Take My Hand. Andrew Taylor-Troutman

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СКАЧАТЬ of the sanctuary. In fact, he bemoaned the fact that the tree was ugly and so very old. Not only was it an eyesore, the tree was leaning against the building and damaging the roof. This young preacher decided to fix this problem once and for all: he decided to cut the tree down.

      Less than a day later, that same pastor was on his way out of town never to return! Why did the church dismiss him so quickly? He had cut down the tree planted by John Wesley, the famous founder of the Methodist church! In his eagerness to do something new, that pastor had destroyed the Wesley oak, that church’s oldest and most beloved possession.

      Since New Dublin Presbyterian Church has been around even longer than John Wesley, I’m sure that this congregation has its own versions of the Wesley oak. You can rest assured that I am not going to cut them down. In fact, I honor the proud history of this congregation and believe in the legacy built by faithful generations. The past is present and should be honored.

      Yet the past should not be worshipped. On Pentecost, Peter remembered the history of Israel’s prophets, but then he spoke of a new reality. Peter proclaimed the power of the Holy Spirit: the mighty, rushing wind that brought so many different people together. While I don’t believe that we should cut down the Wesley oak, Pentecost must not only be a celebration of the church’s past. I believe that the same power that inspired those first disciples wants to empower our church in new ways.

      Perhaps some of you are hesitant to say, “Amen,” to this last idea. I am aware of a saying that some Christians want the Spirit to be like airplane coffee: weak, reliable, and given in small amounts. In the book of Acts, however, the Holy Spirit can hardly be compared to airplane coffee. In fact, the actions of the Spirit are often hard for the early Christians to swallow. The Spirit blesses both Jews and Gentiles; the Spirit starts new congregations in different parts of the world; the Spirit ordains both men and women to positions of leadership despite the fact that they do not exactly have the best resumes.

      As your new pastor, I have already seen signs that the Spirit is moving in our midst, inspiring new things all around us. New youth are playing our organ. New leaders are working with our youth group. There is a new women’s fellowship. There is a new fundraiser to dig new wells in Africa. There are new plans to reinvigorate our partnership with a church in Mexico. The Holy Spirit inspires new ideas and encourages new activities. Over the next couple of months, you may hear the birds around here and swear that they are chirping, “New! New! New!”

      As your new pastor, I would only ask that you join me in asking for the Spirit’s guidance. Let us pray to strike a balance between the old and the new. Let us pray for the power of the Holy Spirit to bring new life and maintain tradition. Let us pray for the wisdom to move forward with the past still present. By the power of the Holy Spirit, may new birds roost in the beautiful old trees, and may every member at New Dublin hear their songs of praise.

      1. Barnes, The Pastor as Minor Poet, 26.

      2. Ibid., 19.

      3. Bell, Love Wins, 61.

      4. Berry, “Let the Farm Judge,” 51–53

      2

      Open Eyes, Open Table

      THE TABLE RUNNETH OVER

      WHILE PEOPLE IN RURAL Appalachia rarely sing their own praises, the members of New Dublin do take a great deal of pride in their hospitality. They love to tell the story of an interim moderator who served before I arrived. Apparently, this pastor wanted our session to come to his church and show his members how to put on a potluck supper. Ginny and I learned about the New Dublin expertise in this area almost immediately. Before we were even settled into the manse, there was a potluck held in our honor.

      Stepping into the fellowship hall that evening, I took in the scene with a sweeping glance. My gaze was drawn to the table in the middle of the room. It was clean and simple, draped neatly with a white cloth and adorned with a small, colorful arrangement of wildflowers. This table seemed to hold great promise of things to come. As the church members arrived, covered dishes piled up around the flower centerpiece: salads, deviled eggs, pastas, breads, and all manner of meats and vegetables. The table became a heavy-laden cornucopia of bright colors.

      Likewise, my mind began to fill up with knowledge of the parishioners. I met one member who had adopted four children from Central America and then met one of her grandchildren, drooling happily in a stroller. I hugged a teary-eyed matriarch of the congregation who recently lost her husband. I squatted down to high-five young children and leaned over to hug people in wheelchairs. I discovered that there were multiple men named Jim and several women named Diane. To avoid confusion, a retired professor from a local university graciously gave me photographs of most of the members with their names written on the back. With a knowing nod, Bernadine explained to me that she learned the names of her students with this method. With such thoughtful and kind actions, I felt a deep sense of confirmation. In smile after smile, hug after hug, I felt that this is the place I am supposed to be. At one point, I looked over at Ginny. Through the half circle of chattering people that had formed around her, she smiled and I hoped that she felt the same way.

      When the table was finally full with food, everyone in the room turned expectantly towards me. I took a deep breath. Anticipating this moment, I had planned exactly what I wanted to say ahead of time. But I had not foreseen the incredible hospitality of this reception. I was so touched that I abandoned my memorized script, and, quoting from Psalm 23, simply said that “my cup runneth over.” That phrase from the King James Bible was the best way I knew to speak to the wonderful sense of abundance at that table and with these people. That potluck was a holy communion for me, a sacred gathering of food and fellowship that embodied generosity and hospitality.

      MY FIRST COMMUNION

      In many traditions, the idea of “first communion” refers to the first time one receives the sacrament. This celebration usually takes place after a period of instruction like confirmation or catechism. I am using the designation in this chapter to refer to the first time I officiated the sacrament because my first communion likewise represents the culmination of theological training. It was truly an important step for me, just as meaningful as my first sermon. After all, I was ordained to be a minister of word and sacrament.

      Although presiding at the Lord’s Table was the result of years of study and preparation, I think of my first communion as a starting point rather than an end goal. This also relates to my ordination: I am called to serve these people in this place. Just as I felt a strong sense of confirmation at the welcoming potluck, I believe that the congregation’s perception of me changed after my first communion. I think I became less of the “new pastor” and more of “our pastor.” Paradoxically, this shift may well have occurred because of unplanned events rather than my diligent preparations.

      In the days leading up to my first communion, we forgot to appoint elders to serve. Not only that, but an hour before the service, we realized that we did not have grape juice! Thankfully, certain elders had arrived early, and they were calmer than their frazzled pastor. Someone went out and bought the grape juice. Another filled the communion trays with bread and then the communion cups with juice. Three others volunteered to be servers. Thanks to their quick and decisive actions, all of the elements were in place about fifteen minutes before the service.

      The elders gathered around the Lord’s Table and listened kindly as I nervously instructed them about the logistics of a ritual that they already knew how to perform. I had practiced for hours in the days before my first communion. I wanted to reciprocate the hospitality that I received at that New Dublin table during the potluck by presiding at the Lord’s Table with grace and dignity. So I had memorized all the various parts of the liturgy.

      Without any notes, I got off to a great start. I СКАЧАТЬ