I was hired for my first ministry position by a pastor with 40 years of experience. “You don’t serve people,” he sagely said to me, “you serve God, and people are served in the process.” He advised against living in a parsonage and instead purchasing a home to build equity. “You will never get rich in ministry,” he counseled, “but God will provide for your needs.” Now, nearing his years of experience, I can attest to the wisdom of his counsel. Nonetheless, there was a financial situation in that ministry that had me scratching my head in amusement.
If you have ever watched the myriad TV shows about antiques, you know that haylofts in unused barns can yield some surprising treasures. Someone in the past places a valuable, unused item in a place that is secure from the elements and out of the way, then forgets it is there. My father-in-law in Indiana had just such a barn.
About 35 years ago, my wife and I purchased a house next to an older, Lebanese couple. One afternoon, after lunch, I was about to head back to the church, when I saw my neighbor. I waved to him. He gently called to me, “Mike, please, come for coffee.” I hesitated, did a quick mental assessment of my busy afternoon schedule, sighed, then answered, “Sure. Thank you.”
After four years of loyal service, my laptop keyboard seems to be failing. Certain, high-volume letters now require more persuasion. Often, I must double back to coax their participation. One frequently used letter that now requires extra attention is the letter ‘G.’ Based on a video about regional accents produced by a linguistics expert, it seems that my laptop has embraced life here in the south and has developed a drawl. The first pass at typing this column yielded words like “failin’” and “typin’,’’ and in certain contexts I could get away with leaving them as is. It is a different matter with the reluctant keys for “A” and “T.” They have decided to renegotiate their contract since without their participation, many words are not words at all.
I was raised in a devout Roman Catholic family and have fond memories of the tactile “smells and bells” of the mass, the priest lifting the censer, rocking it back and forth, the pungent scent of incense, the jangle of bells. But there was one tactile experience I dreaded every year – the application of ashes on Ash Wednesday.
It was the end of a workday and, as is our custom, my wife and I were “debriefing” one another. I initiated, “How was your day?” My wife’s workdays of late have been exceedingly busy but today was less so. “It was okay,” she answered, “I only had about 40 phone calls.” Yes, that is a less busy day for her. She reciprocated, “And how was your day?” As I answered, I began to do something that I have done for my entire life. Leaning on my right elbow, my head cradled in my right hand, the fingers of my right hand were tugging on the flesh under my right eye. Yeah, it’s weird, but I do it unconsciously.
I have been a Christian for 40 years, having put my faith in Christ Jesus on April 2, 1984, in a small church in south Florida. I began to perceive familiar things differently my mind being renewed in Christ. However, there were aspects of my new life that were not familiar. I quickly realized there was an entirely new vocabulary that I needed to learn. For example, many in my new church family referred to certain Bible verses as their “life verse” and spoke of having a daily “quiet time.” I had no idea what they were talking about.
In thirty-five years of ministry, I have had several speaking engagements, some at conferences, and many at churches. That is not remarkable for a preacher. What is remarkable is that many of those engagements were in Spanish-speaking countries, and I do not speak Spanish; to be understood, I had to speak through an interpreter.
My wife and I pray together most mornings before one of us leaves the house for our workday. Our prayer is always the same, “Lord, we are yours and this day is yours. We ask you to fill us with your Spirit and use us for your glory.” One day last week, having prayed with my wife and seen her out the door, a question popped into my mind: God, are you tired of hearing the same prayer from us day after day?
The acronym GOAT is frequently used in publications, but the first time I saw it used, I mistook it for a pejorative. “What despicable thing did this person do,” I wondered, “that this author would refer to him as a goat?” Reading further confused me even more because the author spoke of the person only in the most glowing terms. Then the lights came on and I realized that GOAT is an acronym for “greatest of all time.” Yes, it took me awhile.
