Tod Bolsinger

Vows

It was rainy outside but the chapel was illuminated with the soft glow of candlelight.  The groom held the bride’s hand steady as they stood before me.  There was no bridal party. No groomsmen.  No flower girl or ring bearer or organist or photographer.  He wore his best suit. She wore a scarf she picked out for the day.  It was just the two of them and me as prompter, as they made promises before God.

They leaned in slightly to make sure that they caught both the words and cadence that they were supposed to repeat.  They knew that perfection really didn’t matter all that much but they still wanted to get the words right.  Richer or poorer. Better or worse.  Sickness and health. Til death parts us.

I prayed for them.  They kissed.  She giggled slightly.

 
It was their 65th wedding anniversary. 

As we had prepared to enter the chapel, the bride had given me a quotation. I asked her if she wanted me to read it in the little ceremony that we had planned.  She said no, but that she wanted me to read it ahead of time to know them a bit more.  So, I did.  It read:

Life does not consist in the dreams you dream but the choices you make.

 Not exactly romantic, I thought.  But telling.    A couple that had begun life together in the shadow of World War 2 was now standing before me with little fanfare simply wanting to affirm before God and each other that knowing all that they knew, they would still choose each other again.

They left the church together hand in hand. Walking slowly.  They had decided to have Chinese food for lunch because it was her favorite.  Before they had started toward the car, she looked at her husband and then at me.  “This is the finest man I know,” she said.  He smiled sheepishly.

I thought of the two young kids who had made these same promises so many decades before and then glanced back at them one more time.  Ultimately, you don’t make choices, I thought.

 Choices make you.

My Great, Creative Youth Leaders

The Sermon I Didn't Give

The memorial service was creeping toward the two-hour mark when I got up to give the "sermon" of the service.  25 years of ministry has taught me this much: No one wants to hear a pastor give a long sermon at the two-hour mark. So I didn't.  And I didn't mind a bit.

Don't misunderstand me.  The service hadn't dragged at all.  It had been a long, beautiful overture of praise, thanksgiving, laughter, stories, pictures, videos, tearful moments, letters and even a joke or two. Most of which had come from three sons, three daughters-in-law, and eight grandchildren.  It had lasted so long because a family loved telling stories about a good, genuine, kind, humble man. We were all joined together moved to to see a man's children "rise up and call him blessed."

I had a chance to tell the family at the graveside service what Joe meant to me, so I have no regrets about the feelings for Joe that I didn't get to share publicly.  I also have this blog. 

But there is one message that I didn't get to give.  One that I believe that Joe's life, especially the dozens and dozens of pictures of Joe with his wife, his children, and his grandchildren bore witness.  It is the sermon that I would have given if the room had only been filled with the many fellow pastors who were there that day. 

This is what I would have said to my colleagues in ministry:  Do you see what really matters?   Joe Stephens wasn't famous.  Joe wasn't a renowned pastor or a leader of causes or a man who would be known very far outside of San Clemente, CA.  He never published a book nor was he in-demand as a "coach" or "consultant."  Yes, he preached for a president.  Yes, he officiated at thousands of memorials and weddings and offered thousands of sermons and Bible Studies.  Yes, he has a building named after him at the church where he served.  But do you really see what was most amazing about him?

He served Christ and he loved his family.  And somehow kept his priorities straight.  Unlike so many tragic clergy tales, Joe's family didn't resent his call. They were proud of it and they adored him.  One by one they stood and honored him.   This man had served Christ without ever neglecting his family.  He served Christ and now because of his example and love, his family members all follow Christ.  And give thanks to God for the man, the father, the husband, the grandfather and, yes, the pastor, that he was. Do you see what really matters?

I had a front row seat.

Ode to an Old School Pastor

Pastor Joe Stephens was known for preaching Jesus, telling corny jokes and a big, beaming smile.  He was one of my predecessors at SCPC and by far the pastor who made this church what it is today.  Today, it is my honor to lead the congregation and our community in celebrating Joe’s life and ministry.

Joe never used Powerpoint.  He wouldn’t know if something was “emergent” or “post-modern” or “soul-full”.  He wouldn’t understand the difference between being a “Christian” and a “Christ-follower”.  But this is what he understood: Pastors are “ministers of Jesus Christ”.  Ministers are “servants”.  And that is what Joe did.  He served Christ, he served his congregation and later in life, he certainly served me.  In a day and age when pastors often struggle with a calling that demands that we be  "cross cultural communicators", "missional leaders" and  "cultural architects", Joe is a reminder that first and foremost, we serve.   

On his last day, Joe was surrounded by his wife, three sons and daughters-in-law and seven grandchildren.  His wife squeezed his hand and said, “He lived with no regrets.”  I prayed for him and he lifted his arms, and said "Amen."  We all agreed that he, of all people we knew, would certainly hear his Master say, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”  Later that night he passed while listening to the final verse of How Great Thou Art.  His death was the one that we all pray for.

