essays on faith

Essays on Faith

By Larry Price, Editor NKUMCRI.COM

A collection of essays which have been published on this website or in the NKUMC newsletter between 1994 and 2009:

Time for a War on Cancer?

By Larry Price

Published November 14, 2009

In an episode of the West Wing television drama, entitled 100,000 Planes which aired on January 16, 2002, the White House staff is hard at work on President Bartlet’s State of the Union speech. After dinner conversation about new breakthroughs in treating cancer, the President, played by Martin Sheen, suddenly demands his staff draft a passage that would ambitiously promise a crusade to cure cancer within 10 years, similar to President Kennedy’s call in the early 1960s to send a man to the moon and back within a decade—a goal our nation accomplished.

Nearly all of President Bartlet’s staff tries to talk him out of it, saying it would appear as a political ploy or “self-serving” at a time when he was about to be censured. Only one staffer, Deputy Communications Director Sam Seaborn, played by Rob Lowe, favors it. When the President asks his opinion, Sam says: "I think ambition is good. I think overreaching is good. I think giving people a vision of government that's more than Social Security checks and debt reduction is good. I think government should be optimistic." The President liked Sam’s response and asked him to draft the passage.

I’ve always thought that was one of the best of many great episodes of the West Wing that Aaron Sorkin wrote and I’ve thought about it a lot in the past few weeks. Our pastor’s sister recently died from cancer only weeks after being diagnosed. A week later, the former pastor of a church where I grew up also died following cancer surgery. We all have been touched by the sadness of death from cancer. We all know someone who was taken from us by this terrible disease. I’ve lost a brother-in-law, a sister-in-law, a good colleague from work, a friend from church, and a mother.

When my mother died from breast cancer when I was 17, I thought if only she could have survived a few years longer, a cure could be found. That was in 1964. And, yes, over the years great strides in cancer research and treatment have been made, but there are so many types of cancer and so much we still do not know about it that there is no one cure for this deadly disease that can manifest itself in so many ways. With early detection, the chances of survival greatly improve and there are many cancer survivors, but the number of deaths each year is still staggering.

The Centers for Disease Control reports cancer claims nearly 600,000 lives in America each year, second only to heart disease (631,636).

In that West Wing episode, a pollster tells Sam Seaborn he should not encourage the President to include the cancer pledge in his State of the State address: “The Federal Government shouldn’t be directing scientific research.”

“Why?” Sam asks.

"Because you stink at it. 'If it was up to the NIH (National Institute of Health) to cure polio through a centrally directed program. . . You'd have the best iron lung in the world but not a polio vaccine.'"

"When did you get an M.D.?" Sam asks.

"I was just quoting Samuel Broder, the former director of the National Cancer Institute," the pollster says.

Sam is not dissuaded and explains why he thinks overreaching is good: "In 1940 our armed forces weren't among the 12 most formidable in the world, but obviously we were going to fight a big war. And Roosevelt said the U.S. would produce 50,000 planes in the next four years. Everyone thought it was a joke and it was 'cause we produced 100,000 planes. Gave our armed forces an armada which would block out the sun."

Before the 60-minute TV drama had ended, Sam the dreamer had lost and the reality of politics won. The passage he drafted for the President was not included in the State of the State address. But near the end of the episode, Sam recited for a friend the brief, but eloquent, passage he drafted that was deleted from the speech:

“Over the past half century, we've split the atom, we've spliced the gene and we've roamed Tranquility Base. We've reached for the stars and never have we been closer to having them in our grasp. New science, new technology is making the difference between life and death, and so we need a national commitment equal to this unparalleled moment of possibility. And so I announce to you tonight that I will bring the full resources of the Federal Government and the full reach of my office to this fundamental goal: We will cure cancer by the end of this decade.”

We have gone to the moon, we have built armadas, and we continue to spend billions of dollars to wage war. Could a presidential declaration of war on cancer find a cure in a decade or is it an impossible dream?

When he called on our nation to go to the moon, President Kennedy said, “But in a very real sense, it will not be one man going to the moon—if we make this judgment affirmatively, it will be an entire nation. For all of us must work to put him there.”

