Panic in the Pulpit

Small Church by Sardis Temple

The nightmare finally came true. My reoccurring nightmare is standing up in the pulpit and suddenly realizing that I forgot to prepare a message. In the nightmare I also realize that I forgot to put my clothes on. So there I stand, unprepared and naked in front of the entire church. It happened last Sunday… well, part of the nightmare came true. At least I wasn’t literally naked.

And it wasn’t that I forgot to prepare a message. With printed manuscript in hand, brimming with confidence, I mounted the pulpit and started preaching. I was fairly impressed with my introduction comparing an enormous pagan temple to the small 4^th century church in Sardis. I thought the picture illustrated well what the early Christians were up against (see above pic). And how clever was that hypothetical conversation between the Corinthian Christian and his pagan neighbor? For those that missed it, here’s an abbreviated version…

Pagan to Christian: “So where is the temple of your God?”
Christian: “Our God isn’t big on temples.”
Pagan: “So where is your God?”
Christian: “Our God is the creator of all things. He is everywhere; no building can contain Him.”
Pagan: “Every god must have a temple to inhabit. So your god is homeless.”
Pagan guy walks away leaving Christian thinking, “It would be nice if we had a temple.”

Then I read the text (1 Cor. 3:1-23) from my Bible and stated the first point of the message, a word to church leaders: “You are farm-hands, not landowners”. I’m totally into it now. This is a point that challenged and convicted me in the preparation of the sermon. The Spirit reminded me that PCC isn’t “my church”. I’m merely a “farmhand” working God’s farm. He is the owner, not me. He brings the growth, not me. Then, the most unexpected thing happened. My eyes moved from the bottom of page 1 of my manuscript to the top of page 2; the pages were side-by-side on the music stand I use for a lectern. There at the top of page 2 was point 2, not the detail of point one I expected to see. I glanced to the bottom of the page and saw that it was page 3, not page 2. “Oh” I thought, “I’ve got the pages out of order.” Turning to the next page I saw “Page 5” printed at the bottom, and there were no more pages.

Full-fledged panic set in! I stopped talking to the congregation and began talking to myself… silently of course. “How could that stupid printer have failed to print pages 2 & 4? How could I have been so stupid as to not notice two pages were missing? I don’t have this sermon memorized! I’ll never remember my carefully crafted supporting material for point #1 of this sermon. Should I just tell everyone to wait a couple minutes while I dash back to my office and print the missing pages? Should I fake it and do the best I can?”

By now everyone knows there’s a problem in the pulpit and the pastor has just hit the panic button.
“Worship was so wonderful this morning; I can’t believe I’m wrecking the whole service with such an idiotic goof-up. Oh God, I’m in trouble!”

I’m not very good at faking it, so I decided to confess my failure to be adequately prepared by failing to check my manuscript before I stepped into the pulpit. I remembered my old haunting, reoccurring nightmare. I might as well have been stripped naked as a jaybird before the entire world as I said, “It seems that I failed to print pages 2 & 4 of my manuscript. This has never happened before.”

Silence. Very uncomfortable silence. The only thing missing was the sound of crickets chirping. Then I picked up page one; I don’t know why, but I did, and a guy sitting on the second row yelled out, “It’s on the back.”
At first his comment didn’t register. “What?”
“Page two is on the back of page one.”

I flipped page one over and sure enough, there it was in all its glory… PAGE 2! Page 4 was on the back of page 3. I had inadvertently hit the “double sided” option when I printed the manuscript. It was like realizing that I wasn’t naked after all, I’d at least remembered my underwear. And that was enough. After all, I’m only a farmhand working for the Lord.

Grand Little Blessing

Me & Pey

Four years ago PCC added a preschool. It’s one of the best decisions we’ve made since moving into the building ten years ago. It took a little time to adjust to sharing the hallway with 50+ preschoolers and their teachers, but now I love it. Five days a week the church building is alive with the cutest kids you can imagine laughing, learning, and loving every minute of their preschool experience.  And this year it got even better when my own 2½ year old granddaughter enrolled.

Several days a week my daughter drops Peyton off at my house early in the morning to ride the “papa-bus” to preschool. Sometimes Pey is a bit cranky, so I let her sleep a little longer on the couch in our living room. Amazing what an extra hour of sleep does for the disposition of a toddler. I put her shoes and socks back on, we brush our teeth (she loves brushing her teeth with Papa), and load the bus… my ’99 Jeep Cherokee.  She usually insists on walking across the bricks that border the shrubs before being lifted into her car seat. I buckle her in, take my place in the driver’s seat and ask Pey, “Are you ready to say our prayer?” She takes my hand, says “Mmm-hmm” with a nod, and I say our daily prayer. She waits to join me on the “amen”.  Then it’s off to preschool singing “Jesus Loves Me” and “Joy, Joy Joy”. I still do all the singing.

