FROM MY MEMOIRS, Part 2

Tomorrow is the kick-off for a celebration of the 175th year of the Florence United Methodist Church. I was appointed there by the bishop in July, 2009 when I retired from full-time ministry. We have plans for a whole year of celebrating the history, the present, and the future of the church.

I don't know if I was just what the Florence church needed, but they have been what I have needed to keep on keepin' on with what I know and love best. They are supportive, loving people, who have tolerated the limitations of having a part-time, semi-retired pastor. 

My sermons will never go down in the annals of preaching and, in years to come when I have departed this earth, I suspect that those who have been in my congregations through the years will have memories of me that are far better than the reality of who I actually was.

But somehow, regardless of any inadequacies, I think that I was meant to be a minister. I remember one day in particular in my home church in Medford, New Jersey, I was standing alone in what was called the "Jr. Room." I was probably 15 years old and very active in the Methodist Youth Fellowship. The sun was brightly illuminating the yellow frosted glass of the windows, giving the room a warm, almost holy aura.  And there was that wonderful scent of aged wood floors and walls. 

I stood there, captivated by the moment, thinking about how much I loved that old building. I was baptized there as an infant (although I can't say that I remember that) and I was confirmed there (which I do remember).  On Sunday mornings I would show up early for church and help old At Wells fold the bulletins as he taught me for the worship service. I took great pride in making sure that I did it as neatly as possible, very carefully lining up the edges before making that important sharp crease down the middle. 

Anyway, here I am now, many years later, grateful to still be at it, even if on a part-time basis. Perhaps as I'm getting older and realizing that I have been greatly blessed in so many ways, the celebration of the Florence United Methodist Church's 175th anniversary is also a personal celebration for me. Counting my years as a youth minister (officially, Director of Christian Education) at the St. Andrew's United Methodist Church in Cherry Hill, this is my 40th year at my career. Maybe someday I'll learn to get it right or as I am fond of saying when I am asked to preach in other churches, "I've always wanted to preach the perfect sermon--but this isn't it."

But, my friends, whoever we are and whatever it is that we do, I'm convinced that, as Bette Midler sang, "God is watching us, God is watching us; God is watching us from a distance."

[A more complete version of this segment of my memoirs is available upon request, but don't feel obligated.]