The following script closely identifies my communication to the church in my message yesterday.
For the past 40+ years, with few exceptions, my corporate Worship experiences have taken place in this room. There is a simple serenity in this place that defies description. Everything from the beaded wooden surface that surrounds us to the wooden floor that we stand on subtly reminds us of our past and our longevity as a family of faith.
Added to those dimensions, the stained glass windows that make up our church’s Legacy in Color and Light, share more of our story. Each window is donated in memory or in honor of someone whose life is woven into the fabric of all that we hold dear.
On occasion, across the years, I’ve stopped by the church simply to sit in the back corner of the sanctuary and soak it all in. The light, warmth, and memories associated with this room make it a sanctuary in more than one way.
Incidentally, the word sanctuary has a couple of meanings: Sanctuary means a “Sacred Place”. It is a term that can also be used to indicate a “Safe Place.” Across the years, I have found it to be both. I hope that has been your experience as well.
I never cease to be amazed at how many people I meet who have emerged from church experiences, weathered, worn, and bruised. I pray to God that has not been your experience under my watch.
I think of the church as a shelter in the storm. It is not our intent to reach out to folks who see themselves as perfect but to be a hospital for those who need the hope and healing that only God can provide.
I remember hearing a former pastor of Westbury Baptist Church in Houston speak. He told the story of a couple who visited their church. He went to their home the following week to thank them for being in attendance.
The husband primarily did most of the talking. It was almost as if he purposefully set out to impress the pastor with their near-perfect family and problem-free existence. Before the pastor left, he expressed his appreciation for their having visited Westbury Baptist Church. He even highlighted that the couple had much to offer, but he expressed his opinion that they probably would not be satisfied as members at Westbury.
He said in essence that most of their congregation didn't yet have their lives sorted out so perfectly. Their congregation still struggled with the downside of living in a fallen world and managing the challenges and obstacles that presented. He thought it might make them uncomfortable.
At that point, the wife "elbowed" her husband and said to him: "Why don't you now tell the pastor the truth. As their family story unfolded, their problems and difficulties weren't that dissimilar from many in their congregation.
A couple of Sundays ago when I invited Lonny Poe to preach, he arrived at church after Sunday School had started. Not wanting to interrupt, he made himself at home back in the corner of the Sanctuary. He texted me to let me know he was enjoying the quiet sunlit warmth of the Sanctuary.
Actually, Lonny didn’t tell me he sought refuge in the back corner. I made that assumption because that has been my nesting place many times. It provides the best view of the room.
A few weeks before her death, Lindley Pond started stopping by the church regularly to pray because the Sanctuary reminded her both of the presence of God and the love she has found through our family of faith.
Incidentally, I learned last year that the beaded wooden ceiling that I have admired since I walked into this place for the first time in 1978, was originally part of a structure on the campus of the University of Texas. The structure was being renovated and the beaded wooden ceiling was recycled and made available for our use.
At least two people I know have ties with this place that date back to the original construction of the Sanctuary. Loraine Joy and Sally Jo Gravenor. But even if that is not true of you, I suspect for several of you, this sanctuary represents for you memories of a lifetime.
Though others of you have not been around since the church’s beginning, it does not preclude the reality that our church may represent the primary place you have met for Worship during your lifetime. You, too, can affirm that your faith-walk is linked to memories associated to this church.
Hebrews 12:1 says, “Therefore since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.”
As a family of faith, we are figuratively surrounded by the saints of the past. It does not mean that those who have gone before us are spectators to the race we run. Rather, it means that we can be inspired by the Godly examples these saints set during their lives.
As you know, I am a man of many words, but I am not articulate enough to fully express my gratitude for the privilege of serving as your pastor.
Across the past four decades, as you have shared your life and story with me, the connection has blended our lives together. You have strengthened and enriched my story and I’m forever grateful.
Never have I known such love. I would be remiss if I didn't remind you that you have the same capacity to love the next pastor as much as you loved me.
Most folks upon learning that their second child is on the way, wonder if they will be able to love that child as much as their firstborn. Call it a miracle if you want, but that is the way it is supposed to work out. You always find the capacity to love the second child as much as the first.
Acts 11:26 tells us that the disciples were first called Christians at Antioch. However, the Greek word for Christ “Christos” is pronounced much the same as the Greek word for “kindness, “Chrestos”. And so many scholars think the believers were called “chrestos” “kind ones” and because of this witness, they were identified with Christ “Christos”. Their first and greatest witness was their kindness, and by it they were known as belonging to Jesus.
As I mentioned in the Henly Today article for January, the first time I walked into Henly Baptist Church, I immediately felt welcomed. Even though it was bitterly cold outside, I sensed a warm inviting environment – a warmth generated by something other than the propane heater at the front of the church. It came from the demeanor of the people in their attendance and love for the Lord.