When our nation began its quest to go to the moon, we may have known less about how to do it, than we know about cancer today. And if we are to find a cure for cancer, all of us must work to find it.

Americans are generous when it comes to giving and the giving cuts across all income lines. A Giving USA study in June 2009 reported that Americans gave $308 billion to charitable causes in 2008. The largest share of giving went to educational and religious institutions, but thousands of other organizations, also benefited from the generosity of Americans, including organizations that support cancer research. Charity Navigator (www.charitynavigator.org ), a website that rates the efficiency of charities, lists the Breast Cancer Research Foundation (www.bcrfcure.org) and Dana-Farber Cancer Institute (the annual Jimmy Fund www.dana-farber.org ) as two of the top ten charities that have earned its four star rating eight consecutive times and are deserving of our contributions.

In his State of the State address in February 2009, President Obama pledged to “launch a new effort to conquer a disease that has touched the life of nearly every American by seeking a cure for cancer in our time.” The federal budget proposed a $6 billion increase to be directed to the National Institute of Health in addition to the $10 billion investment that the agency would receive over the next two years as a result of the recent economic stimulus package. The budget stated, "These resources will be committed strategically to have the greatest impact on developing innovative diagnostics, treatments and cures for cancer."

A lot of money, $16 billion, but compare it to the estimates of how much we have spent on the war in Iraq. The estimates vary wildly depending on how you count the money and who counts it, but the Brookings Institute says from Fiscal Year 2003 to Fiscal Year 2009, the government has appropriated and spent $653.3 billion in Iraq.

You just have to wonder how many diseases, not just cancer, might have been cured with an additional $653 billion in a war on cancer? Perhaps, something worthy of discussion one day, in our time, in the real West Wing.

Meanwhile, we will continue to remember those lost to war and cancer and pray for their families and loved ones.

Remembering Isaiah: For Isaiah Morris, Life Was Always A "Thumbs Up"

By Larry Price

Published October 13, 2009

Isaiah Morris was always upbeat, cheerful, friendly and one dapper dresser. On the hottest of days, he would be at Sunday worship in suit and tie and you never saw him sweat. He believed coming to church was special and the tie and suit was part of the respect he wanted to show for His Lord. When you asked him, “How are you doing?” he would always reply, “I’m great.” He never complained.

He was a cook in the military and in younger days was the lead chef at church dinners. I remember his tasty ham and beans and other delicious dishes. Recently, Isaiah contributed seven of his recipes to the new church cookbook.

Isaiah was away for much of this past summer, visiting family and sadly we never got to see him again before he passed away on Tuesday October 13th. Paula Martasian used to pick Isaiah up on many Sundays to bring him to worship and became a good friend to him. She noted in his passing that he had style, kindness, and always a positive outlook on life. What I remember best about Isaiah was his handshake. He taught many of us an elaborate series of gestures leading to the handshake and ending with a "thumbs up." I never could quite get it down properly; but he would patiently lead me through it each time, and then he would offer that patented smile—friendly, generous and contagious, always resulting in laughter.

We have all lost something special in Isaiah and like his Biblical namesake, Isaiah Morris was a man of steadfast devotion to His Lord.

Courage: A Tribute to Kirk MacGregor

By Larry Price

Published July 4, 2009

Life is not always fair, especially when bad things happen to good people and death ends a life too soon. Kirk MacGregor died too soon and too young.

Writer Charles Swindoll once offered, “Life is 10 percent what happens to you and 90 percent how you react to it.” Kirk MacGregor’s 90 percent can be summed up in one word: Courage.

A sudden, and untimely death leaves us shocked, but a death that we know may be coming, despite all prayers and hope, forces us to witness a person’s courage, grace and faith—and learn. Over several months, we have seen the courage of Kirk MacGregor as he struggled with his cancer, and we have witnessed the grace of his wife Carolyn and the faith of good friends—and we have learned a life and death lesson.

Kirk showed remarkable resiliency when he surprised us by coming to Sunday worship and United Men’s breakfasts at times when his cancer and a bad fall were consuming his strength and trying to erode his hope. When Kirk came to our UMM breakfast in April, I was talking to another member of our church and asked him, "How are you doing?" He replied, "My back pain is really bad, but I'm not going to complain after seeing Kirk here today." A lesser person could have been content to give up, but Kirk never did. He was still running the race of life and holding on to hope, and ultimately to God’s grace, as the end of his life neared.

