An Unexpected Fall

An Unexpected Fall

I don’t really think I could count all the times I have fallen down since my brain was invaded by corticobasal degeneration (CBD).  Of course, all of them were unexpected, but one, as of this writing my last one, was unexpected in a different way.

It was a typical afternoon, and I was working away in my study when I began to cough.  When you have a problem with aspiration, coughing can get intense and this spell was worse than usual.  Finally, things stilled, and I knew a glass of water would be helpful. I stood up, took one or two steps away from my desk and began to cough again!  I did have both hands on my walker, but that wasn’t enough.  I found myself falling backward first hitting my desk and then my chair on the way to the tile floor.  Ever since I broke my hip, I have had a healthy fear of falling. As I lay there on the floor for a moment, I did a quick inventory of myself, looking for the pain of a broken or cracked bone.  Thankfully, nothing registered.  The next order of business was to get up.  Getting up proved to be more of a challenge than you might think.  They tell us that CBD is typically not a “wasting disease,” that is you don’t lose muscle from it.  However, what I have found is that the coordinated use of those muscles has become a problem.  I struggled for half an hour to get up and just couldn’t do it.  At one point I was thinking that if I could just push myself up to my hands and knees, I would be able to grab something and get vertical. I put everything I had into doing the equivalent of one push-up and failed.  As I lay on the floor, I remembered passing an Army commissioning physical where I had to do 25 push ups in two minutes; now I couldn’t do one! Well, what was I to do now?  I had my cell phone in my pocket so I could call for help.  As much as I didn’t want to become the elderly lady in the TV commercial, I needed to call my wife at school and tell her, “I’ve fallen, and I can’t get up!” Joy was coming through the door as quickly as the speed limit would let her, and together we figured out a way to get me up.  I have never been so tired in my life.

Fast forward a little more than a week, and the bruises from my fall were fading.  My two brothers have been good about coming to take me out to lunch every couple of weeks, and on a cold, overcast day we headed out to a restaurant.  Everything went great until we exited to get in my younger brother’s truck.  I had a “to-go” cup of tea and my older brother took it to put in the truck.  I was on the sidewalk and there was a step down to the parking area.  I have made that sort of step many times before without incident, but not this day.  I suppose it was pride that made me not want to wait for one of my brothers to come back and give me a hand.  You can probably guess where this story is going!  I took the one step, the walker flew out in front of me, and I went face first into the asphalt.  In a flash my older brother was pulling me up and then my younger brother was holding me upright.  I can honestly say it is the fastest I have ever gotten to my feet since I began dealing with CBD!  By the time we got home my right eye was beginning to swell.  Initially, I didn’t feel all that bad, but within an hour I knew I had bounced off the pavement.  I texted Joy, and, once again, she came home early.  Upon seeing me she felt like I ought to go to see our doctor. He took a look at things and decided that given the placement of the blow to my head, a CT Scan was called for. We did that as well as an x-ray of my knee, which was really beginning to hurt.  Thankfully no brain bleeds or broken bones.  On the way home Joy said, “I knew that CT Scan wouldn’t find anything.” Imagine that, scanning my head and finding nothing!  Of course, she didn’t mean itthat way, but I repeated her saying for a week!

They say bad things come in threes.  A week or so later I was checking my email and noticed one from the UCSF Aging and Memory Center.  They are doing a clinical trial of a new drug which may slow the progress of CBD.  About six weeks prior, I had put my name in for every clinical trial the government web site listed.  This email wasn’t entirely unexpected, but I had pretty much given up hope of being a lab rat in anyone’s study.  When you are told that there is no treatment for your illness, even a long shot can give you hope.  The message asked if I would be willing to talk on the phone for about 20 minutes to see if I met their criteria, and within an hour I was talking to a pleasant woman named Vivian.  Everything went along fine, and I began to feel better and better about the prospect of getting this drug, that is right up until the end.  “Do you have a pace maker?”  Well, yes I do, but I had asked if an MRI were possible with one and authorities assured me it was.  “Randy, I think that is exclusionary.  Let me check around to make sure and call you back.”  About 20 minutes later Vivian called back.  My pace maker would exclude me from the clinical trial.  I suppose Vivian had dealt with disappointing potential patients before.  She was very empathetic and hoped I wouldn’t be too disappointed.  I said I wasn’t, that I had suspected something would keep me out, and I had tried not to get my hopes up. 

