“Valentine to a Custodian”
File this one under Valentine cards to church custodians. I know it’s an odd topic, but I want to send a little love and appreciation to the men and women who care for the Lord’s House by telling you about one of my dearest colleagues in ministry.
You didn’t know Elwood Wesley, but I did. My life was immeasurably enriched thanks to our unlikely friendship.
Why was it unlikely? Age for one thing. He was 84. I was 49. Background: he was one of eleven children raised in rural Pulaski County, KY during the Depression; I was one of three in urban Trumbull County, OH in the 1960s. His southern Kentucky siblings had names like Vurtis, Verlin, Herman, Lue Vernia, Roland, Bernell, Mabel, Edna, Ina, and Bernetta. My northeastern Ohio-born brother is Mike and my sister is Jill. Elwood was a WW II vet: Battle of the Bulge, Purple Heart, and Bronze Star. The only fights of which I’m a veteran are the run-of-the-mill church skirmishes from which I walked away pretty much unscathed except for some raw feelings and a bruised ego. Elwood and Etta were married for 66 years; Jennie and I are cresting 41. Elwood was 5’6” and 125 pounds. I’m bigger than that.
Elwood was the custodian and groundskeeper at North Christian Church in Columbus, IN, where I served from 1998-2001. Though officially retired, Elwood continued to work part-time because he knew the complicated, confounded HVAC system of that church better than anyone else, not to mention its plumbing, wiring, and irrigation systems. Actually, no one else knew the bowels of the Lord’s House at the end of Tipton Lane and the idiosyncrasies of its innards other than Elwood. So, whenever anything went wrong, it was “Call Elwood.” And Elwood would come, usually right after, right before, or halfway through his daily round of golf (walking; pull cart) at the municipal course.
Not only did Elwood know how to fix that sacred space, he knew how to treat it. Elwood understood his work as a high calling. Church Custodian was his vocation – his calling from God. Hence, he and I worked side-by-side to exercise care and oversight of the building, grounds, and people of North Christian Church. The tools of my ministry included a Bible, hymnal, planning calendar, and prayer list; his tools were a plunger, screwdriver, broom, and voltage meter. We were co-workers in the Almighty’s employ, respecting each other’s calling and craft. Many a time I accompanied him into the basement of the church to some malfunctioning what-not to lend a hand, admire his fix-it skills, or, truth be told, just to be in the company of a genuinely good and humble man.
One day I asked Elwood if he would mind giving me a hand with a home plumbing problem. The faucet in our upstairs bathroom tub had developed a perpetual drip, drip, drip, and I knew myself well enough to know that left to my own devices such a repair could get messy. So, I asked Elwood to help me out. He proceeded to go to work with his trusty pipe wrench only to find himself in the direct line of fire of a gusher of water that burst forth directly into his mid-section. Soaked but nonplussed, he said in his Kentucky drawl, “David, I don’t think you turned that water off quite right.”
From then on, whenever Elwood came by my office and asked me to give him a hand, I would ask, “You want me to go turn the water off?” whereupon he would chuckle in his kindly manner, and say, “No, David, but thank you for offering.”
We played golf together, Senior Pastor and Custodian. He beat me every time. He would take one of his slow-motion swings and send the ball down the fairway one hundred yards at a time after which I would take one of my mighty macho wrap-it-around-my-neck numbers that sent the ball careening off into the woods or across the street into somebody’s front yard. I’d track my ball down, see Elwood standing back in the fairway smiling, and then hit one that would whistle past him over his head en route to more trouble. He should have received a Purple Heart for playing golf with me, so often did he stand in the line of fire.
One day I invited Elwood to go to my brother’s golf course in Illinois. We made the 2½ hour drive and played together. Riding cart. 18 holes.
Elwood said, “This is real nice, David.”
“Yep, Elwood,” I said, “You’re my guest today. A V.I.P.”
He beat me as usual. On one hole, a par three that crossed a pond, I asked, “Do you have enough oomph to get your ball over the water?” Whereupon he swung, launched the ball skyward over the water and safely onto the green where it rolled toward what I thought was going to be a hole-in-one, stopping just inches shy.
I chunked my ball into the water. Twice. After my third tee shot landed on dry ground, I said, “I sure wish somebody would have turned that water off, Elwood!”
He smiled, shook his head the way he did, and said, “It don’t matter, David. It’s just good to be out here together on such a purty day.”
Indeed, it was. Any day spent with Elwood was a good day.
He died sixteen years ago on the day of Jennie and my 25th anniversary. I sent a card to his wife Etta expressing my sympathy along with my respect and admiration for Elwood.
The Psalmist wrote, “For a day in your courts is better than a thousand elsewhere. I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than live in the tents of wickedness” (Psalm 84:10).
Sounds to me like the Psalmist was a custodian in the Lord’s House like Elwood.
