Homecoming

The first Sunday in May has been special to me for more than two decades.  That is the date for the Homecoming service at Bethlehem Free Will Baptist Church in Ashland City, TN, where I served as pastor for twenty-one years.  I retired due to a progressive disease called Corticobasal Degeneration, which made it impossible to do all that a pastor must do.  This was my second year to attend as the former pastor.  I was struck by how much has changed.

The building has changed.  After an interim of nine months, the church called a new pastor, Shiloh Hackett, before last year’s Homecoming, but the church leaders hadn’t really had time to change things much before that annual service rolled around.  I had heard that this year the church was working hard to do some renovations and that their goal was to have most of it done by Homecoming. On Sunday, May 6, Joy and I arrived at a church that had gone through a significant facelift.  It really is something what new carpet, pew cushions, windows, and paint can do!  I had the fleeting thought, “Why didn’t we do some of this while I was here?”  In answer, I reminded myself that this was not the same church it was when I came in 1995! 

The people have changed.  One significant shift that occurred during my tenure was on my deacon board.  At the outset of my ministry the man closest to my age was ten years my senior, and the rest of the men were old enough to be my father.  When I left the church, the deacons were young enough to be my sons!  That shift in leadership reflected a change in the age of the core constituency of the church.  We certainly had the retired crowd well represented, but there were times when I felt like I had buried a generation of the congregation.  

On this Homecoming day, I was greeted by formerly-little girls who now seemed more like young women and boys who were looking a lot more like their fathers.  I have always thought that children deserve the attention of their pastor.  That attention from a genuinely caring pastor can be one of the first steps toward God. The caring begins with being among the first wave of visitors when the child is born.  On more than one occasion parents have wanted a picture of me holding their brand new baby.  (I don’t suppose they could have an old, used one!)  At the Homecoming meal I got to talk with a young man about his first year in college, all the time thinking about the picture of me holding him as an infant that I had kept in my files for years.

It also struck me how many people in the crowd were folks I didn’t know.  Often, especially in the last years of my ministry, I thought I was the only person in the church who knew everybody.  That’s not to say the church was cliquish, far from it, but I have always thought people are sort of like Lego blocks.  They can only be connected to so many other people.  More than once through the years someone has called me aside to ask for an explanation of who “so and so” was.  Now, Homecoming always generates visitors, but there were a significant number of people who have joined the church since my retirement. I like to think that my exit had nothing to do with their entrance!  I do know that Pastor Hackett has been aggressive in his outreach, and the church has followed his leadership.  As I sat in the pew I thought all those new people were the tangible answer to one of my most persistent prayers--that God would bless Bethlehem.  I believe He has and will continue to do so.

Finally, I have changed.  When I left Bethlehem as pastor I walked out with the help of a cane.  By Homecoming last year I had taken to using a cane and holding my wife’s arm with the other hand.  This year I came through the door on a walker.  I knew that my voice was more of a problem, but the most significant issue I was dealing with was the control of my emotions.  I have mentioned before that CBD often results in Pseudobulbar Affect.  In my case it means I cry easily and often; it also means, though, that fighting to control the urge is exhausting.  This has a domino effect; my legs tighten up, making walking even more difficult and my voice harder to understand.  Seeing the church and everyone in it, being greeted by so many friends, was almost more than I could take.  Still, I held everything together until the announcement time in the service.  Pastor Shiloh acknowledged our presence and told of the contribution Joy and I had made to the church.  He then produced a certificate, which acknowledged a commemorative brick had been bought in our honor for Welch College’s “Pave the Way” campaign.  Try though I might, I could not prevent the tears from flowing.  As the pastor came to our pew I knew that I should stand to receive the certificate, but I just couldn’t.  I wish I could remember exactly what was said, but as I received the certificate and shook Pastor Hackett’s hand, the congregation stood and applauded.  I am 62 years old and that was the first standing ovation I have ever received.  

While we were eating lunch following the service I got to talk with several folks, and I noticed a couple of times that they referred to me as Pastor Corn.  One lady began her conversation with, “How is my pastor doing?”  I successfully fought the urge to respond, “I don’t know, but Brother Shiloh sure seems to be doing well.”  I know that there was no innuendo in her innocent question, but it did emphasize to me the fact that while I will always have a pastoral concern about the folks at Bethlehem, I am not their pastor.  

At my retirement reception I had told the church that one thing you never really know as a pastor is how much of a difference you are making.  So much of the pastoral task is intangible that often you feel like you are pushing a boulder up a hill only to have it roll down again.  It can be frustrating to be a pastor, but there are moments when it is extraordinarily fulfilling.  This Homecoming was one of those moments for me.

As things were winding down, it became obvious that it was time to go home.  Whenever I sit for any extended period of time I stiffen up.  The result is that my first few minutes on my feet are exceptionally difficult and almost always draw the attention of those around me.  In this setting, with so many friends present, my halting gait resulted in an over abundance of help getting to my car.  As Joy drove us home and we talked about the day, I thought about the fact that I had tried to help Bethlehem’s people with their Christian walk for two decades.  Now, among a great many other things, they were physically helping me with my walk to the car.  Maybe their demonstration of concern and love for me was an indication I had made a difference in their lives.  As we headed south on Highway 12 I thought of what I had told the congregation on numerous occasions, “I will always be proud of the fact that I can say I was the pastor of the Bethlehem Free Will Baptist Church.”