I am not sure how convincing my lie was to Vivian.  For about an hour that afternoon I began to think about possibilities I had only dreamed of.  Things like walking without a walker, being able to drive again, and living without the dread of what I wouldn’t be able to do tomorrow that I could do yesterday.  This was the unexpected fall.  Hope is a funny thing.  It can rapidly lift you up, but if hope is dashed just as suddenly you drop, and you will end up lower than you were before hope came along.  That evening I was hip deep in the “slough of despond.”  I made the mistake of estimating how long it would take a drug to move from a phase 2 clinical trial to being commercially available. There are a lot of variables in that, but the answer to how long was, too long.  I slept fitfully and finally got up about 4 a.m. to read my Bible.  I wish I could say a verse just jumped out at me and gave me an overwhelming sense of peace, but that didn’t happen. Instead I began to think of my situation in comparison to that of others.  Being a pastor all of my adult life has meant I have seen others suffer. I have seen cancer patients whose bodies dwindled away and dementia patients who minds did the same.  I remembered the funerals where I had buried someone younger than myself.  I began to think of all the pictures I had seen on the CBD Facebook page, especially the before-and-after pictures.  Then I slowly came to a conclusion: What right did I have to feel sorry for myself? As someone much smarter than I put it, perspective can be a blessing.  It was to me that morning.  I glanced at my watch and saw it was 6 a.m.  I wasn’t entirely out of the slough of despond, but neither was I as deep as I had been.  I went back to bed and thought of a verse from Proverbs which has come to mean a lot to me.  The context speaks of the value of godly wisdom and then promises, “When you lie down, you will not be afraid; Yes, you will lie down, and your sleep will be sweet.” Mine was.

Finding the Light in a Dark Place

*This blog post was originally a sermon that I preached at Welch College chapel on February 1, 2019

Anyone familiar with the book of Psalms knows that you often hear the heart cry of suffering saints within it. It is not unusual to read of the Psalmist questioning God and asking that simple and yet profound question, “Why? Why am I suffering?”  I was a pastor for 33 years, and in that time, I saw many different types of suffering.  I am sure there are many in this room today who are dealing with hurt of one kind or another.  As a wise old preacher, Joseph Parker, once advised a group of ministry students, “Preach to broken hearts, there is one on every pew.  You will never want for a congregation.”

I think Psalm 43 gives us a way to find the light when we are in a dark place.

To me, the metaphor of darkness captures the mood of what it is like when we suffer.  I think this is underlying the wording of verse 3 where the Psalmist pleads with God, “Oh send out Your light and Your truth!”  Just what do you do when everything in your life is overshadowed by some problem, a problem that seemingly will not go away? 

Before I launch into the Psalm, let me assure you that I have dealt with and am currently dealing with my share of suffering.  Beginning in November, 2014, I began to fall down.  I fell about once a month until I found myself seeing my doctor.  He sent me to a neurologist who did a whole battery of tests with the outcome that I was diagnosed with a rare neurological condition called Corticobasal Degeneration (CBD).  You have probably never heard of it because it is about three times rarer than Lou Gehrig’s Disease, or ALS.  The simplest way to put it is that small areas of my brain are dying, and I will probably lose the ability to walk, to talk, and perhaps to reason.  There is no treatment.  It is a degenerative disease which means it will steadily get worse over time and averages 6 to 8 years from onset to death.

This news put me in a very dark place.  I began to look for some flicker of light, and at least part of that is what I want to share with you this morning.  Just how do you find light in a dark place?  From Psalm 43 I find three principles which have helped me, and I am confident can help anyone who finds himself in the shadowland of suffering.

First, you must talk to God, even though it seems He is not listening.  This comes from verses 1 and 2.  Vindicate me, O God, and plead my cause against an ungodly nation; Oh, deliver me from the deceitful and unjust man!²For You arethe God of my strength; Why do You cast me off?Why do I go mourning because of the oppression of the enemy?”  Note two things here.  When you talk to God, get right to the point and be honest with God about how you feel.  The Psalmist puts his appeal in the emphatic position by saying first and forcefully, “Vindicate me.” 

What the Psalmist wants is for God to act as his advocate.  Eugene Peterson paraphrases this, “Clear my name!”  Why?  What was the Psalmist’s particular problem?  There were deceitful and unjust men causing him grief.  

