A Forgotten Phone Became a Holy Moment

My feelings were strangely mixed when I arrived Sunday morning at the church I serve as pastor.  On the upside of my feelings was joyful anticipation of a baptism our church family would celebrate in worship.  A woman new to our community and our church wanted to publicly profess her faith by being baptized as a believer.  I always looked forward to leading a baptism, but this one was especially joyful because of the glowing faith and earnest desire of this sweet lady to follow Jesus.  But, on the downside of my feelings was my sadness for my friend.  Charlie, a man who had loved and led our church almost since its beginning, was nearing the end of his earthly life.  He was tired, in great pain and, in his own words, “ready to get on the road.”  Mr. Charlie, as many of us call him, has embodied the faith and spirit of our church as well as any one person could.  He’s been the annual cheerleader for “Give of Your Best to the Master Day,” a kind of homecoming celebration that renewed the church’s memory of a day, early in our story, when a fledging congregation faced the challenge of raising a great deal of money in a day to have enough of a downpayment to move forward on building a new church at a new location.  The church raised the money and construction began.  Mr. Charlie was a leader in that future-shaping day and, in the best sense of the words, wouldn’t let us forget it.  He reminded us what great things God’s people can accomplish when we pray and give our best to God.  His yearly invitation to the celebration always included menu suggestions which, of course, were his personal favorites.  He would challenge the congregation to practice food fairness, telling them not to bring bologna, then fill up on barbeque.  My friend’s critical condition was heavy on my mind and my heart as worship began. 

After the wonderful baptism, I dressed to return to the sanctuary for the remainder of the worship service and started down the stairs from our baptistery toward the main level of our sanctuary.  As I neared the bottom landing, I noticed that my cell phone was in my pants pocket.  I have a firm policy that I leave my phone in my office on Sundays so I don’t somehow interrupt my own sermon with a stray call.  But this Sunday morning, I had it with me.  About the time I landed on the ground level, an idea landed in my mind.  Scrolling through my recent calls, I found and called the number of Mr. Charlie’s daughter, Julie.  When she answered, I asked her if she was with her father in his room at the care facility.  I wasn’t surprised that she was.  I asked her if she would help me deliver a gift to her dad.  I knew Mr. Charlie’s favorite song is “Jesus Loves Me.”  I asked Julie if she would hold her phone near her dad’s ear so his church family could sing to him.  She happily agreed. 

When I entered the sanctuary, our choir was presenting their anthem. My sermon would be next.  I sat down on the front pew and whispered to my surprised church pianist, “Will you play ‘Jesus Loves Me’ for the church to sing it to Mr. Charlie?”  She nodded in agreement, then grabbed a hymnal to make good use of the two minutes’ notice I had given her.  When the choir finished and I rose to preach, I asked the congregation to help me do a favor for a friend.  I told them Mr. Charlie was very ill and that I wanted us to sing his favorite song for him over the phone.  The pianist began and the church spontaneously rose to its feet like a choir in concert.  We sang from our hearts.  Many of us choked back tears.  And we shared the joy of offering a gift to our precious friend, a reminder that the love of Jesus that had so directed his life’s journey would soon become his forever home. 

          When the singing ended, I muttered a few words of blessing to our precious Mr. Charlie and hung up my phone.  Then I preached, but I did so knowing the day’s best sermon had already concluded.  It went something like this: God can take a phone forgetfully left in a pastor’s pocket and create a moment, a holy worshipful moment in which the message and melody of the good news of His life-giving love is shared with deep feeling and heard with even deeper gratitude.  Amen. 

A Medal for Opie: A Victory Greater than Winning

  

This is an excerpt from my new book, The Gospel According to Andy.  In episode 51, Opie learns some painful lessons about losing and makes a life-changing discovery about the victory that matters most.  

Episode 51

A Medal for Opie:

A Victory Greater than Winning 

 

T

he Mayberry Sheriff’s Department Boys’ Day is coming soon!  Opie and many of his friends are excited about the competition and the chance to win a medal by finishing first in one of the track and field events.  Opie is especially enamored by his fantasy of winning a medal, taking it off as seldom as possible, and earning the adulation of his hometown.  Perhaps he, like Barney, will give up bathing for a while so he can wear his award round the clock. 

     Barney agrees to train Opie for the 50-yard dash and promises him victory if he jumps rope, runs, and lifts others with his legs to strengthen his muscles for the race.  Opie follows Barney’s training program to the letter.  Boys’ Day arrives and Opie, prepared to meet the moment by Barney’s coaching, lines up to run his race.  Barney’s “official starting gun” sounds and the boys tear down the track.  Opie does his best but finishes dead last.  Dead is also the way his young heart feels after such a disappointment.  Was Barney wrong?  Does working hard to prepare to meet a challenge not lead to victory?  I think Barney was right.  Training brings victory, but not the kind of victory he led Opie to expect. 

     Working hard may not win you a medal for being the fastest runner in town, but it does bring the victory of being the best runner you can be.  Our toughest competition is against ourselves.  The event, as Andy later describes it, is becoming a mature human being.  What separates the winners from the losers?  The Apostle Paul would offer this answer,

 “…pressing on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me” (Philippians 3:12). 

 Some people lose in the race of life because they aren’t willing to do the work required to run better.  Others are winners, not because they outshine every other person in life’s race, but because they’ve invested the effort in becoming the most loving and fully alive version of themselves possible.  As one saint said it, “I ain’t what I ought to be, and I ain’t what I’m going to be, but, praise God, I ain’t what I used to be!” 

     After some time to get over the sting of losing the fifty-yard dash and missing out on a medal, Opie discovers a victory that is greater than winning.  My son showed me that kind of victory.   I visited my son’s elementary school to see him compete in Field Day.  He was a good runner and was expected to do well in one of the distance races.  He got off to a promising start, then entered a leg of the course I couldn’t see.  When the runners came back into view, Josh was nowhere near the front.  When I finally caught sight of him, he was running hard with blood streaming down both of his legs and tears running down his face.  While the runners were out of sight, one of Josh’s classmates had shoved him to the ground to literally knock him out of the race.  He suddenly found himself on the ground with lacerated knees and dashed hopes of finishing first.  I’ve never been prouder of my son than when I saw how he responded to that adversity.  He got up and finished his race, bloody knees and all.  He finished sixth but was the big winner in his dad’s eyes. 

     Opie realizes that what he wants, even more than a Boys’ Day medal, is to live his life, victories and defeats, in a way that pleases his father.  When Andy embraces Opie and tells him that he’s proud of the way he’s chosen to face his disappointment, Opie receives a prize he never has to live without, even to take a bath.  He’s found a better way to live a winning life, not by finishing first in every competition, but by knowing that his father smiles upon the way he’s running his race.  Our Father’s smile is worth more than any medal, don’t you think?  Knowing his love and following where he leads is a victory greater than winning. 

 Father, I want to win, but help me to win in the ways that matter most.  I won’t finish first in many races, but I can strive to be all that You’ve created and called me to be.  I may enjoy the applause of the crowd when I win their momentary approval, but what I want most is to feel Your loving embrace and see Your smile.  I want to run my race to please You.  Amen. 

 Footnote:  Barney performs a bit of magic in this episode.  In the scene in which Andy explains the events to the boys, Barney has a whistle in his mouth.  A second later, when he gives a reassuring wink to Opie, the whistle disappears, only to reappear when the camera shot widens again.