Missing Church

 A friend of mine told me this story that sounds like my story. This minister-friend went to see Barbara Brown Taylor one day, She has written a multitude of good books but she has also been a Pastor. My friend asked her, “Could we go see your old church?” And she agreed. They walked up the steps to the church door. “Could I look inside?” She nodded her head. She told him the church was not locked. She turned the knob and nothing happened. “I forgot this door always gets stuck.” So she leaned her shoulder against the door and it opened into a small sanctuary. My friend asked her, “Do you miss it?”  “Oh, yes—I miss it.”  

As a Pastor for many years I can  identify with those words. Looking back on all the churches I served, I miss them. Some, knowing my story would think I was crazy. Some of those places nearly gobbled me up or broke my heart. And yet even in those churches I miss the faces. The memories. The weddings we had. The  funerals—some young folks in the prime of their lives. I     think of the struggles we had and the momentous things we did together. Maybe memories has faded most of the dark things  But, oh I miss church.

And so I look around at this plague that has affected us all. We closed churches everywhere. Since last March or maybe April—a a year ago I haven’t been to church since. Oh, most of the churches tried to open. Six feet apart. Outside. Masks, of course required. Choirs too, six feet apart. And when the virus was worse most closed the door to in-person church. And then after a while we sorta opened them. And the churches have turned to technology. Zoom. Face time. Ytube. Streaming But I haven’t gone back to church and neither has my wife. When you are over eighty we are told not to get to close.

But Sunday after Sunday I miss church. Streaming helps—but it isn’t the same. Some of our members have had the virus. Some have died. And so we stayed away. But I miss it. The stained glass windows—like the burning bush and so many others. I miss the Cross which is the centerpiece of our Sanctuary. I miss the Resurrection window in the back. Like my wife I miss the music terribly. Mostly congregational singing. Those Sundays when my 97 years old buddy and me share a hymn book and sing. Yes, I miss it. Looking around at young parents and squirmy kids, old folk—some crippled or in wheel chairs. I miss the piano solos and our magnificent organ that always lifted me up. And the Choir—we miss those anthems that sometimes brought tears to our eyes. We miss the Bread and the Cup and just waiting our turn in the line—watching old and young and some people of different color. Seeing the servers leaving the Table and take these mementoes of our faith to those who cannot stand. I miss the silence. And those times when I bow my head and sometimes even pray. Sermons—of course I miss them. Our minister works hard and does a good job even in this strange time. But this is not why I come. Sometimes I get homesick and wish I was a standing up there behind that pulpit—but not often. I am like the old basketball player sitting on the bench remembering.

I miss so many of the faces, shaking hands and the hugs. This may be one of the most important part of my longing. Just people. Old and young and college students and families sitting together. I miss those who sit alone because the person they loved the most is now gone. And they come even with their heavy grief.

I miss the Scripture some Sundays. And more than anything  just thinking of my family and letting so many names run through my mind as I whisper: “God help" and often: “Forgive me.”I miss the hoping I find there. And seeing all those others with me just hanging on by their fingernails just praying this crazy virus will go away. And remembering all those everywhere with not enough to eat, those being evicted—and those who cannot touch their loved ones in the hospital. 

 And after Church is over—I look back over my shoulder at that wonderful Resurrection window reminding me that somewhere, somehow we will make it not because we are strong—but because the light that filters through that window falls on all of us. And we go on despite all the heartbreak out there and the craziness of the awful too-muchness and the burden of our own lives.

Do I miss it? Oh yes, I miss it.

*first photo by Ellyn B

                                                      photo by Jolynne Martinez / flikr

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

                                                                   
                               

Anniversary Rememberings

One of the great words in the Bible is remember. And even if you are not a believer remembering is an anchor for all of us. President Biden told us the other day : “To heal we  must remember.” And he is right.

And as we move closer to our sixtieth (sixtieth??) anniversary memories of so many things swirl around me. 

I remember our first date at Mario’s pizza place in Louisville. I thought she was the prettiest girl I had ever met.

I  remember three years later on that coid January night when there was 10 inches of snow on the ground and she walked down the aisle on her father’s arm. 

