Last week, I got one of those calls in the early morning. You know the ones - they bring dreadful news that no one wants to hear, no matter what time of day they come. It was my sister, Carol, informing me that our brother (okay, he was my sister's husband, but as long as they'd been married, he was really my brother, you know?) had finally succumbed to heart disease. He was survived by my sister and her 3 children. The youngest child is 23.
For approximately 23 years, he had fought some serious heart problems. Many times, we thought he would go on the heart transplant list, or that there was nothing more they could do. God sustained him through all of those things, even when the going was really hard. He continued to minister in any way he could in the small, rural area where God had placed him. He worked alongside my sister in her ministry as well.
He wasn't perfect. (But who of us is?) He wasn't even a perfect minister, (is that even possible?) but he was a really, really good one. The testimony was clear as we greeted people on that first long day of visitation. It lasted seven hours, and only towards the end of that period did the line start to diminish to the point that it didn't reach all the way to the door. Folks were generous. Unbelievably so. Food, cash, hugs, nothing seemed to be too good for my sister in her time of loss.
But, was it a loss, or a win? I actually laughed as people tried to comfort the family with such words as, "he's at rest now". They didn't know him very well. Instead, I feel pretty sure he was dancing in the streets, hugging on Jesus, and greeting those who had gone before him. In his new body, he didn't have to worry about overdoing it for the first time in 23 years. The idea of him resting was laughable.
The other thing we say is that we are sorry for the loss. Funny, he isn't lost at all. Sure, there will be a Steve-sized hole in our family for a long time. Just like there is a mom-sized hole and a Chuck-sized hole, and a Melody-sized hole. However, it was never more clear that he is not lost to us. Yes, we do wish we could hang on to him a little bit longer. A few more hugs. A couple more times to say, "I love you". The upcoming weddings and new developments in the life of grandchildren. But lost, that he is not.
Please hear my heart here. Knowing what to say in the funeral home is the hardest thing ever. I am not making fun of anyone here. I was comforted by those who came by to share their stories, and as usual, I am sure this was uncomfortable for them, which makes their presence, and their comments, even more special. Instead, I am saying that we do not grieve like the lost. Life is a vapor, according to the Scripture, and none of us are guaranteed to live beyond our next breath. The time for salvation is now. So is the time to get to work.
Have you been putting off something that you need to do for the Kingdom? God can use someone else to do it, but you will certainly miss the blessing of being the one that God called to complete that work. Perhaps you are too busy. If so, my friend, then you are certainly too busy. Lay down all those tasks that mean relatively nothing, and pick up the work to which you were called. I promise, you won't regret it.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Monday, July 1, 2013
And Another One Bites the Dust
Ironically, I used to have a blog on blogspot that I can no longer access called "Life Between the Bridges". It referred to the fact that my husband and I lived in New Orleans, Louisiana, where we literally lived life between several bridges - the Crescent City Connection, the Huey P. Long Bridge, the 4th Street Bridge, the Causeway, etc. You just couldn't go many places without encountering a bridge.
In March, our family moved to New York State - 19 miles outside of New York City. Talk about life between the bridges! Now, we have the George Washington, the Brooklyn, need I say more? There are bridges everywhere. In the new life of the Christian family there are more bridges than ever. The closest one being the Tappan Zee, which will soon undergo a complete restoration.
So, out of necessity, and since I can no longer remember the password for Life Between the Bridges, I decided that Between the Bridges 2 should be born. Don't be misled. The title of this blog does not refer to the fact that yet another blog has bit the dust. As a matter of fact, I would have happily gone on claiming Life Between the Bridges, as it couldn't be more of an apt title than it would certainly be today. Nope. Just because I can't remember that old password doesn't mean a thing, except that the 3 blogs I already created might die a painful death . . .
The title of this particular entry refers instead to the loss of yet another friend to the Ministry of the Gospel. He was a pastor, and I am pretty sure he was a good one. However, add him to the list of living casualties that yet another church has caused to leave the ministry. Let's face it. There just aren't enough of us to pastor every church out there. If there were, things might be different.
You should know, pastoring a church is one of the hardest things anyone can do. Sure, you don't have to go fight a war against Afghanistan. You don't have to wait in an ER for some terribly injured person to come in to repair. Nope, the people you wait for don't necessarily have visible injuries at all. You know they have injuries at all because they are busy injuring you. As I have always been fond of saying, "hurting people hurt people". Not just a saying for Psychologists or well-meaning mothers anymore.
Since we graduated Seminary, we have watched many qualified, carefully trained men drop by the wayside on the road of ministry. They are still out there somewhere. Some sell real estate. Some work in various forms of counseling of teenagers or other hurting people. Some have no idea where their next meal will come from.
