Tag: love

A Reminder…and a Testimony

This morning I read John 12:44-50. Jesus says this wonderful thing in this passage. “I do not judge anyone who hears my words and does not keep them, for I came not to judge the world but to save the world.” (verse 47) But then he goes on to say, “The one who rejects me and does not receive my words has a judge; on the last day the word that I have spoken will serve as judge,…” (verse 48).

I sat in silence, trying to hear something profound in my heart, when a memory came flooding back from many years ago.

I went one night to hear a friend preach. I was always looking for a sermon idea to “borrow,” a good phrase or turn of words—maybe a story or image. But I also went because I had screwed up some things badly in my life. Nothing new, it seems. I had a habit of doing that. Ask any of my friends, and more of those who used to be friends. They will tell you. I was feeling pretty bad about it. Well, about myself.

It just so happened that my friend was preaching about screwing up. From the way he preached, I could tell that he had, too. Maybe we all have.

Near the end of the sermon, when I was beating myself up inside, he said, “You have been weighed in the balance and found wanting,” quoting Daniel. I thought that’s true right here. Then he said, “You have sinned and fallen short…,” quoting Paul in Romans. I felt another punch to my gut. A third hit came when he said, “For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each one may receive what is due for what he has done in the body, whether good or evil,” from 2 Corinthians.

He wound it up with this- “You have been judged by God and found guilty, and your judgment is this. You are judged to be loved by God forever, and there is nothing you can do to stop it.” Then, as he often did, he sat down.

This morning, I felt the tears of relief and joy again that I felt that night long ago. I remembered. God loves me and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

Ode To Joy

The date was June 3, 1997. Nineteen months earlier, my life had fallen apart (that’s a story for another time). I was now living in the rural community of Oswego, SC, serving a church and healing up. As I rode from the parsonage on Red Apple Lane to the church on the corner of Lodebar and Leonard Brown Roads, I saw a couple of my church members out in their farm fields, taking care of the land. On my left was Billy McCoy, on a tractor, doing something to keep the crops growing. Across the street was his brother, Sam, baling hay. Billy and his wife Stella were leaders in the church and were very supportive and helpful to me. If you rode by their home and saw the front door open, you were invited to stop by. A glass of water or tea awaited you, maybe a snack, but most of all a listening ear, an open heart, and a wise mind if you needed any of them.

When I saw Billy and Sam working, an idea hit me. I called Billy. He answered. “Billy, do you know what day it is?” “Not really,” he replied. “It’s not your birthday, is it?” “Nope. What’s the date?” He thought and said, “It’s the third of June…” and I broke into my best Bobbie Gentry, singing “another sleepy, dusty, delta day…” I slid into those notes like I was sneaking into my house when I was a teenager. “It’s Billy McCoy Day!” I shouted, then resumed singing, “I was out chopping cotton and my brother was baling hay.” Although it was not cotton season yet in Oswego, or down in Mississippi, Billy got it immediately.

Since then, I have called Billy every June 3 and sung part of that song to him. Usually, I get him early in the morning while he is out on the porch with his break-of-day coffee. We catch up with each other, share news of our families, always laugh about things, and promise to keep each other in our prayers.

Today, June 3, 2025, is the 28th time I have called and sung to him. Twenty-eight years of love and support, friendship, and laughter. After I hung up the phone, I realized I was smiling.

Music often expresses the joy we feel. The words may say something meaningful, but the tune frequently speaks in more profound ways. One of Ludwig van Beethoven’s final works was Symphony Number 9, which concludes with his powerful “Ode to Joy.” We often sing that tune in church, saying, “Joyful, joyful, we adore Thee…”

People have different songs to express joy in their lives. Some sing hymns, like “Amazing Grace” or “This is My Father’s World.” For some, it may be an old pop song, like James Taylor’s “Country Roads” or “It’s a Beautiful Morning” by The Rascals. Chris Stapleton’s “Joy of My Life,” Beach Boys’ “Good Vibrations,” and Bobby McFerrin’s “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” all come to mind. For me, today, it’s “Ode to Billie Joe.”

The song itself is not that joyful. It’s rather tragic. Billy Joe MacAllister commits suicide. Something…or someone…was thrown into the Yazoo River. Brother gets married and moves away, Papa dies, Momma doesn’t want to do much of anything, and the singer spends her days dropping flowers off the Tallahatchie Bridge. Have a nice day.

But the song brings back memories of people who loved me, helped me heal, laughed, and cried with me, and a community where I found my wife. Oddly enough, “Ode to Billie Joe” has become my Ode to Joy.

The Bartenders Prayer

First, a little joke- A termite walks into a bar and asks “Is the bar tender here?”

Edward Hays, in his book Prayer Notes to a Friend, writes his friend and tells him about the “Bartenders Prayer.”

It is not a prayer for bartenders, like this one. Nor is it a prayer from bartenders, like this one. No, it is more that looking at what bartenders do as a model for prayer.

I’ve been thinking about that. What do they do?

They welcome everybody who walks in. I don’t visit a lot of bars. None, actually. But my friends who do say they are always welcomed. And it’s not just for the business. Most say you could walk in, ask for a free glass of water, have a seat, eat the peanuts, and you would be treated as well as the person ordering bottles of champagne.

They ask you what you need. There is not a supposition that they already know what you want. They ask, and then provide it.

They uncork things. Beer bottles, bottles of wine, spirits, whatever is needed. A good bartender also helps to uncork their customer. They listen, maybe ask a question or two, and give you time to think. There is no pressure to respond.

And occasionally they have to say no. Usually done in a gentle but firm way, they tell someone that what they want will be dangerous for them and others. So they refuse to give them another drink.

What if we prayed with people that way? Welcoming them in, whoever they were, no questions, no examinations, no qualifiers.

And what if we listened to them, asked them what they needed? Over the last years of my work as a pastor I have stopped assuming I knew what to pray for a person when they came to me for prayer. On certain Sundays I invite people to come to the kneeling rail for prayer for healing. When they come I no longer assume I know why they are there. Though I may have an idea, it’s usually wrong. So I ask them, “How may I pray for you?” And that’s what I do.

And maybe if we spent more time listening, perhaps asking a rare question or two, people would open up more. There is grace in the gift of being silent.

And sometimes, rarely, we may have to say no, But do it in a gentle way. A way that helps the other become more responsible.

Maybe I ought to think of the kneeling rail at church more like the bar in the small establishment down the road.