Throughout Kirk’s struggle with cancer, his wife Carolyn also has been strong. There have been moments, no doubt, when she struggled to put one foot after another in trying to cope with what she knew was coming, but her grace was always there. And, there was the faith and support of so many. Good friends Jim and Julia Moon were helping hands and hearts, a bridge over troubled waters for a struggling family. Richard Dunne and others from our church offered a ministry of presence, spending precious time with Kirk and offering prayer that not only filled a spiritual need for him, but also allowed Carolyn a respite, a chance to do ordinary tasks, such as grocery shopping, that suddenly had become overwhelming items on a crowded, never ending to-do list.

Kirk was a long time usher at our weekly worship services. We enjoyed his fellowship at the monthly breakfasts and church luncheons, and he was always willing to help in the work of the church. He went about his service quietly, choosing to include his gifts and service in the 10 percent of his life that ‘happened to him’, but the 90 percent of his life he tithed to all of us was the courage he taught us in how he reacted to what life had dealt him.

Part of my ministry of words and photos is recording the events of our church. Often the photos capture joy, but a few reflect poignant and inspiring moments. The last photos of Kirk, his face badly bruised from a fall and his body frail from illness as he received Holy Communion in his church, were such moments. To all of us who felt his love and friendship, they are glowing tributes to a man who overcame all obstacles with the courage to spend precious time in God’s house with his church family. They are images that bring new meaning to getting out of bed and making an effort to get to worship, even in the worst of times. Behind the bruises and the effects of lengthy chemo, and the ravages of cancer, was the shining soul of a quiet man who inspired us with his courage, grace and faith in spite of all odds.

Writer Mary Anne Radmacher reminds us, “Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, ‘I will try again tomorrow.’”

May Kirk rest with God and may God comfort his family and all of us on our loss in all the tomorrows. Amen.

An Extraordinary Weekend of Joy and Sorrow, Past and Future Dreams

By Larry Price

Published May 31, 2009

It has been an extraordinary weekend in our church—a weekend that swept over us with alternating waves of enormous sadness and great joy. It was a Pentecost weekend punctuated by a widow’s courage, a man’s struggle, parents’ pride and a church family that pulled together to help those in need, offer comfort in death, celebrate joys newly born, and plan for a brighter future yet unknown.

The courage belonged to Vivian Flade who returned to Sunday worship just two days after the death of her beloved husband Sam. She and Sam had been away for weeks as she tended to his constant care and the illness which eventually took him from all of us. She was brave and I fear she consoled me more than I could her when we embraced after the worship service. Sam’s death is an enormous loss to our church, but so much greater to all of us who cherished him as a friend. It will take time for the Friday loss to change to good memories of the man who always had a smile on his face.

We also learned that Kirk MacGregor who has been battling cancer so courageously, is struggling more fiercely after suffering another setback in his health. His church family is quickly putting together a list of volunteers who can spend precious time with him. A time of friendship and caring that will also allow his courageous wife, Carolyn, a brief respite for her own medical appointments and the opportunity to attend to those once routine chores which now can seem overwhelming. If I know the heart of this church, the need will be met.

Amid the courage and sadness, it was also a weekend of great joy. We confirmed three young people who are starting on their faith journey with Christ and welcomed four new adult members into our church family. You could see the pride on the faces of parents whose children give us the hope of fresh faces who will renew the energy of this congregation and help us continue on the path of service and faith. Three young people and four new adult members join a membership roll that links back 43 years to the birth of our church in 1966.

After worship on Sunday, the congregation lined up. The line stretched from charter members at the sanctuary entrance back to the fellowship hall where the most recent to join assembled. The line was divided into four groups, long time and newer members assembled in each group for the breakout sessions that were part of our church town meeting that reviewed our past and planned our future.

Each group was given the task of discussing and proposing ideas about where we want this church to be 5 years from now. And on a Pentecost Sunday, the Holy Spirit was undoubtedly there. If money was no object, how would we grow discipleship? How would we carry Christ’s message from our church to the community and beyond in keeping with our mission?