Let’s face it, people problems have been with us ever since Cain and Abel!  As Matthew Henry puts it, “As long as there are such bad men out of hell, and nations of them, it is not strange that good men, who are yet out of heaven, meet with hard and base treatment.”  The Psalmist though is honest enough to say that it seems like God is not listening. This is what verse 2 is all about. He had called God his “strength.” The Hebrew behind that word could be translated “strong hold,” a reference to the most secure place within a fortified city, and yet he is “mourning because of the oppression of the enemy.”  Once again, the Hebrew rendered “oppression” in this verse is elsewhere “meager rations.” What is meant by this contrast?  I think the Psalmist is saying he expected more from God!  Now, I don’t suppose there is anyone present today that would say you believe in the “prosperity gospel,” the idea that God guarantees his children health, wealth, and happiness, but most of us do wonder why the Lord doesn’t immediately put an end to our suffering when we ask Him to.  I’ll be honest enough to say I have wondered that myself.  I have certainly prayed for healing, and a friend told me that I am probably on more church prayer lists than anyone in Cheatham County!

I fear too many of us have what might be called a “vending machine” concept of God.  We have put our “money” (church attendance, Bible reading, prayer, service, and, yes, tithes) in the slot, and God is refusing to give us what we have punched into the key pad!  When that happens with a real vending machine, I tend to bang on the side of it and mutter under my breath.  Are we guilty of doing the same thing with God?  Perhaps this is why the Psalmist says he feels “cast off” and goes about “mourning.”  Yes, it can seem like God is not listening, but like the writer of this Psalm we must have enough faith to talk to God anyway.

Second, you must follow God, even though you don’t know where He will take you.  This is based on verse 3, “Oh, send out Your light and Your truth! Let them lead me; Let them bring me to Your holy hill and to Your tabernacle.”  This is a prayer for divine guidance.  Once again to quote Peterson’s paraphrase, “Give me your lantern and compass; give me a map so I can find my way to the sacred mountain, to the place of your presence.” We need the Lord to point the way, or better yet, to take us by the hand and lead us.  This will deal with the sense of alienation from God that we feel when we suffer.  As one of the ancient commentators wrote, “Send your light and overcome my shadows.  Send your truth and conquer the lies that surround me!”  

And just what does God’s light and truth look like? It looks like Jesus!  He is the light of the world and the very personification of truth.  When we follow His example, study His Word, and allow the Holy Spirit to apply it to our hearts, we will indeed have divine guidance.  

Beyond this truth is the fact that as God’s children we have a responsibility to take God’s light and truth to a dark and confused world.  I am confident that this is why the founders of Welch College made “Oh, send out Your light and Your truth” the school motto.  You will find those word inscribed in English, Hebrew, and Latin on Coffman Hall.  Let’s make it more than just an inscription!  Let’s make it our mission!

I qualified this point with “even though you don’t know where He will take you.”  Yet the text seems to answer that He will take us “to Your holy hill and to Your tabernacle.”  This is the ultimate destination, but the route God uses to get us there is not stated.  The truth is that the Lord may have to take us over some rough terrain to get to where we should be.  It will take courage to make the trip.  

Finally, you must worship God, even though you don’t feel like it.  These truths are found in verses 4 and 5: “Then I will go to the altar of God, To God my exceeding joy; And on the harp I will praise You, O God, my God. ⁵Why are you cast down, O my soul? And why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God; For I shall yet praise Him, the help of my countenance and my God.”  The Psalmist rejoices in God, declaring the Lord to be “my exceeding joy.”  Note also that he refers to the Lord as “my God.” It is not simply “God” but rather the God whom he had a personal relationship with, “my God.” 

Still, as I said we must worship even though we don’t feel like it.  The Psalmist is quite frank, admitting his soul is “cast down” and “disquieted.” That would be enough to keep most people from worship.  I am not sure that I know all the reasons for this resistance to worship when suffering.  Perhaps it is because we associate only positive, uplifting emotions with worship. Whatever the reason, like the Psalmist we must get a hold on ourselves and come to the altar.