Joe will remain, for me, a flawless model of how a retired pastor can be a blessing to the current ministry.  He was supportive, caring, honest, and enthusiastic.  He prayed for the staff, took on duties and offered wisdom and perspective when asked and never, ever, ever, uttered a critical word that I ever heard.  He was simply a faithful, humble servant. 

Joe once said that the moment in his ministry for which he was most proud was the day he preached for the President of the United States.  Mine, is the day that we named the “Stephens Chapel” for him and his wife, Doris.  Long after I am forgotten as just another in a long line of pastors at San Clemente Presbyterian Church, people will still be gathering in "Stephens Chapel".  May the pastor who presides have a big beaming smile, tell a few corny jokes, offer a message about Jesus...and always have a servant's heart.

Before We Go off on Winter Break...

Today is the last day of school before winter break and I know that most kids, if they are like mine, are so glad to have two weeks off that they'll forget to say thank you to their teachers for the job they have done.  I know that I did.

So this is my gift to all the teachers that I had or that my kids have had who have made such a difference. So to some of my best teachers: Mrs. Schirm, Mrs. Reck, Mr. Dunbridge, Mr. Bailey, Dr. Anderson, Dr. Banks, Dr. Mouw, Dr. Bradley, Dr. Muller, Dr. Dettoni, Dr. Volf and to some of my kids best:  Mrs. Turner, Mrs. Garritson, Mrs. Maule, Mrs. Keim, Mrs. Powell, Mr. Page, Mr. Seech, Mrs. Waizinger, Mr. Stephens, Mr. Wiggert, Mrs. Judd, Mr. O' Rear, Miss Janis...and especially to the two teachers who taught me really early on that teaching is the best thing someone can do in life...to you Mom and Dad. 

Know that you are indeed making a difference (and pardon some of the language in this piece, ok?)

One More from Chesterton

Here dies another day
During which I have had eyes, ears, hands
And the great world around me;
And with tomorrow begins another.
Why am I allowed two?

Chesterton on Living Thanksgiving

"Nothing taken for granted; everything received with gratitude; everything passed on with grace."

"You say grace before meals. All right. But I say grace before the concert and the opera, and grace before the play and pantomime, and grace before I open a book, and grace before sketching, painting, swimming, fencing, boxing, walking, playing, dancing and grace before I dip the pen in the ink."

"I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought; and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder."

G. K. Chesterton

Happy Thanksgiving.

The Word in Community

Today, at our church, a vigil will come to an end.  It is part of our "For Love of God and Neighbor Campaign".  It has been meant to be a week of spiritual discipline for anchoring our church's mission in the words of Scripture. It is the first time that we have done something like this, but I sense it won’t be the last. 

Last Sunday at the end of our last service of the morning, a elder in our church stood before the congregation and read aloud from Genesis 1:1-5, we then dismissed the service and a small group of junior high students and their young adult leaders sat in a circle and took up where the elder left off.  For the next five days, from early in the morning until late into the night, there has been someone reading, aloud, from the Chronological New Living Translation of the Bible as we as a church community work our way through the entire Bible.

Tonight, at 7 PM a group of leaders in our church will gather together to read the last chapter of Bible, Revelation 22.  We have asked four readers to lead us, with a child reading the penultimate verse and then in call and response fashion the leaders of our church will read the last verse together.

Five days, 1441 pages, 76 hours of reading and an amazing experience.

I was signed up to read with my wife early in the experience.  I assumed that I would only read once. My son, who had already read with the Junior Highers tagged along because he wanted to do it again. I listened as my wife read about Passover and the slaughter of the first born Egyptians because of Pharaoh’s stubbornness (with my own first born son listening on). Then I read the passage where because of Israel's own stubbornness (how quick we forget!) God had to punish them in the wilderness.

Throughout the day, I remembered that while I went about leading the church staff in meetings, preparing for events, meeting with people, there was someone reading the word of God aloud in our sanctuary.  It was like being in a musical, but the music was the voice of God through the voice of his people.  Tuesday afternoon, I snuck in the back of the sanctuary for a few minutes and listened as our church receptionist read all by herself, her friendly voice that greets people when they call the church, filling the sanctuary with the word of God.

Tuesday night after a Sanctuary Remodel Committee meeting,  I joined a group of young adults and a homeless women who were gathered reading about Solomon's building the temple. A long passage about so many details, it made me grateful for the committee that is paying attention to our sanctuary details, so that in the words of 1 Kings 8:60, "Then people all over the earth will know that the Lord is God and there is no other."