There were many suggestions. Some would require more funding, others would not. But the process was not to be concerned about the money, but how do we build the new dream? If the founders of our church took a leap of faith to build a new sanctuary and parsonage at the worst of times—when the Quonset Naval base closed, scattering our flock to parts around the world—how can we do any less than to at least dream?

The dream born in 1966—nourished by founders like Eleanor Bourn, Ida and Ken Green, and the same Vivian and Sam Flade whose loss we mourn this weekend—was resurrected by a young pastor, Jon Almond, in times far worse than now. In 1974, when our membership was sliced by 60%, when the parsonage had to be sold, when there were months when the heating bill couldn’t be paid, caution was thrown to the wind and replaced solely by faith. During those depression times, new dreams were forged and eventually created a new parsonage, new sanctuary and a thriving church. In 1993, we dreamed again and a Narthex and more Sunday School classrooms were built.

I think some of longer term members may worry more than others about the money needed to make dreams a reality. If you’ve ever struggled, experience tells you to be careful. But some of those same members are the ones who kept the dreams alive in this church and are our inspiration for creating new dreams.

Faith is a powerful force and Pentecost is a time to accept the fire of the Holy Spirit and let it lead us to new heights, new beginnings, and a better tomorrow. The newest dream is only forming and none of us know where it will lead us, but it is a good thing that we are talking about it, forming the vision, and letting God’s word be a lamp unto our feet and a light unto our path. We can only trust in the One who has brought us this far in our journey. Perhaps one day we will look back at Pentecost Sunday in 2009 as an historic day upon which we again did not fear to dream. Here’s to the future.

The Passing of Sam Flade

Edward “Sam” Flade, One of the Really Good Guys

By Larry Price

Published May 29, 2009

You always knew where to find Sam Flade after Sunday worship. He would be standing in his usual corner of the Narthex, coffee cup in hand and a constant smile on his face, holding court with the regulars and offering greetings to everyone who walked by.

The discussions with Sam ranged from how the Red Sox or the Patriots were doing to whatever subject came up. He was a fountain of opinion and knowledge, gleaned from a long life of experiences. He always spoke in kindness and usually with a sense of humor. But the smile … the smile was always there. Even if he was not feeling well, he never complained and he never let it get him down.

He was a Navy veteran and he had tales to tell, but he was most interested in hearing about you. Sadly, his illness kept him from returning to his beloved church one last time before he went to his final rest on Friday May 29th.

Sam was one of the best loved and admired people in our church. He identified with everyone, young and old and he admired all of their talents—from commenting on the musical talents of a young person at a church talent show to remarking about how much service a member did for our church.

Sam and wife Vivian were charter members of the church, dating back to 1967. In younger, healthier days, he was a workhorse for the church, sustaining it and loving it with deep and abiding faith. Over the years, he served on many committees, including Trustees, which prompted our former pastor, The Rev. Beverly Stenmark, to tell him she was appointing him a lifetime member of the committee whether he participated or not.

The stained glass cross which has adorned the wall in our Narthex for many years now was made by Sam's gentle hands. He was a gifted artist who crafted beautiful pieces of stained glass, offered at our annual Harvest Festivals for many years.

We have all prayed that he would recover from this latest illness, but we also know Sam well enough to believe he was prepared for the outcome. Sam Flade was a man of faith, family and friendships who will be mourned and greatly missed. There is an empty spot in our hearts and in that corner of the Narthex where he gathered to hold court.

We pray for his wife Vivian and their family in this difficult time and pray the Lord surround them with His love and comfort. When we take stock of our church, where it came from and where’s it’s going, we count Sam Flade among the true treasures God has bestowed upon us. Hold his memory close and when you remember him, let a smile come to your face, because that’s the way he would want to be remembered. He truly was a precious child of God.

The signs of an active church all around us

By Larry Price

Published April 5, 2009

In the past few weeks, our church family has fervently prayed for a member who is battling cancer and for his wife who underwent surgery. And volunteers prepared meals for the family. Another woman lies flat on her back after recovering from surgery, and more meals are prepared and delivered. We pray for another—one who helped found our church—as he is hospitalized. If you read the daily prayer email from our shepherding group, you’ll see many concerns on the list that faithful Christians lift up to God each and every day. The prayers reach out, not only for people in our church family, but for others around the community, the nation and the world.