The second thing I remember about the first day is that I wanted to be invited back. As I was leaving someone told me they would be in touch. True to their word, they called back and invited me to return the next Sunday and the next. Thus began a love relationship that has withstood the test of time.
I was 32 years old and had little first-hand experience serving as pastor of a church. To say that I was wet behind the ears is an understatement. I had officiated at a couple of funerals for people that I didn’t know when I was pastoring a small church when I was in college. The dearly departed no longer lived in the community nor did their extended family.
Consequently, I had no information about the person before the funeral.
That had been a decade before and one thing I knew for certain is that going forward, I would know anyone whose funeral I was asked to officiate even if it was posthumously. Better yet, why not get to know them personally while I had the chance.
After I was called as pastor in February 1979, I started visiting the sick and homebound. Seriously, isn’t that part of the job description for a pastor? It is not rocket science. There were a couple of deacons that fell in that category.
Tom Joy lived down Old Red Ranch Road long before it was anything other than a cow trail. I don’t know how many gates were between the church and his house, but trust me; it was more than two or three.
Over the next several months I got to know Tom. He and his wife, Mozelle, were always glad to see me. His was the first funeral I conducted after coming to Henly as pastor.
Tom went to be the Lord in September 1979. To make his funeral service personal, I took the liberty of identifying the strengths I observed in Tom’s life. The funeral message was well received. One of the deacons said to me: "I've never been to a funeral service like this one. It was really good."
Consequently, as a matter of routine, I started asking family members what they valued most about their loved ones. Regardless of how well I knew the person, I always ask family members beforehand.
The thing about a funeral; is that you only get one opportunity to get it right. If you get it wrong, it will be a forever memory that you’d prefer to be forgotten. Consequently, I always ask regardless of how well I know the family.
Across the years, I have occasionally been surprised by the number of family members that are at a loss for words. They look at me as though I am from another planet. It is always an awkward silence when no one has anything kind to say or simply responds, “I can’t think of anything”. I am not making this up. It does happen.
I remember reading the autobiography of Steve Jobs, founder of Apple. When asked why he was having his story chronicled as he struggled with cancer treatments, he responded that he wanted his children to know who he was. I found that sort of sad.
Truth be told, I always received more compliments from my funerals than from my sermons. I've had strangers who were present at a funeral who came to me after the service and asked if I'd officiate at their funeral when the time comes?
One of the other deacons who was homebound when I came as pastor was Ed Fine. He and his family lived on the park road. After I had been at the church a couple of years, his daughter who was grown and out of the home, but still in the area telephoned to say that her dad wanted to give us a calf. At that time, we had just moved into our newly constructed home.
The daughter said the calf was loaded in the trailer and she was coming our way. When she arrived, she asked that I have a prayer of dedication over the calf.
Never think that I can't think on my feet. My first thought was Holy Cow! By the way, we named the calf Midnight since it was long after dark when the calf was delivered.
Memories – I’ll never run out of memories associated with the privilege of having served as pastor for well over most of my life. As I mentioned, the church’s Legacy in Color and Light – the stained glass windows will forever trigger memories because the stories of the people being remembered or honored are tied into my story as well.
Let me share with you something that most people don’t know about the pulpit. It was provided to the church as a gift from Lee and Peggy Arbon.
I met Lee and Peggy at Waymon Curry’s 40th birthday party. In some respects that doesn’t seem that long ago. On the other hand, Wayman will be 80 in about 6 weeks. His birthday is March 13. I know that only because our birthdays are 2 days apart.
Wayman and Janet had invited at least 200 of their closest friends to celebrate that milestone at the hanger where he stored his airplanes. The fact that Treva and I became close friends with Lee and Peggy was nothing short of a miracle.
Maybe it was the whiskey? Maybe it was the dancing? Actually, it wasn’t either of those things, but it makes for a good story and now you’re wondering what I could say next.
Actually, when we met Lee and Peggy it had to do with the providence of God. When I met them, I had two strikes against me because I was introduced as the Baptist preacher. I would never identify myself that way to anyone, but someone did.
When people ask me what I do, I typically respond that I do the best that I can; that's my story and I'm sticking to it. I never identify myself as a preacher.
Before living in the greater Henly area, Lee and Peggy lived in Austin in the Hyde Park neighborhood. It is an older prestigious neighborhood overshadowed by a very large Baptist church. The church had the notoriety of buying historic homes and tearing them down to build a parking lot. That didn’t square well with people like Lee and Peggy.
Secondly, Lee and Peggy weren’t church-going people. Why would they want to become friends with a Baptist preacher? God’s timing is everything. Both Lee and Peggy subsequently made a profession of faith and became members of Henly Baptist Church.
