A few days before graduating, several of us who had journeyed together on the road to our Ph.D.’s sat drinking coffee, reflecting on our future. Where might we teach? Where would we pastor? One commented that whichever work she and her husband took, she would go to stay. “I’m a stayer,” she declared.
In my 37 years of ministry, I’ve served in five locations. From time to time, I’ve thought of the student’s words, “I’m a stayer,” and wished I had remained longer in each place. I suppose I saw myself as a mover and a shaker, not a stayer.
But twenty years ago, I moved to Lebanon, Ky., and stayed here at Lebanon Baptist Church.
Last Sunday, our fellowship celebrated my twenty years of ministry with them. It was a fun-filled day. They planned a dinner “on the grounds,” and since it was close to the kids returning to school, they rented those giant inflatables for the little ones. During the worship service, one of our church leaders told me how much the church appreciated my ministry and handed me a love offering from the congregation. As our music minister led us in singing, “I Can Only Imagine,” tears welled in my eyes as I thought of all the people, two of them in my immediate family, who had gone to be with the Lord during those twenty years. I laughed and cried all in the same service.
Later that night, I told a friend that Satan must have been agitated, for he tried to steal my joy.
It rained a veritable downpour right before the worship service was concluded. Those kids stared at the inflatables and waited and waited and waited for the rain to stop. Finally, they shuffled home.
And then, one of my friends had brought an enormous tent to shade us from the sun as we ate, but of course, with the deluge of rain, we had retreated inside. Finally, we gave up, and with the same volunteers who had put up the tent, they labored to tear it down, all while it was raining steadily. I decided to help the effort, despite the advice against it. “Dr. Whitlock, you don’t need to be here in your suit.” But I kept on.
In truth, I’m probably more of a liability in this kind of work, not tall or strong enough to offer substantial relief to the others. Finally, my friend who had brought the tent told me to pull his truck around, so they could eventually load the tent. He was probably trying to find something useful for me to do.
He didn’t know that my family refers to me as “Mr. Magoo” when I drive. I’m not exactly dangerous, but I am a bit accident-prone. Perhaps it’s my attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder. When I’m driving, little things like curbs, one-way streets, and stop signs pop up out of nowhere.
Dissatisfied with my parking angle, I backed up the truck, not realizing I was pulling a small trailer. How I missed that little detail, I don’t know, but the truck winced when the trailer put an ouchy on its hind side.
So, there I was, shirt and tie soaked, hang-dog faced, squishing across the wet church lawn, apologizing to everyone whom I was certain had been shaking their heads at the spectacle.
You could call him the church’s volunteer sexton, the simple and loving man who met me at the door. When I started another apologetic rendition of the embarrassing event, he shook my hand as if it had never happened and said, “Preacher, I want to congratulate you on twenty years of ministry here at this church,” brushing aside my blank stare.
And then, the next morning, I read a text message from a godly lady, reminding me not to worry about the accident but to celebrate the joy of that day. And so I did.
Their response, and the outpouring of love, reminded me why I’ve stayed here twenty years: I am blessed to serve a people who graciously overlook others’ inadequacies, choosing instead to appreciate the positive contribution of each member, loving and uplifting the gifts of God as they encourage each other towards their best self.
No wonder I’m a stayer.