The weekly Bible study groups meet while volunteers for Project Outreach collect and distribute diapers for needy families who cannot afford them.

A monthly newsletter is published while a gentle Christian man, who hears God calling him to do more, offers his ministry of prayers with those who come to quietly pray with him in a pew after worship each Sunday.

A few begin planning a new church directory as others gather to load a 40-foot container that will carry desperately needed medical supplies to a medical center in Sierra Leone.

A pastor prepares for an exhausting Holy week that will encompass seven worship services and several sermons and meditations between Palm Sunday and Easter; and the committees of the church continue to carry on the monthly business of the church.

A woman dedicates her time to managing a shopping card program to raise needed funds to meet a leap of faith budget while a retired pastor captures the spirit of Palm Sunday by writing a hymn.

A United Methodist Men’s group plans another monthly breakfast in its continuing quest to support the North Kingstown Food Pantry, and others work tirelessly in a covenant with Habitat for Humanity to build new homes for families which otherwise could not afford home ownership.

Families gather their gently used treasures, preparing for an April yard sale, and good, caring teachers prepare for another Sunday school class.

A group of lay speakers concludes three weekends of classes, learning how to better lead small groups in our church to serve the Lord, and an elderly lady uses a walker to slowly move to the altar and the Communion table. For others who are hospitalized or homebound, the sacrament of Communion is delivered to them by laity members who took the time to be instructed in offering the bread of life and the cup of salvation.

A couple steps in to pinch hit as ushers while their good friend is ill. A youth group is led by caring volunteers and still younger children gather at the altar to learn the fundamental answers of faith that, hopefully, will be their building blocks for a lifetime of devotion to Christ.

We prepare to read the last of the daily Lenten devotionals, lovingly written by members of the congregation, and a trustee interrupts a family night out to check on a report of a leaky roof at the church.

A United Methodist Women’s group explores how it will serve and a bulletin board offers a list of talents to grow $5 to hundreds of dollars for God’s work.

Work begins on planning a church town meeting in May while a dedicated lady of 90 years young brews another pot of coffee for Sunday fellowship—as she has faithfully done for so many years. A kitchen is cleaned and the Sunday school rooms and fellowship hall are opened to community groups who come to meet for many purposes. A choir rehearses for another worship service, an Easter breakfast is planned, and a pastor opens the parsonage for an Easter dinner, inviting anyone who will be alone on this joyful and sacred day.

These are just a few of the ways God is at work in the spiritual work of His active church. We can see many more if we look around, but the best part is that we normally don’t take time to look around, because we are too active doing God’s work—a Christian balance of worship and a generous giving of our time, talents and gifts. At times Christians are like Martha, and at times we are like Mary in that biblical scripture. It takes both to carry a church, to do Christ’s work on earth, and to glorify God. Worship and service—whether we are praying or carrying out big projects or small tasks, they join us together in the body of Christ.

It’s never boring being the website editor for an active church, because there so many wonderful stories to tell in words and photos. And unlike in a secular world where credit and thanks are often sought, in a church family, making the faith journey and performing the good deeds are themselves the rewards.

Blue Christmas is service of hope and peace

By Larry Price

Published December 9, 2008

Blue Christmas is a very special time of worship each year. It is designed as an ecumenical service of hope and peace for people who have experienced a loss—loss of a loved one, a job, a home. It is also for worshippers who are just feeling down in spirit during the holiday season. It is a quiet service when one can be with others who are experiencing the same feelings, but also want to be alone with their thoughts and their God. It is also a service for those who want to offer comfort and prayerful support to others.

I take many photos at our worship services during the year, but this is the one worship service each year when I put the camera away. It never seemed appropriate to intrude on the mood of this time of worship.

A few years ago, I did take one photo from outside the church while the worship service was underway inside. I tried to capture the special spirit of the service without intruding. It was a cold December night, but there was a warm glow through the sanctuary window from the brightly lighted cross above the altar, reminding us that the cross holds out hope and peace for everyone, and especially for those coping with sorrow and grief during the joyous season of Advent.