After the wedding we stopped at the first motel we saw. I remember how hard it was trying to navigate my old green Dodge through the snow to Indiana. It was pretty dangerous and we drove over the Ohio River bridge and stopped in the first motel we could find. Not exactly paradise—Gayle said: “There’s a hole in that bedspread.” (Class)

I remember we spent two glorious days after that in French Lick, Indiana a great getaway. Everything was included—even the lobster we had that night. I think our bill was less than a hundred dollars.

I remember when we got back to our Apartment in Louisville our first purchase was a used TV almost as big as a  refrigerator. The highlight of every Saturday or Sunday night was watching: “Perry Mason.”

I remember that summer I was called to a tiny clap-board church on Alternate #54. Neither one of us had ever lived in the country.

I remember they needed a choir director and Gayle  reluctantly volunteered. After a while she thought it would be good if the choir had robes (class) and we ordered these robes that had to be completed by some of the women in our church. The Sunday they were to process in, Gayle had warned the women not to wear dangling earrings and no necklaces. And so when the Choir marched in—one of the women Choir members followed the instructions but had on a huge red hat.

I remember our first child, a girl born there. After a long delivery this red-headed curly haired baby came. Gayle looked up at her said: “ Let me see her ears—I hope they don’t look like her Daddy.

I remember we moved away almost 4 years later and shipped our dog, Pooch, to Virginia in a crate. Our newly purchased Green Volkswagen  was cramped as it was.

I remember it was in Virginia that our son was born. A second redhead who almost didn’t get there. Gayle was having some trouble getting pregnant and had a procedure done at the Doctor’s office and came home to get pregnant. Well—I had the mumps.  Our son really was almost a miracle.We stayed there six years. Good folks. We brought our first color TV the day of Robert Kennedy’s funeral. 

I remember that move brought Faith Baptist Church In Georgetown, Kentucky where we stayed and loved those six years there. 

I can’t forget that all along Churchill’s black dog followed me. Depression. And my long-suffering wife said time after time: “You can make it. You’re not completely crazy.”

And from there we moved to Clemson, SC to the First Baptist Church and our son exclaimed: “They have nailed-down seats!” We left a church with folding chairs. Our daughter learned to play the Violin and our son attempted it at Montessori School.

I could write pages and pages about those thirteen years. Ups and downs there like our football team in Death Valley. Gayle taught piano to 40 students, cooked our meals, juggling our kid’s traumas and schedules while the Reverend (me) was supposedly doing the work of the Lord. Gayle worked in the music program at church and played the piano in church often.

We moved to a church in Memphis where we met some good, good friends. Gayle taught piano in the Preparatory Music Department at Rhodes College. We were there 3 years and Gayle still says we should have stayed. (She was right.)

I left after 3 years without a place to go. 55 years old and scared and the black dog trailing after me. Gayle, God bless her, did what she had done a zillion times. She believed in me, she loved me as she listened to my rantings and my ups and down.  I don’t think I could have made it with her standing there with arms out saying, again: “You’ll get something—you are good.”

I was called to the Baptist Church of the Covenant in Birmingham smack dab on the mean downtown streets. And we worked and prayed and after eight years they gave us a wonderful going away party. People came from every church I had served.  Gayle had played the piano at church, sang in the choir while still cooking meals every night and teaching a multitude of students piano.

After our retirement we went to Paris with some good friends. And one night looking out the window at the glittering lights there, I said to her, “Did you think we would ever get to Pais?” And she said: “Absolutely I knew we would do this.” 

I dragged her around to eight churches where I served as Interim. We lived in condos, old parsonages and apartments. Gayle said after eight years: “Ok. I am tired of all this traveling. I miss my house.” I said, “Yes ma’m.” And home to Birmingham we went.

After a while we moved  back to Clemson. It is a small town. I say you can get anywhere in five minutes. We love being around old friends and sitting in the pew of a church I used to serve. Sitting on the bench takes some doing—but I got used to it.

Our house here is filled with furniture we bought all over. There is so much history as I look at chairs, beds, mirrors, art work--rugs and books. I can tell you to this day where all these treasures came from.

I am winding down the memories. This is much too long but I could fill in the blanks and you would be so bored, as you probably are so I’ll leave it there.