Talk to God, follow God, worship God; that is the way to find the light in the midst of your darkness.  All of us will be broken hearted from time to time, but God is saying through this Psalm that He can and will send light and truth into your life.  I think with most of us that means the clouds will part and light will come back into our lives in the here and now, but for some it won’t.  Oh, those will still see the light and glory in the truth, just not in this life.  One of the lies that the Devil sells, and the world buys, is that death is always defeat. Don’t you believe it!  Death, for the child of God is a time where he or she will be able to talk to God face to face, follow God down the streets of heaven, and worship God for all eternity.  This is part of what Paul meant when he wrote, “For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.”

Now, I would prefer in my case for some sort of divine intervention, a medical miracle that would extend my life.  I am confident that God could do that, if it were His will.  But what if it isn’t?  To use the biblical phrase, I have “set my house in order.”  All of us are going to die.  I may just have a hint about the particulars of my departure more than you do about yours, and I am ready to go.  Not because of any merit on my part but because of the amazing grace of God.  I wonder, could you say the same?

When Life Gets Hard

“Man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upwards”—Job 5:3.  This was part of the argument of Eliphaz the Temanite, one of Job’s comforters.  His ultimate conclusion would be that Job’s calamities were the necessary consequence of his sin.  Anyone familiar with the book of Job knows that is not the point God is making, but consider what Eliphaz was saying for just a moment. Just as surely as the sparks from a fire fly upward, trouble comes to us all.  The Bible scholars tell us that the Hebrew word behind “trouble” could be rendered “hardship, affliction, anguish, or sorrow.”  Eliphaz’s conclusion may have been wrong, but this step in his logic is unassailable: All of us are born unto trouble.  

I know something about trouble, or I should say, the Lord is teaching me some lessons about dealing with difficulty.  In my 32^nd year of pastoral ministry I began to fall down.  Long story short, I was diagnosed with a rare neurological condition (70 people out of every million) and told I would slowly lose the ability to walk, to talk, and eventually to reason.  I retired from the pastorate and began looking for a path through this particular hard patch.  Doing so has supplied me with some resources that can help anyone, no matter what sort of trouble you are dealing with.

First, it’s okay to grieve.  You may not be dealing with a life-altering medical diagnosis, but I have found it is downright therapeutic to grieve over loss.  If your marriage falls apart, or you lose the dream job, or your son ends up in prison, it is okay to grieve.  To determine to “keep a firm upper lip” and forge ahead, thereby burying your trouble, simply will not work, nor is it emotionally healthy.  Those buried feelings will come out of the grave at the worst imaginable times.  It is far healthier to deal with them--perhaps through the help of a professional counselor, a pastor, or maybe even a trusted friend.  We are not all wired the same way, but some of us have found keeping a journal to be a way to get all of our feelings out.  I have kept a journal off and on since college, and looking back I can see my entries are always longer whenever there is some problem.  Of course, the length and depth of your grieving will depend on the nature of your trouble and even on your personality. You don’t want to allow your trouble to define you.  Grieve, and maybe continue to do so privately, but at some point move on.

What do you move on to?  I have found great comfort in God’s Word.  It is interesting how significant trouble will change the way you look at the Bible.  As a spiritual discipline I had read through the Scriptures at least once a year since my days in Bible College.  I had preached just about every Sunday since the fall of 1982.  I don’t say that to brag but to point out I was pretty familiar with the Bible.  Still, I have been amazed how many times I have seen things which I just had missed all of those other times I had read the same passages.  I suppose it would be more accurate to say I now see an application from a verse not to my congregation, or as a buttress for a doctrine, but as something that seems to be there for me.  One day I came to Psalm 37 and noted how the verbs in the first seven verses just spoke to my heart.  It begins “Do not fret,” continues with “Trust in the Lord,” and admonishes me to “Delight yourself in the Lord.”  What’s more the passage says “Commit your way to the Lord,” and finally “Rest in the Lord.” It was just what I needed to hear. I am not a mystic, but I believe the Lord led me to that passage on that day to minister to my need.  I fully believe God will do that for you as well.