Ida Green: Four Score and Ten Years Young

By Larry Price

Published November 25, 2008

Ida Green, a charter member of our church, was born on December 20, 1918, but Saturday November 29, we’ll celebrate her birthday a little early with a pot luck supper at church.

Ida has lived through many changes during her lifetime, including 16 U. S. Presidents—from Woodrow Wilson to George Bush (Obama will be the 17th). She was born as the first World War ended and married as a second one was concluding. She served in the Army Air Corps in World War II and married her late beloved husband, Ken Green, who also served his country, in the Navy.

When she was born in 1918, the average annual salary of workers was $1,144. There was no minimum wage, but your dollar probably stretched farther in those days. The average cost of a house was $4,821, an automobile cost $500 and a gallon of gasoline was 8 cents. A postage stamp cost 3 cents, a gallon of milk 55 cents and a loaf of bread 10 cents. Since Ida’s birth, the population of America has increased from 106 million to nearly 306 million. And, oh yes, the national debt has grown too—all the way to $10.6 trillion and still growing every day, leaving each of us with a bill of about $35,000 to pay it off.

Top movies from 1918 included Mickey, starring Mabel Normand, and Charlie Chaplin in A Dog’s Life. Irving Berlin’s Yip Yip Yaphank was among the popular songs. It was also the first year that America adopted daylight savings time.

Yes, Ida Green has lived through many changes in her lifetime, but there has always been one constant in her life, her service to her faith. She and husband Ken were among a small group of families which started the North Kingstown United Methodist Church over 40 years ago. Every Sunday there’s a hot cup of coffee awaiting worshippers. She’s been preparing the coffee for the post worship fellowship for many years and it would be difficult to estimate how many cups she’s brewed, and how many smiles she’s offered to church visitors and members.

It’s fitting that we celebrate Ida’s 90th birthday because it’s not something she would expect or seek. She’s one of the those wonderful people who serve with no expectation of thanks or appreciation. They are the lifeblood of a church, the foundation that supports a house of worship; and, in Ida’s case, a connection to where we came from and a role model to where we should be going. Her quiet service speaks loudly and eloquently to a faith journey to which we all should aspire.

Ida Green is a 90-year faith treasure that grows richer as a blessing to our church every day. Happy birthday, Ida!

Thanksgiving, A Time for Thankful Prayers

By Larry Price

Published November 23, 2008

The children of our church gathered today in Sunday School for their annual Thanksgiving Feast as they do every year at this time. Each child brought a favorite food to share and the assortment is always fascinating. The dishes can vary from mashed potatoes to potato chips, pizza to pop corn and everything in between, but the important thing is they pray together before the meal and give thanks to God. And that’s what Thanksgiving ought to be about—families and friends coming together to share in prayer the bounty of blessings that God gives us.

If you research Thanksgiving, you’ll find a lot of conflicting information on how it all started. Some sources do attribute the first Thanksgiving to an autumn harvest feast in 1621 between the Plymouth colonists and Wampanoag Indians, but harvest festivals actually date back much earlier in history.

The legacy of family and friends gathering to give thanks has survived centuries in this country. In 1789, George Washington declared a day of Thanksgiving, asking Americans to give thanks for the founding of a nation, but Thanksgiving didn’t become a national holiday until the mid-19th century when Sarah Josepha Hale, a magazine editor, staged a letter-writing campaign to make it happen.

President Lincoln, looking for ways to unite a nation torn by civil war, responded by issuing a Thanksgiving proclamation that set aside the last Thursday in November of 1863 for gratitude and thanksgiving.

In 1939, President Franklin D. Roosevelt—trying to stimulate a depression ravaged economy—set off a two-year skirmish when he moved the holiday to the third Thursday, in an effort to give store owners an early start on holiday shopping. Detractors dubbed the relocated holiday "Franksgiving," and in 1941 Congress finally made the fourth Thursday in November the official day. So, in truth, it took 320 years to create the Thanksgiving Day we observe.

