One of the people Jennie caught me up on is a curmudgeon, albeit a Christian one – a cranky Christ follower (Is that an oxymoron?). Every congregation has a few. Churches and pastors, in our propensity to be nice, find it difficult to set boundaries for bullies or speak a firm No to the overly ornery. As such, we become enablers, safe harbors for people with hurtful dispositions. I’ve had my share of correspondence and come-to-Jesus meetings with parishioners behaving badly, but few if any produced lasting change. As Taylor Swift sang, “Haters gonna hate.” And curmudgeons gonna curmudge.

A man who looked to be in his sixties, his graying hair disheveled by the wind, walked up to where we were working.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “Going to have a concert? Having a wedding or something?”

“No,” we answered, “We’re having an Easter Sunrise Service tomorrow morning.”

With that, his voice took on a brusque, defensive tone.

“Well,” he huffed, “it’s just a belief. You can believe anything you want, I guess. But that’s all it is – just a belief.” Whereupon he harrumphed, turned, and walked away swiftly.

I’m in my ninth month of interim ministry at Broadway Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in Columbia, MO. The congregation’s Lead Pastor Search Committee, after a nationwide search process, has narrowed down their field of candidates. They’re getting close. To which I say, Amen. Believe me when I tell you that as an interim pastor, the substitute teacher whose shelf life is dated by the arrival of your successor, you pray for the success of the Search Team.

I typed “It’s one of my favorite memories. I hope it’s true” into the world’s fastest, most comprehensive search engine, clicked enter, and in 0.46 seconds Google replied, No results found for "It's one of my favorite memories. I hope it’s true."

Never in recorded history has anyone ever said such a thing. 

Having strung together the trio of words church Personnel Committee, please don’t hang up on me. Depending on your history with Personnel Committees – performance reviews, action plans, annual reviews, grievances and such – just the sight of the words may have triggered a knot in your stomach or a latent resentment. I get it. But, as I asked at the outset of this paragraph, please hang in there with me for a few minutes.

That Maria had endeared herself to so many was evidence by the line in which Jennie and I stood during the previous evening’s visitation that wound its way from where Maria lay in the church’s original sanctuary, into the hallway, and all the way down to Fellowship Hall. People of all ages and abilities, including many of Maria’s classmates in wheelchairs, waited thirty minutes and more to pay their respects.

I wrote in my journal the next morning, “A lot of love in there last night.”

And how much fertilizer do partridges, turtledoves, French hens, calling birds, geese, swans and cows provide over a 12-day period?Total manure production is 16,173.7 pounds. (Dean Miner)

Let me just say this: Things don't always go according to script in our lives.  Did 2023 go according to script for you? Do you think 2024 will? Not a chance. But fear not, because God can redeem things that aren’t going according to script. That includes not only Christmas pageants, but lives:  including your life and mine.  And worlds: this one.

We’re a long way from home this Advent, but thanks to her homemaking touch Jennie went to Lexington and got us a Christmas to go, a carry out order of just enough red, green, gold and silver memorabilia to do what this season does: awaken our memory of precious people and places.

For the last weeks of her life, Mom lived with my sister and her husband. When Hospice was called, they brought a bed and set it up in the living room. And next to the bed was placed the set of stairs that Hope could ascend so as to lie next to my mother.

Mom’s other constant companion in those final weeks was her four-year-old great-grandson, Elijah. It was not lost on me that Mom’s dearest companions in her final days were a boy whose name means “The Lord is God” and a dog named Hope.

“When I saw that, I just shook my head. I knew we had a live wire.”

This piece was recently published digitally in the monthly newsletter of our Disciples’ Proclamation Project, an outstanding resource for preachers. Kudos to my colleague, Rev. Lee Hull Moses for curating the site.

I realize I was in the presence of one who realized life while he lived it.  Clocks ticking, sunflowers, food and coffee, hot baths, sleeping and waking up.  I have no doubt Jack fully appreciated each one. For him, the last years of his life, every last day, was gravy.

Coolwater Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), the congregation Jennie and I founded in 2002, celebrated its final worship service last Sunday. I spent last Friday afternoon reflecting on the trajectory of Coolwater’s birth and growth, the obstacles we overcame, and the congregation’s steadfast faithfulness and perseverance since our call to Lexington nine years ago.

What provided me the consolation I needed in the days leading up to Coolwater’s final Sunday was remembering some of the stories behind those names.

Here’s just one…

Each year on the day of my birth and Dad’s death, September 26, I remember his visit, visage, and affirmation and receive them with gratitude for the gift they were … and still are.

Jennie’s aunt and uncle died within 10 months of each other. She lived to be 102; he to 101. They were remarkable people who requested a joint memorial service at which I preached last week. Their instructions: “We really want the focus to be on worship and not on us. A brief meditation on the love of God is our preference. Psalm 103 is a good reference.” The church was full. It was a memorial service for the ages (of 101 and 102). One of the honors of my life.

On a trip to Chicago in March, Jennie and I received complimentary tickets to The Orchid Show at the Chicago Botanic Garden. The promotional postcard promised exhibits featuring “more than 10,000 stunning orchids and other tropical plants.”

I’m a dummy when it comes to flora and fauna. I had to look up the words horticulture and floriculture as I was writing this to know what they mean. The definitions confirmed I am ignorant of both.

Jennie and I worshipped on Easter Sunday in the midst of a full congregation adorned in colorful Easter morning attire. All the generations were present. The beauty of the day outdoors was matched by the splendor of the sanctuary’s décor. The scent and sight of lilies on the chancel steps rendered creation’s praise. The lay leader read the Easter scripture with verve. The choir sang with gusto. The preacher preached a word/Word that set my pen to scribbling memorable lines and insights. Everything was Day of Resurrection fine, I’m telling you … except for the Easter Yawn.