Some may wonder why I would mention turning to the Bible before talking about prayer. Obviously, one of the first responses we all have to trouble is prayer, but I put it after devotional reading of God’s Word because of the guidance the Bible can give to our prayers.  I am not sure where I first encountered it, but several Christian leaders have advocated “praying the Bible.”  In brief, this is looking at a passage and applying it to yourself in prayer.  Take the first verse of the 23^rdPsalm, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.”  I have prayed, “Lord I thank you for being my shepherd.  I know that shepherds do so many things for their flocks, and I can see those things in my life.  I rejoice in the fact that I have a vital relationship with You.  You are not just a shepherd or the shepherd but my shepherd.”  This approach to prayer is nothing new.  The earliest reference I can find to it is in the writings of Augustine. In his letter (#130) to a woman named Anicia Faltonia Proba, who lost everything when Rome was sacked in 410 A.D., the great theologian outlines this approach.  You will find similar advice about prayer from Martin Luther and John Calvin.  Timothy Keller has brought together much of this ancient approach to prayer in his book simply entitled Prayer. Other writers like Donald Whitney and Stormie Omartian have book-length presentations of this approach.  Speaking of prayer, it is a good thing to ask people to pray for you.  Sure, it will call for a degree of humility, but don’t let your pride stand in the way of God’s blessing.

Look for support from fellow travelers.  If your trouble is with some sort of addiction, there are all sorts of 12-step programs employing forms of the approach made famous by Alcoholics Anonymous. The folks at Saddleback Community Church saw the power of this and developed Celebrate Recovery, which has been helpful especially in the area of marital problems.  While actual personal interaction is better than social networking over the internet, I have found a group on Facebook that is made up of people dealing with my particular medical problem and their care givers.  I have traded information about the latest medical developments with people around the world.  If you can find people who are dealing with a similar sort of trouble you can both receive and give support.

Finally, remember that many of God’s most used people have been well acquainted with trouble. The “prince of preachers” Charles Spurgeon battled depression through most of his very successful ministry.  You can see this reflected in his very popular devotional book Morning and Eveningwhere he gives sound advice to those of us in trouble.  One of my favorite passages is the entry for the evening of November 11^th. “Be content with such things as you have, since the Lord has ordered all things for your good.  Take up your own daily cross; it is the burden best suited for your shoulder, and will prove most effective to make you perfect in every good word and work to the glory of God.”

*This blog post was originally written for the Fall 2018 issue of Fusionext, a magazine produced by Randall House Publications for their D6 Sunday School curriculum.  It was titled The Burden Best Suited to Your Shoulder.

A Better Place

It had not been a good day.  My legs were tighter than usual, walking was precarious,  and I just couldn’t seem to rally over the fatigue.  I decided that it might be a good thing to listen to some music.  I pulled up a playlist that I call “Driving Music 2” which is heavy on Jim Croce songs, one of my favorite artists.  It’s hard to feel blue when you are listening to “Don’t Mess Around with Jim,” “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown,” or my pick of the Croce litter, “Roller Derby Queen”!  The music was having the desired effect of getting my mind off my problems when I found myself listening to one of Glen Campbell’s last songs, “A Better Place.” I had forgotten it was on this playlist.   I have history with that song. 

Back in 2011 my friend Glen Poston asked me if I would want to hear Glen Campbell in person! Poston explained that Sirius XM was running a promotion that he qualified for and that he ended up with two tickets to hear Campbell in a relatively small room at the Bridgestone Arena. Of course, I went.  I estimated there were less than a hundred people in the crowd.  This was after Campbell had gone public with his diagnosis of Alzheimer’s Disease.  The concert was not all that long, but we did get to hear most of the songs that made Campbell famous.  I don’t recall the exact way Campbell introduced the song that made my day, but I do recall him using the word “new.”  Before the band started playing I thought to myself “New?  This guy is suffering from dementia, and he is going to sing a new song?”  It was called “A Better Place.” The song goes, 

I’ve tried, and I have failed, Lord

I’ve won, and I have lost

I’ve lived, and I have loved, Lord

Sometimes at such a cost

One thing I know

The world’s been good to me

A better place -- awaits you’ll see

Some days I’m so confused, Lord

My past gets in my way

I need the ones I love, Lord

More and more each day

One thing I know

The world’s been good to me

A better place -- awaits you’ll see

It was hard to fight back the tears as I thought about how that song applied to a man who was slowly but steadily losing his memory.  He was reflective enough to admit his failures in spite of his success as a singer.  He sang of love and its cost.  Could this be a reference to his failed marriages or just the hurt all of us both give and receive going through life?  In spite of that negative note, he says in the chorus, “The world’s been good to me,” and he was looking forward to “a better place.”  The second verse in a brief but poignant way captures the truth of how much he would need the love and support of family and friends.  I thought of elderly members of my church who were over wrought with anxiety as the darkness closed in on them.  It was a very moving song.  I recall telling my friend Glen that I was sure we would be hearing that song played at funerals in the very near future.  I was wrong.