Our two kids—one with the big ears—come often to check on their aging parents and give us instructions. They love us fiercely and we return the favor. The credit  mostly goes to my wife who did so much for them while I was supposedly preaching the gospel.

During this winter of everybody’s discontent we are pretty much at home. We miss the faces and people and talking to them and jokes and just being together. We are still scared of this virus and we have taken one vaccination shot and in a few week we will get the second shot. But we read the Obituary notices in the paper and grieve of those we have lost and all those we do not know.

But looking back on the terrain of these sixty years together we had no idea what would come next. Many times I have wondered but Gayle has said all along: “ It will be OK. You don’t have to worry.”

One of my favorite marriage stories comes from Wallace Stegner, a very fine writer:

“It is something—it can be everything—to have a fellow bird with whom you can sit among the rafters while the drinking and boasting and reciting and fighting go on below; a fellow bird whom you can look after and fine bugs and seeds for; one who will patch your bruises  and straighten your ruffled feathers and mourn over your hurts when you accidentally fly into something you can’t handle´.”

Gayle…I remember.  

Deep in our Hearts We Remember Dr. King

                                                  photo courtesy of Senate Democrats / flikr

I first heard of Martin Luther King during the Montgomery Bus Boycott when the buses in Montgomery, Alabama were segregated. Blacks were confined to the back seats. As a college student in Birmingham I heard about what was happening in Montgomery.  I read Dr. King’s Stride Toward Freedom that told of the bus boycott.

My Story

 But it reminded me of an incident in my life when I was probably 16. This was Columbus, Georgia. I rode the bus home from downtown Columbus to my home just miles away. About mid-way the bus suddenly stopped and a black woman got on. I remember she looked tired. She didn’t sit on the back row but about two seats closer to the front. I sat in front of her. The bus suddenly stopped and the bus driver came down the aisle. “Auntie, you can’t sit there, you know that. Get up and move to the back seat.” She just kept sitting. “Get up,” he said. I turned around and told the driver, “Mr. if you would talk to her like a human being she might move.” She moved and the bus deriver continued to drive. The white folks on the bus kept looking back at me. Some whispered to one another. It was a tense moment. 

The Changes He Made

I still marvel at the incredible change one man can make. Despite the dark days there was no turning back to those days in the fifties. Black young men work out at my Rec Center. Sometimes we talk and laugh at one another another. Do you honestly think Clemson would have won those National Championships without our black players. Many of the workers in our local WalMart are black. And through very few blacks attend our church when they come they are welcomed. Many of our political leaders are Afro-American. Georgia could not have elected two Democrats to the Senate without the voter registration that Dr. King started years ago. Black faces dot all our TV stations.

Of course this is only the tip of the iceberg because one man told us he had a dream. He was assassinated  one sad in Memphis, Tennessee. Evil forces tried to stop him and yet his dream of a beloved community is still a dream. We are a divided people and our days are scary. Joe Biden and Kamala Harris will be sworn in. She is our first black Vice President. 

From a Distance

Every time I hear: “We shall overcome…O deep in my heart I do believe that we shall overcome one day…” stirs me

with hope and promise still. If we turn to the Hebrews and remember the great call of many of our saints: Abel and Enoch and Abraham and Sarah, Noah and Moses. On and on the list goes on. But the book of Hebrews was written like so many of the books in the Bible They came out of very hard soil. The author reminds us as he thought of all those he had mentioned: “All these were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw and welcomed them from a distance…” But the theme sounding like a tom-tom beat reminds us how they kept going: “Faith…Faith…Faith.

Isn’t this still the believer’s charge. “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction ofd things not seen.”  Over 25,000 guards in Washington protect our government and our new President. What is to be our response?  Maybe on Dr. King’s birthday we remember we are called to be faithful. And this, maybe in every age, is hard indeed.

What I Heard

I only heard Dr. King once. He spoke in our Southern Baptist Seminary chapel. I remember his sonorous words: “Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.” I shook his hand after that sermon but leaving there I remember feeling strongly I had to do something. Well most of my efforts have been weak. But I have tried in my own way to believe and try to preach and live this dream thatI heard about in that chapel sermon.