Lee and Peggy invited us into their lives and our friendship flourished. Ours became a love relationship. They were a couple with a beautiful story.
Lee and Peggy were married for 69 years. Lee was on his way to war when they met. Lee was a pilot. They were the first couple married at Bergstrom Airforce Base in 1942. They had known each other five days when they got married.
Following Lee’s death, I often visited Peggy to find her reading love letters Lee had written during the war. Such tenderness – such compassion.
Getting back to the pulpit, Peggy had found it somewhere years earlier. She loved antiques and also owned an antique shop in Johnson City. When this pulpit was in their home, they used it as a liquor cabinet. I don't recall that either was prone to alcohol, but Lee did give generally have one martini most evenings. Because of the difference God made in their lives, they wanted to pulpit returned to its original purpose. What better place than in this very room?
Knowing that this Sunday would be my last as the pastor, I’ve spent the week reflecting on memories.
I want to share one other story from long ago. When Treva and I came to Henly, we had a second-grader. By the way, Craig turned 50 this past September.
At that time, Jerry McCarty had a daughter in the 7th grade and a son in high school. She also was the mother of twin sons – Interestingly, their names were Ronnie and Donnie and they were my age.
It never occurred to me until years later that Jerry was an experienced parent. Jerry had the unique opportunity and privilege to be involved in what I’ll describe as “active parenting” for many years. The age range of her children was fairly broad. Maybe there is truth to the notion that “children keep you young.”
Jerry was good as a Mother. She was good as a grandmother. Nothing was of more importance to Jerry and nothing brought her more joy and satisfaction. Jerry loved her family. She loved life. She embraced life. But when illness took from her the ability to be independent, the one thing; perhaps the only thing, that bothered her about her imminent home–going was the simple knowledge that she’d be separated from her children for a time.
Several weeks before her death, in one of those rare experiences where it was just Jerry and I visiting in her hospital room, she confided the one thing about her diagnosis that was so bothersome was that she knew she didn’t have much time, but she then smiled and said, the good news is “I have some time.”
The week that Jerry went to be with the Lord, I had an evening foster care appointment in Leander. As I headed for home, I had the passing thought that I needed to go by the hospital and check on Jerry.
No sooner had I had that thought than I discounted it immediately by looking at the logistics. South Austin is a long way from Leander. It was already late. I needed to get home. I was hungry. I’d have more time on the weekend.
I have no explanation of why I continued South down Hwy 183 to MoPac instead of turning right on Loop 620 other than a Divine appointment.
When I got to the hospital, Jerry was pleased to see me. She told me over and over how good it was to see me. I know what your thinking, but she was coherent and in her right mind.
The time we shared was important. I opted to be honest with her. I shared that I was greatly saddened by her illness, that I wanted more time, that her family wanted more time, and that I was prayerful we’d have more time.
As we talked, she confirmed her awareness that although she wanted more time, the only thing that ultimately mattered was her relationship with the Lord. And because she had responded to God’s love in her life through a faith relationship with Christ, she knew that regardless of what the day brought everything was going to be alright.
Jerry and I shared the promises of God’s Word that "to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord".
We talked about the fact that eternal life is a gift through faith in Christ Jesus.
o It is a gift.
o We don’t have to earn it – we can’t.
o We don’t have to be good enough- we aren’t.
o We simply accept it as a gift of God.
We talked about Christ dying as the penalty for our sin in order that we might have life. Jerry said with sincerity, “I love Him so much.”
I reminded Jerry of the words of Christ when he said: “In my father’s house are many mansions. If it were not so, I would have told you. I go now to prepare a place for you and if I go to prepare a place for you I will come again that where I am, there you may be also.”
Jerry and I talked about her family and how blessed she’d been to have such a loving family. I told her that she and Clyde had done an exceptional job as parents because the outcome measures were good. Hers’ was a family of mutual respect, support, and love.
Jerry and I talked not only of her “here and now” family, but we talked about the glorious homecoming that someday would be hers and the family members waiting on the other side.
If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never forget the debt of gratitude I have to God for allowing me just to witness the joy and delight Jerry took in the promises of His Word. She thanked me over and over for coming and told me it had been so helpful. She said repeatedly, You’ll never know how much you’ve helped me.
Well, I didn’t help, but perhaps God did. If it had been left to me, I would have waited until later to visit with her and it would have been too late.
The thing I value most about being a pastor is sharing with individuals and families in some of life's most difficult moments. I enjoy that aspect of being a pastor more than standing behind the pulpit.
It is interesting that my last month as the pastor of Henly Baptist Church has provided me with multiple similar opportunities. My world has been good and I am extremely grateful. Thank you for the privilege.
All My Best!
Don