Maybe the song wasn’t popular enough, maybe it was too short, maybe the first line’s mention of failure was just too negative, but I have not heard it anywhere but on my iPhone. I have told my wife I want it played at my funeral.  Why? Well, like Glen Campbell, I have failed. I don’t think of myself as a failure, but I have failed at quite a few things in my 62 years.  I may be unique in this, but I can recall the major failures of my life in vivid detail.  There were so many things I shouldn’t have done that I did, and so many things that I should have done that I didn’t.  I am sure there were times that I disappointed those closest to me, and I am certain I disappointed my Lord.  It is the first step in redemption to realize you need to be redeemed.  Well, this song served as a catalyst for me to once again own up to my failures and to do what I could to make things right.  I am hoping the song will say to those who assemble for my funeral, he was honest about his shortcomings, and, more importantly, he served a gracious God.

The second verse of “A Better Place”says, “I need the ones I love Lord, more and more each day.”  I can identify with that as well.  Recently my wife celebrated a birthday, and I wrote in her card, “I don’t know what I would do without you.”  That is not romantic hyperbole--I really mean it!  Though I am fighting it every day, I am growing ever more dependent on Joy. Though she has been more than gracious about all the things she does for me, I just hate being a steadily increasing burden.  

If all you had were the verses of this song, it would be a cry of desperation, but then there is the chorus.  Campbell asserts “the world’s been good to me.”  I may be reading too much into it, but I think this is a way of saying that though the darkness was surrounding him he hadn’t forgotten the times of bright sunshine.  That is what I have learned to do as my world has gotten smaller and smaller.  Earlier I said that I knew I had failed, but I didn’t feel like a failure.  That is due to the extraordinary grace of God I can see in the rear-view mirror.  A major manifestation of that grace is seen in the people I have been privileged to know, the calling of God on my life, and the opportunities I have had to try to minister to others.  Yes, the world’s been good to me.

Campbell also sings of “a better place.”  Obviously, he is talking about heaven, but think for a moment why he uses the adjective “better.”  A place beyond the hurts and heartaches of this life, beyond the debilitating illnesses that wring the joy out of life.  I have come to deeply value the promise of Isaiah 25:8a, “He will swallow up death in victory; and the Lord God will wipe away tears from off all faces…” That “place” will indeed be “better.”

I couldn’t tell you how many times I have listened to “A Better Place”in the past couple of years.  If indeed it is played at my funeral (there is some debate at the Corn household), I suppose some will think it is not overtly evangelical enough. There is no mention of salvation, and some might wonder why a man who spent his whole life as a pastor would want such a song.  I want it because of its honesty and how strongly I identify with it.  To counterbalance any concern about my theological credentials, I have requested that “Give Me Jesus” be played at the close of the funeral.  Campbell’s song is to me a statement of faith, his faith and mine, that God has prepared a better place for His children.  Yes, a better place awaits.  You’ll see.

Hope From Habakkuk

 I sincerely try to practice the spiritual discipline of reading my Bible daily. That is the sort of statement you expect a pastor to make.  What you might not anticipate is the admission that I do not always achieve that worthy goal.  Typically, I will try to “catch up” to where I feel like I should be in my reading plan, and that might mean reading several chapters at one sitting.  This morning I was in “catch up” mode, and after reading the pastoral epistles and about a third of Matthew, I turned to Habakkuk.

Maybe you are the sort of person that can read for a long time and get as much out the last few minutes as you do the first; if so don’t tell the rest of us!  Still, I was determined, and Habakkuk was this morning’s last book to tackle so I forged ahead.  I have mentioned in other posts that I am often surprised at what the Lord says to me through His word.  As I came to the close of the book, there was an application that jumped out at me.  In Habakkuk 3:16a, the prophet is describing being overwhelmed and says, “I hear, and my body trembles, my lips quiver at the sound; rottenness enters into my bones, my steps totter beneath me.”  It was the last phrase that grabbed my attention, “My steps totter beneath me.”  I can relate.

For some time now I have been fighting a losing battle with my balance.  Corticobasal Degeneration (CBD) is characterized as a “gait disorder.”  One of the things that I learned to expect from neurologists is an examination of how I walk.  There are just things that people with brain disorders don’t do the way everyone else does. In fact, the trained eye can pick up on details of how the patient walks and guess not only what is wrong but how far along in their disease they are.  