Hopefully on this national holiday that we will turn off the tv and quit worrying about buying something from Amazon and ponder the truth of this day. We remember Dr. King and the challenges he left for us all. And that dream could change us all.

(Dr. King’s birthday was January 15. But we have designated the third Monday in January as a nation holiday in his honor.)                   

 *The second photograph was taken by Andy Montgomery / flikr  

                                                                            photo by Ben Brooks / flikr

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette

Has the Evangelical Church Lost its Moorings?

David Brooks fine columnist for the New York Times has opened up his heart as he discusses the evangelicals allegiance to Trump. Think about this and weep. Many of those that stormed the Capitol sang hymns, there were crosses in profusion and signs proclaiming: "Trump is My President Jesus is my Savior."

                                                         photo by Gilbert Mercier / flikr

                                                --Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Washington's Siege and Christmas Past

  One week ago on a Wednesday evening like many of you I sat glued to the television. Open-mouthed and sick to my stomach I watched part of those terrible six hours when citizens of this country stormed the Capitol. I could not believe my eyes. Smashing windows, nailing up a scaffold and a hanging rope. Many screamed: "Kill Pence! Kill Pence." Someone paraded through those sacred halls carrying a Confederate flag. Some chased down police, beating some with sticks. Several pipe bombs were found. More than one sign proclaimed: "Jesus is my Lord. Trump is my President." A policeman was murdered. Four others died as well. There were crosses in abundance.  Many were wounded. One man jerked a crutch from one man and held it up with glee.The flag came down and up went up saying Trump won. Underneath they raised the American flag. 

Looking out my window that night across the street at my neighbor's house Christmas lights still blinked. Their decorations were still up. It was a surreal moment for me. The TV showing anger and hate and destruction and across my street Christmas was still in the windows.

This was not exactly Silent night or Holy night. 

What does the light which John promised would overpower the darkness square with what I saw on television that night? I wondered if the violence I saw in Washington and the twinkling lights across the street had the old Christmas promise wrong? Will the darkness suffocate the light? Would last week's vengeance and lies piled on top of lies smudge out my Christmas memories. Faith says remember that child in the manger promising "peace and goodwill to all." Doubt says: "Are you kidding power and looting rule this country. Get real. That sea of hatred seemed pretty real." 

And then I remembered those three kings that followed a strange star. And I remembered that

King Herod would snuff out those blinking lights and murder whoever would get in his way. As the Kings moved toward Bethlehem they must have picked up the idea that Herod really did not want to give obeisance to this promised king. Finally the three Kings arrived and discovered that shining light was over a back-street cow stall with with mind-numbing cold and cow dung everywhere. This was no match for the power of Rome and Herod. But those Kings slowly placed their gifts at the foot of the manger and the mewing child. Maybe they really were wise. The story says they "went home another way..." to avoid Herod the king. Much later, under cover of darkness, Joseph, the Father took his wife Mary and their tiny baby and fled to Egypt. We forget the real fear of Joseph and his family. Only later did they feel like it was safe and returned home. 

The light has had a hard time in every age and every Christmas. Wars, mayhem, plagues and starvation everywhere, And yet even with every cruelty the world would show--the flickering candle--a light--never went out. So I must remember the Christmas story yet again when the lion and the lamb will lie down together. (Isaiah 11. 6-9.) Get out your Bible and read this whole promise.

The Christmas lights and decorations up and down our streets are no more.  It may be dark indeed outside but we hang on to Epiphany where the precious light still burns--maybe dimly--but it still burns. And so I stumble into this strange new year believing and not-believing this news which hardly sounds good right now.  We may not be able to whistle while we work. There will be some days when we do not really know yet that "the word became flesh and dwelt among us”. But that word endures. Even in a time of plague especially in a time of plague.

                                                              photo by Martin Sisak / flikr

+ First photo by Blink O'fanaya / flikr

+ Second photo by Alvin Truly / flikr

—Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Epiphany--What's That?

 

                                                          photo by Janrdhan /flikr
 

This is the season of Epiphany and it comes none too soon. When I first sprang the word on my tiny congregation on Alternate 54 in Western Kentucky they looked puzzled. E-pfif-fun-ie? And so this young green reverend still wet behind the ears—tried patiently as patient as a young 25-year-old Pastor could be— to give them a lesson about the lectionary (the what?) and the coming of the Wise Men who really didn’t show up in the real Christmas drama but came later. 