I left at 10:15, but the young adults carried on through the night, moving from the pithy wisdom of Proverbs through the blush-causing Song of Solomon and into the prophets.

On Wednesday morning my ten year old daughter Ali asked me to get her up early so that she could read before school.  We arrived at 6 AM where one of my colleagues was already in sanctuary.  From 4 AM - 6 AM he had walked alone circling the inside of sanctuary and reading the psalms of praise.  Then I listened as my daughter's sweet voice told of the sacrificial love of the Messiah from Isaiah.  She finished by reading Isaiah 59:21: "And this is my covenant with them," says the Lord. "My Spirit will not leave them and neither will these words that I have given you. They will be on your lips and on the lips of your children, and your children's children forever.  I, the Lord, have spoken."

This morning, I returned again.  At 4 AM I joined with a Marine dressed in his uniform who sat in the darkness under a huge picture of the Good Samaritan on our chancel with only the glow of the lights for reading illuminating the scene.  We read from the gospels (after so many hours we were finally in the New Testament!) taking turns for two hours until both daylight and the friendly face of a 70 year widow and elder in our church lit up the morning.  As we gave the scriptures to her, her Texas drawl added depth and warmth to the story.

I prepared to leave the vigil to her strong voice, so that I could see my kids off to school.  As I left the sanctuary I heard her reading the words of Jesus, “I have loved you even as the Father has loved me.  Remain in my love. When you obey my commandments, you remain in my love, just as I obey my Father’s commandments and remain in his love.”

I know that my Texan friend turned the Bible over to a retired lawyer who loves the Scriptures.  I smiled to think of his booming, confident voice taking up the task from her quiet confident drawl.  And throughout this day, more will read, more will listen.  A homeless woman has probably heard more of the Bible this past week than any of us.  A family brought their preschool aged boys just to listen and be part of something they really don’t understand.

We have needed the whole body of Christ to take on this task, we needed single adults who had the freedom to read late into the night, stay-at-home moms and retirees who could fill the working hours, children who could bring laughter as they giggled through trying to pronounce Hebrew names and working folk who would begin and end their days “in the world” with a time “in the Word” reminding us what all these writings are really about. 

Reading aloud the scriptures, listening to them they way they were read for centuries, in community, hearing the grand narrative of God’s redeeming love for the world, letting it soak into the life of our community as we seek to live out the “powerful play” that goes on. 

I feel sadness for those who missed out on this experience.  I feel some sadness about times I have missed out on what may have been equally powerful and meaningful because my life schedule didn't permit it.

But for those of us who have been part, and for our church as a whole, I can only imagine what this might do to us.

"When I discovered your words, I devoured them.  They are my joy and my heart's delight, for I bear your name, O Lord God."  (Jeremiah 15:16)

[Update: Sheryl France-Moran a reflection on the Scripture Vigil at her blog, too. ]

For More than Just an Amusing Weekend...

SEE A MOVIE... If you haven't seen the movie, Amazing Grace, I highly recommend it.  Reviewers have said that it is "more interesting than good", but I was so moved by the story that I will be using it in my sermon on Romans 13 this weekend. 

Most Christians don't really know of the 46 year battle that William Wilberforce led to see both the slavery and the slave trade abolished in the British Empire.  Because of both his dedication and the manner in which he led the  debate and  worked for change, Britain  turned their  back on slavery without a civil war  or a bloody internal revolution.

Favorite quote from the film: "“Do you intend to use your beautiful voice to praise the Lord or change the world?” (Of course, what Wilberforce discovered is that the correct answer is "Both".)

READ THESE POSTS... Mark Roberts takes on the most delicate and difficult topic of what it means to fulfill Jesus' charge to "love your enemies." 

TAKE A RUN...or sponsor some who will.  As I mentioned in my last post,  a group of runners from our church are just beginning the long discipline toward running the Chicago Marathon to raise funds and awareness for our World Vision project in Malawi, Africa.  I haven't even started yet and I am 12% of the way to my goal.  If you are a runner, consider joining our team.  If you are not, then become part of the team that will make our running really count for something great.

Another "President" Post

Another post for "Presidents' Weekend" but this one is from the President of Fuller Theological Seminary Richard Mouw, musing on whether Gandhi was saved and responding to a Baptist who is "damn sure" that he wasn't (pardon the expression, but pun definitely intended).

I am no universalist. I believe that refusing to put your faith in Jesus is something that imperils your soul for all eternity. There is no salvation apart from Christ. But how Jesus gets ahold of people and how he brings them into his heavenly Kingdom is surrounded–for me at least–by a lot of mystery. I’m glad the verdict on who is in and who is out is not up to me, but to the Spirit who is described by the Westminster Confession as the One who “who worketh when and where, and how he pleaseth.”

You'll want to read the whole post.