I once went to a neurologist at Vanderbilt who had me walk back and forth down the hall.  Apparently not satisfied with his own analysis, he then called in another neurologist to discuss my gait.  Maybe I’m a bit odd to think this, but I suddenly felt like a model on the runway at a fashion show!  It’s hard not to be self-conscious when almost every step is being scrutinized and the doctor repeats, “Just walk the way you naturally do.”

This battle with balance has meant a progression of adaptations to keep me upright.  I have moved from a cane, to a cane andmy dear wife’s arm, to a walker, and I am doing everything I can to avoid the next logical step, a wheelchair.  It is encouraging to me to know that not all CBD patients end up in a wheelchair, but many do.  I want to be part of the standing minority until I lie down for the last time.  

To that end I have looked for ways to keep my spirits upright as well.  I would be less than honest if I said I have never given in to depression.  Now, I don’t mean clinical depression, just a sense that there is no hope.  It is at times like that when the Lord has opened my eyes to see things like the last few verses of Habakkuk.  I have already mentioned that the prophet writes of his steps tottering beneath him, but that just serves to set up the contrast in verses 18 and 19.  The Scripture reads, “Yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation.  God, the Lord, is my strength; he makes my feet like hinds’ feet, he makes me tread upon my high places.”  Habakkuk lived in difficult times, in many ways far worse than anything I am facing. Still, he could move from speaking of “tottering steps” to being as sure footed as a mountain goat, and all in the space of three verses!  I think the key to Habakkuk’s stability is found in the first phrase of verse 19, “God, the Lord, is my strength.”  The lesson I take from all of this is that I may well grow weaker, but the Almighty never will.  I will undoubtedly lose more and more of my equilibrium, but God is not just as stable as a rock, He is the Rock.  What I have to do is lean on Him.  Just as He gave stability to Habakkuk, He will give it to me.

Prearrangements

Before coming to Ashland City and the Bethlehem Church, I pastored the Bethel Church in South Roxana, Illinois.  It was quite an adjustment for a preacher born and bred in the South to work in the Midwest.  More than once church folks snickered at my “southern” accent all the while not being able to correctly pronounce my last name!  Many of them turned Corn into Carn!  After six months of pointing out how my family had pronounced the name since we arrived before the Revolutionary War, I just gave up.

Among the membership was a good-natured man named Glen Gray who owned a Funeral Home.  In my interaction with funeral directors up to that time, I had always found them to be on the serious side.  Who could blame them when you consider the nature of their work?  But with Glen I got to see more than just the professional side of his character.  He was among the most consistent volunteers around the church, and I counted him a friend.  He could rub people the wrong way, but he always seemed to me to go out of his way to show support for his preacher.  That support often took the form of poking fun at me.  I like to think I gave as good as I got, but in hindsight he probably was on the winning side of those exchanges.  One of his most consistent remarks was about how I needed to make “prearrangements.”  The first time he mentioned this, I distinctly remember saying, “Prearrangements for what?”  The answer--my funeral, of course!  At that time I was still in my 30’s and hardly of a mind to consider my end-of-life arrangements.  I think the fact that I looked a bit shocked by his suggestion just about guaranteed that he would bring it up again, and again, and again!  

Fast forward a number of years to the end of my pastoral career.  In 2015 I had been diagnosed with Corticobasal Degeneration (CBD). When my neurologist first said those words I knew it was serious, I just didn’t know how serious.  I generally have the ability to cut to the heart of a matter, and so I asked Dr. Callahan, “Well, is this something that kills you or just makes you wish you were dead?”  Dr. Callahan looked as though such a direct question was a bit unusual. After a pause he told me, “No, it isn’t terminal in and of itself.   However, it does result in growing problems with swallowing, which often causes aspirational pneumonia, which can be fatal.  Of equal threat is infection that can become sepsis, and often a feeding tube becomes necessary.”  I would later learn that many CBD patients lose the ability to walk and to talk, and that dementia can be a problem.  The prognosis was typically five to seven years from diagnosis to death. Reflecting on my question to Dr. Callahan, I began to see it was the second option that I would be facing. CBD would make me wish I were dead.