I love having Peyton in her preschool class just down the hall from my office. The teachers get annoyed when I check on her too much, but that’s a grandfather’s prerogative. Actually, I don’t check that often, because she’s always having such a good time. One day last week when I dropped her off at her classroom her teacher had quite a surprise for the kids. She had set up a tent in the middle of the room! Peyton couldn’t wait to crawl into the new playhouse. Not even a pause to say “Bye” to her papa.

A couple of weeks ago Pey had a rare difficult day at preschool. She wasn’t feeling well I could hear her crying while I was working in my office. It’s the only time all year I’ve pulled Pey out of her class. Comforting my sick little granddaughter made such an impression on me I wrote a cheesy little poem about the experience. Having Peyton in the preschool is such a grand little blessing in my life.

A Child’s Cry
In my office working, a child’s cry comes seeping.
It draws me away for I know, a sick child is weeping.
I recognize that cry…
To her classroom I fly.
Eager to comfort my precious Pey,
Your Papa is on the way.
Running into my arms at the door
Comforted, she sobs no more.
To the quiet warmth of my office space
I bear her in my arms where she hides her red face.
Refusing the pallet next to my desk,
In my arms alone does she find rest.
I rock her in my office chair
we wait for her mother to get there.
I say a prayer for my little Pey,

Comforting you is my best work today.

Donald

I'm surprised at the response to my post about Donald. Obviously I'm not the only one inspired by his faith and his love for Christ and the church. So, for those who don't attend PCC, I thought I'd post a picture of Donald.

Mentally Challenged or Spiritually Advanced

Every Sunday a mentally challenged man in our church greets me with a smile, a hug (that often includes an unintended head-butt to my ear), and a hand-written personal note. No one is more excited to be at church on Sunday than Donald. If he’s told me once, he’s told me 100 times how honored he is to be a member of PCC. Last Sunday his note said, “To Pastor Steve, I have set a good goal to follow Christ and to bless others and to love others and pray and now I have shown that! I pray for you in Christ to! Love Donald, in Christ also!”

Donald has enjoyed two big moments at PCC. The most recent was when I recognized him for his achievement in last year’s Special Olympics. He wore his ribbons to church. When I mispronounced his last name in the announcement Donald laughed and said, “Oh Pastor Steve!” I asked him to stand and show his ribbons and he did so with glee. The congregation gave him a warm ovation. He loved it. His other big moment came at one of our Wednesday night Communion Dinners. Donald was baptized by Gordon, the PCC member who first brought Donald to church. When Donald came up from the baptismal waters he thrust his arms in the air in victory. The congregation gave him a standing ovation. It was a great moment for Donald. It was a great moment for Gordon. And it was a great moment for PCC.

Donald loves serving. He assists with the collection of the offering on Sunday mornings. He knows the exact moment when it’s time to leave his seat and head to the back of the sanctuary to take his place with the ushers to pass the plates. But that’s not Donald’s primary contribution to his church. He serves best by simply being present and fully engaged. When we sing Donald sings with the most passion and leads the applause to God after every song. When I’m giving the welcome at the beginning of the service or the announcements Donald laughs at my jokes and verbally responds. “Yes Pastor, I’ll be at Communion this Wednesday night!” I always know Donald is with me, paying close attention, when I’m preaching. He answers every rhetorical question out loud, very loud… and I love it! Worship on Sunday is never an obligation for Donald, it is the high-point of his week.

I know pastors shouldn’t have favorites, but I must confess that Donald is one of my favorites. He never takes worship or preaching or fellowship for granted. He truly loves the church with a passion that reminds me of something the apostle Paul wrote in his letter to the Ephesians: “Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the Church…” (Eph. 5:25). I know the Spirit of Christ is in Donald, because I’ve never met anyone who loved the church like he does. He blesses me every Sunday.

Donald is labeled by society as “mentally challenged”. When he talks I have to listen carefully to understand what he’s saying, and his handwriting is barely legible. I don’t know his IQ score, but his SQ (spiritual quotient) if there was such a thing would be off the charts. Donald is a spiritually advanced man that continues to teach me how to love and appreciate the bride of Christ. I think I will set a good goal to follow Christ and to bless others and to love others and pray. I’m confident in attaining my good goal because the Lord is with me and Donald is praying for me.

Lost

(Written at Laity Lodge Feb 7 during the 2012 Pastors’ Retreat)

Circle Bluff Trail was clearly marked. The crushed stone path that wound through the hillside overlooking the green Frio River was easy enough to follow. The shiny red oval markers made of tin the size of a silver dollar with the hiker symbol were posted on trees at various points just in case one had trouble following the path. “This will be a piece of cake,” I thought as I started my solo journey to Circle Bluff. “I don’t need a guide; I am more than capable of finding my own way.”

