What I Remember

When I became a minister years ago, just out of college, I was first licensed, then ordained. 

The ordination service, held at the small rural church that I pastored, was something I will always remember. There were guest minsters who spoke, offering good wishes and counsel. 

At the close, the ordaining council, made up of ministers, deacons, and laymen, maybe 15 or 20 in all, gathered at the altar where I knelt. Earlier in private, they asked me questions about my faith, how I planned to minister, and what were my beliefs about scripture, theology, and so forth. Afterwards, they met without me present, to decide if I was sufficiently competent and morally worthy of ordination. I wasn’t. No one ever is. But they declared I was anyway. 

Later, at the close of the service, one by one, they came to me putting their hands on my head and leaning down to whisper a prayer, a “God bless you,” or a personal word of encouragement. 

It was a moving and humbling experience for me. 

One of the men, Chester Jech, a deacon in my little congregation and whom I loved, whispered, his voice trembling, “Be wise, be kind, and always be yourself.”

I have never forgotten that. 

It took me several years to understand the power of his words and to actually live them out as best I could. 

I went on to pastor that church for a few years. I had a small salary, but I was single and didn’t need much. I did, however, supplement my income by working for a farmer during the summers. I learned to plow fields and plant seed. And cut and bail hay. 

In the fall and winter I was a substitute teacher in the local high school. I loved that because it brought me in contact with so many great kids. Some of them members of my small church. 

I was fortunate to build a large youth group, many of them from other churches in town, who didn’t attend our worship services but did faithfully come to our youth events and activities. 

I remember one summer afternoon I was in the hay field. It was hot and I was in jeans and boots and had my shirt off. Some of the girls from the youth group drove out to the field. They came up to the tractor giggling and whispering as I struggled to get my shirt on. They brought me lemonade and cookies. 

They were infatuated with their young, single minister, with tanned skin and bushy coal black hair. I realized then I had responsibilities to be more than a friend to them, but a role model as well. 

I adored the kids all over town. I had grown to know them at school, at church, at football and basketball games, and at our little youth activities. 

One of the girls from the large First Baptist Church in town, was Carol Nowell, a beautiful, smart, funny and joyful teenage girl. A cheerleader and athlete. And one who faithfully came to our Wednesday night youth events. 

Late one summer afternoon, she and a best girlfriend, rode their bikes to the outskirts of town. I don’t remember why. Maybe to stop at the Dairy Queen or the snow cone stand. 

But on their way back home, a reckless teenage boy lost control of his car and swerved into the shoulder of the road killing Carol. 

It was the first of many tragedies I would experience over the years. Her pastor, Dr. Ron Rice, asked me to say a prayer at the funeral. I don’t remember what I said. I only remember struggling through tears to say it. 

My heart was broken from Carol’s death. She was such a bright light. Loving and full of life. I loved and adored her, and her amazing family, even though they were not members of my church. 

I was young and inexperienced. I had not yet been to seminary. I was single and knew littte about the complexity of relationships, family dynamics, and certainly nothing about the agony of personal tragedy. 

Carol’s death set me on a journey of emotional maturity and spiritual insight that helped me begin to understand at last what dear Chester Jech whispered in my ear a few years earlier at my ordination.

Be wise. Be kind. Be yourself. 

After all these years, and after officiating at so many funerals, where unexpected grief invaded lives and left all of us with no answers, I’m still trying to learn the mystery of healing shattered hearts and giving my life, and the lives of those I know and love, a depth of meaning that follows and guides us at every turn of this splendid and often sorrowful journey we take each day. 

© 2021 Timothy Moody