I guess how I became a member of St. Paul Lutheran Church in the heart of San Antonio needs mention as it is indeed relevant to why decades later I’m still in association. I won’t mention my previous church, mostly due to the good people I knew there who were, unfortunately, unable to alter its mission which was, for far too many, to simply attend a Sunday service and then go home thinking they were safe in the knowledge God was on their side, the rest of the wider world not really important.
To go a bit deeper, the congregation was known to higher church authorities as one with lots of problems, so many that when our long suffering pastor, who also saw what I just described, finally retired, we could not attract another as the word was out we were best avoided if a successful church mission was desired. Finally, Synod recommend we consider a lay minister and that’s how I came to know John Castor, a truck driver by trade and as good of a Christian as I’ve ever known.
Pastor Castor as he was often addressed by me soon found himself mired in problems and sought support for his vision that was pretty much what my church does daily by reaching out to the community in service and love with a special emphasis on children and the less fortunate.
Pastor Castor approached me one morning after church and asked if I’d consider running for congregation president, and I remember thinking, “I’d rather run from it,” but caught the earnest, almost desperate expression and accepted the nomination, primarily because I could see he needed all the help he could get, most evidenced by having to scrape the bottom of the church barrel for a guy like me. Irrespective of my limited abilities and qualifications, I soon found myself wielding the gavel at church meetings and wishing I was some place else. Still, I never regretted for a second helping a good man try to do the right thing, but we fought a losing battle, one I was pretty sure was lost before we started, but at least worth the effort. I grew a lot in that job, which I believe was part of God’s plans for me at the time.
At some point Pastor Castor decided enough was enough and offered his resignation to take a position as outreach coordinator at another Lutheran church. Being the kind man he was, he left the church without acrimony and very politely. Being the knucklehead I am, the following Sunday I pulled the plug too, but not before addressing the congregation one last time making my reasoning quite clear and condemning the lack of true Christianity I could not support as a president or even a humble member of the flock. I walked out the front door right after my sermonette and never looked back.
Most surprisingly, this was not my first sermon, but my only self-authored one. Previously on several occasions we held lay services when our pastor was out of town. For these, I was drafted to deliver a sermon provided me from some source I don’t remember. Actually, it was more of an oral reading exercise, one that I still felt most unworthy to attempt, especially standing in a pulpit, but did anyway because no one else dumb enough in our congregation could be found willing to do the job of substitute preacher. I guess God didn’t mind too much, but I did briefly picture being struck by a bolt of divine lighting in the middle of the service after which a most holy voice announced, “Come on people, really, this guy?”
Maybe I ought to explain that I tend to view church much like Pastor Carlos once descried it, as “a hospital for sinners.” As a patient in this hospital, one who desperately needs treatment, playing doctor is most alien to me. I get the same vibe as a reader or in any church leadership position actually and always have, preferring instead to serve in the background. Still, for one reason or other over the course of my life, I believe I’ve held every leadership position a lay person can hold, from elder to Sunday school teacher. “Been there. Done that. Got the T-shirt” as it’s sometimes said.
Of course, all three of my brain cells have analyzed this feeling, one I know is far from uncommon, and I often wonder just what God’s saying to me or why it’s hard for me to listen, something I’ve never been particularly good at for sure.
If you don’t believe I’m a terrible listener, just ask Pastor Dave as I inadvertently provided him with an excellent example of my failure to pick up verbal cues.
As I got to know Dave and really like him, I learned he was a drummer, like me only way better, and knew he also liked rock music, my preferred flavor. One morning cruising the tunes on the web, I came across two women rockers who call themselves “Larkin Poe” and are also distant relatives of Edgar Allen Poe, another one of my favorites.
At first I didn’t know why I was so enchanted, other than they are really great musicians, and only later realized the lead guitarist and singer reminded me of Mary, mostly due to her exuberance and obvious joy she shows with her music. If Mary hears a song she likes, she can’t sit still, and one of my favorite visions of her is bouncing around and dancing to one song or another.
One Larkin Poe song in particular “Trouble in Mind” grabbed me so strongly, I shared it on Facebook and also sent a link to Dave, thinking he’d really like it. It wasn’t until about a week later I actually listened to the lyrics which begin as follows:
I steal my cigs
From the seven six
Smokin’ up in church
Up to all my tricks
I’m a bad little angel
I fell from grace
Georgia peach gone bad, yeah
You know the taste
I have no idea what Dave thought, probably that I was more than a little crazy, and in that regard, he’s right, but, most sincerely, I had no idea what the girl was singing when I sent the link to Dave. The fact that I wasn’t promptly excommunicated for harassing a minister speaks volumes, and I also must say he was really the same nice guy to me he’d been before, except maybe for a more curious look at Lunatic Brown.
I share this to make a point. In my church, we welcome all kinds of sinners as Christ did, love always comes first, judgments are rare, except from God, and the community of men and women (who, unlike me are mostly normal) just a great group of folks who are blessed with two of the best pastors I’ve ever known, and I’ve known many who were superlative.
Lastly, Dave, I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful in the future, or at least try to be. I don’t want to get kicked out and really can’t wait for this pandemic end to return to in-person worship. I especially want to find some service work to do, and will now lobby to work the phones when this is possible. I have a hidden motive. I’m just dying to answer the phone some day and respond to a request for Dave when he isn’t around so I can answer, “Dave’s not here.”