This particular friend is moving on faith alone to an area where he hopes to support his family without putting them in a glass house where the whole congregation looks in and tries to tell them how to live life. What will he do? Not sure. His wife will clean houses and businesses while they try to make the rent and feed the family and still pay for a house in a state where they will never live again from 2 churches ago.
So what's the purpose of all this? Here it is: You have the opportunity to make a difference in the life of your pastor. Chances are you will never know just how discouraging his job is until he surprises you one Sunday from the pulpit with his completely unexpected resignation. I have heard horror stories of pastors in line at the funeral of their child when along comes the deacon board to fire them. In the middle of their child's funeral! Is gaining power in a church really that important to people, that they would stand in that line of horror and grief to fire the man that they and God called to that post? Because, as far as I can see, there's more power tripping going on in God's house than the federal government sometimes. Sorry if that offends you, but if it does, examine your heart and make sure you aren't one of "those guys".
Encourage the man that God has called to lead your congregation. Trust his judgment unless you can see that it goes directly against God's Word (not just your opinion or desires), and then handle the situation with grace and care. After all, you have never lived your life perfectly in line with Scripture at all times, right? If you did, you wouldn't need grace, which, by the way, you do. Uphold his family - no matter how they dress, what they do with their hair, how much makeup they wear, or how overweight you determine that they are. It is a hard job, with lots of stress and much prayerful hard work. This work is hard on the family, who sits at home wondering when their husband/father will return and spend time with them, who really should come first anyway. Love on that man until it hurts. Give him the support he needs, and his family, too. You may never know how much it really means.
In March, our family moved to New York State - 19 miles outside of New York City. Talk about life between the bridges! Now, we have the George Washington, the Brooklyn, need I say more? There are bridges everywhere. In the new life of the Christian family there are more bridges than ever. The closest one being the Tappan Zee, which will soon undergo a complete restoration.
So, out of necessity, and since I can no longer remember the password for Life Between the Bridges, I decided that Between the Bridges 2 should be born. Don't be misled. The title of this blog does not refer to the fact that yet another blog has bit the dust. As a matter of fact, I would have happily gone on claiming Life Between the Bridges, as it couldn't be more of an apt title than it would certainly be today. Nope. Just because I can't remember that old password doesn't mean a thing, except that the 3 blogs I already created might die a painful death . . .
The title of this particular entry refers instead to the loss of yet another friend to the Ministry of the Gospel. He was a pastor, and I am pretty sure he was a good one. However, add him to the list of living casualties that yet another church has caused to leave the ministry. Let's face it. There just aren't enough of us to pastor every church out there. If there were, things might be different.
You should know, pastoring a church is one of the hardest things anyone can do. Sure, you don't have to go fight a war against Afghanistan. You don't have to wait in an ER for some terribly injured person to come in to repair. Nope, the people you wait for don't necessarily have visible injuries at all. You know they have injuries at all because they are busy injuring you. As I have always been fond of saying, "hurting people hurt people". Not just a saying for Psychologists or well-meaning mothers anymore.
Since we graduated Seminary, we have watched many qualified, carefully trained men drop by the wayside on the road of ministry. They are still out there somewhere. Some sell real estate. Some work in various forms of counseling of teenagers or other hurting people. Some have no idea where their next meal will come from.
This particular friend is moving on faith alone to an area where he hopes to support his family without putting them in a glass house where the whole congregation looks in and tries to tell them how to live life. What will he do? Not sure. His wife will clean houses and businesses while they try to make the rent and feed the family and still pay for a house in a state where they will never live again from 2 churches ago.
So what's the purpose of all this? Here it is: You have the opportunity to make a difference in the life of your pastor. Chances are you will never know just how discouraging his job is until he surprises you one Sunday from the pulpit with his completely unexpected resignation. I have heard horror stories of pastors in line at the funeral of their child when along comes the deacon board to fire them. In the middle of their child's funeral! Is gaining power in a church really that important to people, that they would stand in that line of horror and grief to fire the man that they and God called to that post? Because, as far as I can see, there's more power tripping going on in God's house than the federal government sometimes. Sorry if that offends you, but if it does, examine your heart and make sure you aren't one of "those guys".
Encourage the man that God has called to lead your congregation. Trust his judgment unless you can see that it goes directly against God's Word (not just your opinion or desires), and then handle the situation with grace and care. After all, you have never lived your life perfectly in line with Scripture at all times, right? If you did, you wouldn't need grace, which, by the way, you do. Uphold his family - no matter how they dress, what they do with their hair, how much makeup they wear, or how overweight you determine that they are. It is a hard job, with lots of stress and much prayerful hard work. This work is hard on the family, who sits at home wondering when their husband/father will return and spend time with them, who really should come first anyway. Love on that man until it hurts. Give him the support he needs, and his family, too. You may never know how much it really means.
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