Still wondering the church took it all in stride. More patient, God bless ‘em than any young green preacher could ever be. And so they began to listen and I secretly wondered if I really knew as much about Epiphany as I let on. 

But through the years that young green pastor is no more. Life happened. Sometimes a whole lot of life. But my understanding of Epiphany has grown. The Greek church taught us that the three Wise men saw a star in the East and set out to find out what it meant. Funny, they were outsiders, Gentiles of all people. And there at the beginning of the story most for us overlooked, those that stood on the outside of the plate glass window were even then included in the greatest story ever told. No us’s and them’s. No they’s. Just folks. And it really did not matter if they were poor or homeless or refugees or on the other side of whatever political persuasion there might be. It wasn’t important that they could not speak our language or were gay—even those wild ones in those scary parades. Reckon the outsiders meant that Buddhists and Mormons or atheists or those locked behind prison walls were also part of the real story.

So the church set aside January 6th as that time when the Wise Men followed that blinking star until they found at the end of their journey someone who one day would open his arms so wide that he would take everyone in. And John wrote: “This God loved the world…” No qualifications.

An old play by Maxwell Anderson has one of the characters saying, “I came here seeking light in darkness and stumbled on a morning.” And maybe that is what Epiphany is all about. Seeking light in darkness.

Put Epiphany down beside this January 6th and all the days that follow. My God, what a dark time this is. The virus rages and seems to be coming back with a vengeance. Hospitals filled and running over. Nurses running from one room to the other trying to help the sick and the dying. Morgues with no place to put all the bodies. And the tears and grief piled on top of grief by those who have lost the dearest ones they have loved. All of life turned topsy-turvy not only here but all over. 

We seem hopelessly divided as a people suspicious and mistrustful even in those vaccinations that change this picture. And mistrustful of just about everything. And we could talk of the evictions and the dispossession of cars and millions without jobs and running out of hope. And we clergy-people wondering deep down if there is really any word from the Lord.

And it seems that this January Epiphany has come at just the right time. Remember, the story goes of the  Wise Men that came from afar. And after their long and tedious journey they stood by that straw-filled manger open-mouthed and transfixed. They looked up and the star they had followed for so long was still there and still blinking.

Later John remembered this incident and would write: “The light has come into the world and the darkness cannot out it out.” And so friends, like John we must hang on to that kindly light as it leads us through this flickering gloom.”

We will somehow make it not just by feeling our way through this dark—but by seeing a light that was lead us all even as we stumble along.” 

painting by Van Gogh / flikr

Happy Birthday, Matthew

 He came into our lives on a cold January Wednesday night in Danville, Virginia.  Red-headed coming roaring out squirming. Neither has changed. That was 53 years ago. Could it have been that long?  Since then every church has remembered him. Weird...strange...funny. His Montessori teacher writing and saying: "He was an utter delight--eyes wide open seeing everything bugs, caterpillars, bird's nests, frogs, minnows in the water. Running around the church with a Cape on shouting: "Shazam!"  Flying bulletin-made airplanes  from a church balcony. Setting fire to another church bulletin on Christmas Eve during the Candlelighting service. Crawling up in our bed on early Sunday mornings saying: "Hey come watch Ernest Angley." I found a note on the pulpit just before I preached that read: "Use the microphone today. Tell everybody I love you." Watching his Grandmother fry chicken and make homemade biscuits and still remembering and cooking them after all these years. Absolutely refusing to take piano lessons--and taking it up 53 years later. Sending his Mama a Mother's Day card with a Monster drawing on the front and inside: "Hey, Mama I love you." Designing Christmas banners when he was sixteen--that still hang in the church every Advent season.

He went to the North Carolina School for the Arts and then to the Art Institute in Chicago. Meeting Mark and then a relationship that is in it's 30th year. He loves his sister and his parents and his nieces and a whole lot of friends. 

So I won't bore you with other stories. But I do say on his birthday he is still red-headed and still crazy after all these years--we are glad, very glad he came into our lives. This is your day Matthew. Enjoy!

                                                      Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com