I don’t remember “everything” about the daily routines of
all the pastorates I have served. One particular stop in the journey was in
Weymouth, NS. It was a 3-point charge; meaning that I served 3 churches (which
meant I had 3 services per Sunday.) It was my first big challenge, but I knew
that if I was to work in rural Nova Scotia, I must be prepared to have that
type of situation. My previous ministries were in single congregations, but I
felt so strongly the call on my life, that after some pleading from a dear
retired pastor on that field, I moved to this my first 3 church field.
I will never forget my first day in the pulpit after all the
dust of interviews, meetings and moving had settled. I began my rotation around
the field (pastorate) in a lovely little church with folks that took their time
to welcome me and my family, but then rushed off to my second church.
It was a small but majestic
building, reminding me that there was an anchor for Christ in this tiny
community. The congregation was also small in number, and elderly in terms of being
well over the average of 65. I remember wondering what I might do to not just salvage
this ministry, but enliven it for Christ. The shared feeling in this congregation
was different than that of the other two on the field, I was to find out later.
It seemed that there was an abiding sense of the end, knowing that without an
injection of youth, the work of active ministry there would be very difficult.
In the work of promoting growth in the 20th century, it was a well-known
fact that you needed programs to both interest and excite youth, or otherwise be
ready to gear your focus only on ministry to seniors. This would also involve involvement
in programs and there was no hope of that level movement to be found there.
But, was ministry there something that I could accomplish? I
have to face the truth these days, as reflect on those days in fulltime
ministry... this congregation was in the last throes of survival mode. It is not always easy to look at oneself and
be reminded that I was overwhelmed, outgunned and felt very alone in ministry
those years. I did have a few “shining stars” that kept me breathing, but in
the words of a dear friend, “I knew that they would drive you away!”, I still
considered myself a failure in that one small congregation. That same person,
who cried as he spoke those words, was a mentor, a prayer warrior and a dear,
dear person. He had known the hardships of trying to hold the reigns of a
ministry doomed to a slow steady death, and he wanted me to know that he
understood.
I had reached the church that first morning and was greeted
by a few eager elderly people and introduced once again, my wife and family,
being those still living at home. One small lady, not clambering to be first to
greet us stood back having a hint of a smile, and a very kind face, awaiting
her turn to say “Hi”. Having made all the introductions we began the service.
As I mounted the stage to the pulpit I was met with a card and a glass of
water. The name was simply written and conveyed a message that both reminded me
of why I was there and gave heart to this somewhat shaky preacher. It was a
simple act of kindness that lasted each Sunday while I was there. If that lady
was ill, or away, someone was instructed to provide a glass of water for “our
minister”!
There have been others who provided water for the “thirsty
preacher” down through the years, but never on a regular, unsolicited timetable
like the dedication that Phyllis put into that act. We often speak of “comfort
food”, but do we ever identify a glass of water as such I wonder? I did! Why
would a simple glass of water bring comfort you may ask! It may seem strange to
many, but I am an introvert, I have always been very shy and always had to
battle to overcome, just to survive. People always laugh at me when I confess
that hidden secret, but it is something I have battled since my childhood. It took
years in study and preparation toward helping others that I understood why.
That glass of water said, “There is someone here today that values your
presence and is caring for your needs!”
That sweet lady was a widow, living alone, caring for her
pets and those who entered into her field of interest. He full name doesn’t really
matter in the big scheme of life, but I am going to insert a picture here of my
friend, and for those who did know her, they will both recognize her face and
remember her kindnesses.
Phyllis was a welcoming person when I visited her
in her home. On several different occasions, we chatted about quilts, her knitting
and she always asked about my wife Karen and children. I will never forget
going to visit Phyllis that the last time before leaving Weymouth. She seemed
truly saddened by my news and as I offered to return her mug, even though she
had told me that last Sunday to take it with me. Her kind answer was simply
this, “Perhaps you will think of me when you use it”.
It started out as a simple act of kindness and continued in
my ministry as a reminder that there is always the hand of Christ being
offered in the midst of struggle and a feeling of defeat. I was not happy
leaving that pastorate, there were many reasons to stay, but I felt the call of God on my life to be nearer my
own family and ageing parents. It may have been seen only as an exit from trial, but it was also a joyful
reminder as well that God has a plan for all that we do.
A small cup of water; more than a mere drink to quench a
thirst, a reminder that those we least expect are being the love of Christ in
the midst of our journey. It doesn’t seem like much, I am sure, this plain
glass mug!
Yet, it is at the forefront of our kitchen cupboards; I use
it 3 or more times daily, and it is exclusively for “my” use only. Does that
seem odd perhaps? Not at all! I remember
Phyllis and her small act of kindness every time I put that mug to my lips. My
wife tends it gently as she washes our dishes and I dry it carefully and put it
back on its shelf to be used again, and again, and again… perhaps until I can
no longer grasp it in my arthritic hands.
I know that this is not the most exciting bog that I have
written, but here’s the deal… We all need to remember that it only takes one
small act of kindness, with the right motives promoting it, and it can make a huge difference in someone’s life. I was being loved and I knew it,
and that means so much to me as I look back over years of ministry. She is but one
dear person who has helped make a difference; there actually have been many,
but Phyllis’s mug is here with me every day, and I give thanks for this sweet
lady’s small act of kindness! This is not just about living near the edge, I
know… this was a cup of comfort I found while living there during that time.
Be a blessing to someone… it won’t harm your image, it doesn’t
need to cost a huge amount of time or money. Just love in a way that suits who
you are, but do it with sincerity of heart and purpose… That is what Phyllis
did for me and that cup reminds me of that each day!
