, that this cruelty too shall end, that peace and tranquility will return once more.”

Anne Frank was only 15 when she mercilessly died from starvation and disease in a Nazi concentration camp. For two years before they were captured, Anne and her family were in hiding from the Nazis in Amsterdam. Her diary that was published after the war has become one of the most powerful and profound commentaries on a world filled with hatred, violence and destruction. This young girl lived in a hate-filled, cruel world of anti-Semitism, and yet she found reason to believe that “peace and tranquility will return once more.”

Eighty years ago this month the Nazis went on a ruthless rampage across Germany and Austria, burning synagogues, destroying Jewish homes, schools, and businesses. On this terror-filled night that became known as the Kristallnacht, over 100 Jews were murdered and 30,000 arrested and deported to concentration camps. Hatred once again reared its ugly head when eleven Jews worshiping in their synagogue were slaughtered by a man who “just wanted to kill Jews.” This didn’t happen in Nazi Germany in the 1930s — it happened last Saturday in the United States of America.

Seventy-five years ago we fought a war to stop the evil force of hatred, discrimination and destruction. This war, which cost millions of lives (420,000 of which were American) was fought on the principle of freedom, equality, and the dignity and worth of every human being.

How soon we forget. Today, hate-filled and divisive rhetoric dominates the airways. We never know when another madman will storm into one of our schools killing innocent children. People of faith are not safe in their houses of worship. It seems that our world is being slowly transformed into a wilderness.

What do we do? How do we respond? Martin Luther King said, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” The answer to our dilemma can only be found in love. And it must begin on a personal level as we remember the “new commandment” to love one another as God has loved us.

If we believe that every human being is a person of worth, created in the Image of God, then we will treat that person with kindness and respect, even though we may disagree with their beliefs, their lifestyle, or their actions. Doesn’t Scripture instruct us to, “Be ye kind, one to another.”

Paul talked about the potential of words being destructive. He said: “Let your speech always be gracious.” He was very blunt in Ephesians when he wrote, “Don’t let any foul words come out of your mouth. Only say what is helpful when it is needed for building up the community so that imparts grace on those who hear what you say.”

Yes, our speech matters. Our attitudes matter. Our actions matter. This is the beginning of restoring kindness, of respecting the dignity of every person, and of believing that I am to love my neighbor as myself.

Thirty-years ago George H.W. Bush was nominated by the Republican Party as their nominee for president of the United States. In his acceptance speech the soon to be President Bush said, “I want a kinder, gentler nation.” How we need to heed his words again today!

Young Anne Frank lived in a terror- and hate-filled world, yet she wrote from her hiding place, “I keep my ideals, because in spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart.” I also believe in the goodness of people, for we are all created in the Image of God. But even more, I believe in the goodness of God. I believe that God always works together for good and I pray for the day when “peace and tranquility will return once more.”

We Must Not Forget the Flood Victims

The sleepy little town of Pollocksville, North Carolina only has around 300 residents.  Unless you travel to Emerald Isle by way of Highway 58, you may have never heard of this tiny Jones County hamlet.  I know Pollocksville well, not only because it is my wife’s hometown, but it is where I was first called as a pastor back in 1977. 

        The church stepped out on a limb when they called a young 23 year old inexperienced pastor.  I sure had a lot to learn, but they were patient and kind.  We loved living in the small town where we walked to the bank and the Post Office and lived next door to the church.  I was on the fire department and the rescue squad.  We got together for “pig pickins” and fish stews.  The three churches; Baptist, Methodist, and Presbyterian, worshiped together at Thanksgiving, Maundy Thursday, and at sunrise on Easter Sunday.  Everybody knew their neighbor and in times of need, you could count on friends and even strangers to help. 

        The biggest weather disaster while I lived in Pollocksville was the March 1980 blizzard that dumped almost two feet of snow on Jones County.  When the power went out, I put my fireman boots on and trudged through the deep snow to the church where I retrieved a gas heater.  The whole family slept together in the family room as the little gas heater kept us warm. The storm paralyzed the town for a couple of days.  We were all worried about the Methodist preacher’s wife who was expecting a baby any minute, but the baby held off and the snow melted and we soon returned to normal.  Three weeks ago Hurricane Florence dealt a crippling blow to my old town.  There may not be a normal to return to now. 

        It wasn’t just the almost 40 inches of rain that fell from the skies, but it was the Trent River that soon overflowed its banks and produced unprecedented flooding and devastation.  The town’s mayor was interviewed by a local television station with water standing behind him as far as you could see.  It wasn’t the river or a lake; it was Highway 17, the main traffic artery through the town.  The water was nine to ten feet deep in places.  It flooded dozens of homes, leaving them full of mud and debris.  My first church is located blocks away from the river, but it flooded along with the parsonage.  Many of the houses in Pollocksville have been destroyed and will not be livable until major renovations can be completed.  Some are fearful the residents will never return. 

        We quickly returned to normal in Lexington and Davidson County following the storm.  We’re getting ready for the BBQ Festival, Halloween festivals, and Sportsman Saturday.  But for thousands of our neighbors in the eastern part of the state, it will take years to recover.  

        Let’s not forget the flood victims.  There are many ways we can reach out and make a difference.  Many of our churches have connections to denominational disaster relief ministries that have boots on the ground in the flood damaged regions.  All of these ministries need financial support.  There are churches and schools that continue to collect supplies for those have suffered great losses in the flood.  And I know there are churches that will be sponsoring work teams to go and help with the massive clean-up effort.  Some can give, some can go and we all can pray.

        We were spared major damage from the storm.  Our neighbors down east were not.  I hope that our gratitude in our good fortune will translate into acts of compassion and mercy for those who are suffering.   Dr. Albert Schweitzer once wrote, “The purpose of human life is to serve, and to show compassion and the will to help others.”