Now, everybody is going to die.  No one I know disputes that fact.  As a preacher I have reminded people often of Hebrews 9:27, “And as it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment.”  Both theologically and experientially we know that death is a fact of life, but most of us think of it as so remote we can put it out of our conscious thought.  Suddenly I became preoccupied with the approach of my death.  What do you do when medical authorities are telling you your days are numbered?  That a relentless degenerative disease is closing in on you, slowly but surely taking away more and more of your life?  

In a sense I was prepared for this.  I have spent my adult life as a pastor, and that has meant I have seen people face death. Some have seemed overwhelmed by it, and no amount of family concern or pastoral care relieved their fear.  A few just lived in denial right up to the inevitable end.  As their minister, the one charged with the care of their souls, I would try to lovingly steer conversations around to the fact that God loved them, Jesus died for them, and God’s grace was there to sustain them.  I couldn’t just go along with their fantasy that nothing was wrong. At the other end of the spectrum were those who felt God had given them a raw deal.  Honestly, this is the worst sort of person to deal with as a pastor. No matter what counsel and comfort you try to give them, they throw it back in your teeth.  Their position is that you simply can’t know what they are going through, that all your advice is at best theoretical.  More than once I have just admitted to the dying I didn’t really know what it was like, but that I was certain Jesus knew all about it, and I was there on His behalf.

Thankfully, the reactions of fear, denial, and anger are not the only ones that I have encountered. Some have embodied the principles of God’s Word and the light of their faith just seemed to get brighter as the darkness settled around them.  I had a preacher friend who died of cancer.  I got to hear him speak perhaps six months before his passing, and one of the stories he told was of a particularly beautiful morning when he found himself saying, “I’m going to miss all of this!”  The thought then occurred to him that as nice as his home and its surroundings might be, they did not hold a candle to Heaven!  He also told of going to see his oncologist and being given a particularly bad report.  He decided that he and his wife should stop at his favorite Chinese restaurant for lunch on the way home.  At the end of the meal he cracked open his fortune cookie and began to laugh.  The fortune read, “You will move into a beautiful new home soon!”  As he told it, his wife didn’t think the message was that funny.  My friend’s thought was that God had sent that particular fortune cookie to him to put a smile on his face.

I suppose there are a number of ways to face death.  Of these four, fear, denial, anger, or faith, it is my prayer that I will fall into the final category, but I don’t suppose you can really know until death is imminent.  Ever since the control of my emotions became questionable, I have worried a bit about how I will come across to those closest to me.  Will my tears say to them that I am filled with fear rather than faith? I don’t know, but perhaps that is when a written record like this will help answer their questions.  

A few years ago I visited with an older minister who was slowly slipping into dementia.  I had greatly respected him through the years, and he was a man of sterling reputation.  As I was departing he gave me a prayer request.  With tears in his eyes and a quiver in his voice he said, “Please pray that I won’t do anything that will ruin my testimony.”  I assured him that I would pray.  At the time I didn’t understand his anxiety; now I do. As far as I can figure it, facing death is one of those times that calls for faith in God’s sustaining grace.

One aspect of that sustaining grace has come in unexpected ways, ways that put a smile on my face.  No, in spite of eating a lot of Chinese food I am yet to get the same fortune as my departed friend!  With me, one such event occurred when Joy and I went to a local funeral home to make the aforementioned prearrangements.  We sat across the table from a pleasant lady who explained the process to us.  The last item was to actually pick out a casket. First we looked at some pictures, but then we went into the “display room.”  I was surprised at how much variety there was to it, but we came to a decision after a minimum of deliberation.  There are few things more somber than picking out your casket, so I naturally thought this would be a good time to lighten the mood.  Turning to the lady I said, “Do you ever have people actually get into the casket to try it out for size?”  Since I said this with a straight face, she couldn’t tell if I was serious or not.  She responded, “Well, yes, that happens about once every couple of years, but, Reverend Corn, if you are thinking of doing that let me just say, caskets are not built for comfort.”  At this point an exasperated Joy told the funeral planner, “He’s just joking!”

No, caskets are not built for comfort, at least not the comfort of the occupant. Someday, and only God knows when, I will be in that casket and some of you reading this sentence will be looking at the casket and its occupant.  When that happens remember that I really won’t be in that casket.  I will be with “the God of all comfort.” 

Just a sinner saved and sustained by the amazing grace of God.  That is a comfort to me; I hope you can find comfort in it as well.

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.”