Wearing my “driving glasses” so I could see far into the distance I stopped to enjoy the view of the river winding through the valley. A husband and wife in a canoe passed almost directly under the cliff where I stood. She playfully splashed him as they paddled. He wasn’t amused. As I walked I peered through the trees hoping to catch a glimpse of a porcupine or feral hog or fox or bobcat. Nothing. I lost sight of the river as the path continued to climb the hillside. I was surprised to find a downed cedar tree across the trail. It was no trouble hopping over it, but it seemed odd that such a well-kept and oft-used trail would have such an obstacle. Ten minutes later I realized I had veered off the trail and found myself picking my way through very rough, rocky terrain. I was certain I’d pick up the trail again if I forged ahead, so that’s what I did. But it seemed to be taking longer than I anticipated it would to relocate the familiar crushed stone path that had been so easy to follow at the beginning of my journey. I started second guessing myself. “Should I climb up to a higher point or descend the steep hill to intersect the trail?” I wasn’t sure, so I opted for a middle path slightly climbing.

Still no trail. I was lost. Oh, I knew I’d eventually find my way back to the comfort and security of the well-marked and easy to trod trail, but I felt foolish. Perhaps I should have gone with the group and the guide. I didn’t mean to get off the trail. It wasn’t my fault. It just happened. I was simply enjoying the views of the river and looking for wild life and before I knew it I was lost. I was off the path. As it turns out, I really do need a guide.

“He guides me in the paths of righteousness, for his name’s sake.” (Ps. 23:3)

The Sentencing

2/16/12
They made me take my belt off and put it in the plastic dish with my cell phone, wallet, keys, and pocket change before walking through the metal detector. It went off on me anyway, of course, so I got the wand-treatment. Then I made trek up to the 7th floor and found the 147th Court. The sister, mother, and an uncle of the convicted waited a little further down the hall. We were there to provide some measure of moral support for a member of our church who was scheduled to be sentenced for his crime at 2:00pm. The looks on their faces told me they were glad I had come. It’s always good to know somebody cares, even if that someone cannot fix anything. I believe Eugene Peterson is right when he writes in this book The Pastor, “My work is not to fix people. It is to lead people in the worship of God and to lead them in living a holy life.”

We formed a circle and I said a prayer. I asked God for justice, truth, and most of all mercy for the convicted and his family. Then we went into the courtroom. The ex-wife came in after we had taken our seats. She is also a member of the church. She was with her father and another woman that I guessed was an attorney. They sat on the opposite side of the room. After a few minutes I stood and walked across the room to greet her and her father. I gave her a hug and went back to my seat behind the sister of the convicted. “All rise,” the bailiff called out as the judge entered in his black robe and took his seat at the bench. We sat down and waited for the convicted to be
brought in. After a few minutes it was evident that something was amiss. Some kind of glitch in the system had failed to transport the convicted from his prison cell to the courtroom. After a 45 minute delay the deputies showed up with the prisoner in leg shackles.

The proceedings didn’t last long. The prosecutor made her case for a longer sentence. The defense attorney made his case for mercy. Mercy carried the day as the judge opted for the shortest sentence allowable under the law. As the convicted man was led away I edged over to the rail to get as close to him as I could and called out to him, “God be with you brother.” I hugged the family members and that was it. What an incredible privilege it is to be there, just to show up in the moment of a family’s great need. My hope and my prayer is that my presence reminded that family that God was there and God cares. In such moments I’m counting on Christ in me to be more visible and my own self to be much less visible.

My Good Shepherd

My Morning Prayer
Psalm 1:1
The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want.

I will be content to follow my Shepherd. I will not fear, for He is with me. I will not live a life of discontent because of the things I do not have... but want... as if the LORD is not enough. What more could I want or need than the green pastures and still waters He provides? And when I do yield to the temptation of envy, when I forget His incredible and bountiful provision, He restores my soul. Life is good in the care of my Good Shepherd.

Blog Resurrection

I began this blog 5 years ago when my wife and I made a trip to the Holy Land. I loved describing the places and people and experiences and pictures of that once-in-a-life-time trip. At the conclusion of that wonderful experience in Egypt, Jordan, and Israel I shut down the blog thinking, "I'll have nothing of interest to post now that I'm home and back to the routine of being a pastor." On this raining day (no golf today) I decided to resurrect the blog. I'm not sure where I'm going with it, or if my musings will be of interest to anyone, but here we go. I changed the name of the blog from "Clems in Israel" to "Pville Pastor". Welcome to the resurrection.