It’s a great holiday because families and friends gather in homes across America to give thanks and count their blessings, but I think in truth it has become a day of too much food, too much football, too many naps, and too few prayers at the table. I read that The Calorie Control Council, an industry group, reports Americans consume as much as 4,500 calories on Thanksgiving day. That’s twice as much as the FDA recommends for an entire day. Perhaps forgivable for one day because the holiday also raises our awareness of those who are not able to share in the bounty. Good, caring people work in food shelters and rescue missions to ensure that most Americans, who might go without the rest of the year, are included. Food pantries, like our own, raise money and collect food in an effort to fulfill the needs of many families the rest of the year. The hope is the spirit of Thanksgiving carries far beyond the one day. The children of our church learned that lesson as they brought non-perishable food items for needy families in our congregation. They also told their teachers about the blessings for which they are thankful and took time, before they enjoyed their meal, to create greeting cards for our troops overseas.

We ought to pray more on Thanksgiving. The Pilgrims were thankful they were alive. George Washington asked us to give thanks for the founding of a nation. Lincoln asked us to pray that a civil war would not destroy a nation. This year, retailers, much like Franklin Roosevelt in 1939, are probably hoping that the day after Thanksgiving—traditionally the largest shopping day of the year—will help put a dent in the recession. And we’re all probably hoping—and hopefully praying too—that we can find our way out of our current economic disaster.

What we’re thankful for has changed over the years, but the blessing that endures is family. At our family gathering, this will be first Thanksgiving in many years that my daughter will not be with us. She moved to Ohio this year and won’t be able to return for the holiday. We’ll have to wait until Christmas to see her.

I especially remember her first Thanksgiving 30 years ago. My daughter was born in April of that year and we celebrated our first Thanksgiving as parents and it was a blessing for which we were very thankful. It was also the year my father died, one month before Thanksgiving. I was conflicted with emotions of sadness and joy at the same time. Before he died, I saw my dad in the hospital. When I hugged him and said good-bye, not knowing for sure it would be for the last time, his body felt frail and his hands weak for someone so big. In contrast, my daughter, less than a year old, would wrap one of her tiny hands around one of my fingers and would squeeze it with amazing strength for someone so small. The blessing that carried me that Thanksgiving was taking comfort in the fact that my dad lived long enough to behold and hold his granddaughter. He was very proud of the granddaughter who would never get to know him.

When you sit down at the table this year, what are the blessings for which you will be thankful? Will it be the food on the table, our jobs, good health, the blessings of family and friends? Whatever it is, Thanksgiving is a great opportunity to take the time to answer those questions. It’s also a great opportunity to thank God for being in our lives through the power of thankful prayer, just as our Sunday School children did today.

[See Photos from the Children's Thanksgiving Feast]

'Paying Reverence to the Memory of Shipmates Departed'

By Larry Price

November 16, 2008

I’m old enough to remember a time in America when we as a nation could not always separate our sentiments against war from our support for our men and women in uniform. The legacy of Viet Nam and the sometimes shameful reception received by vets returning from an unpopular war has taught America the difference. We can be divided on issues of war while united behind those who serve our country. During World War II, there was a clear difference between good and evil in the world. And we celebrated a war’s end and honored our men and women in uniform—a generation of heroes who are now fading away. As it was in Viet Nam, and is today in Iraq, America struggles over the politics of war, but brave soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines answer a nation’s call and serve in Harm’s Way. The difference today is that we stand together in support of our troops regardless of how we, as Americans, might be divided over a particular war.

North Kingstown United Methodist Church has rich historic ties to the US Navy. Our church was largely founded by Naval families in the 1960’s. A precious few are still with us. Earlier this year, our congregation planted a peace pole on the church grounds and we continue to pray for a world free of war, but those prayers and our prayers for our men and women in uniform are not, and should not, be in conflict.

Today, we are proud to welcome the Fleet Reserve Association [More about Fleet Reserve Association] and pay reverence to “shipmates departed” in a deeply moving and traditional Two Bell Ceremony and wreath laying. While the FRA represents members of the Naval, Marine and Coast Guard services, let us also pause today to remember all the men and women in uniform who have made the supreme sacrifice in service to country. Let us honor all those who have returned safely from conflict; let us pray for God’s protection for all who continue to serve at great peril. And let us pray for a time when we need never again test the strength and readiness of brave men and women in combat.

Link to photos of the Two Bell Ceremony

An Historic Front Page Never Imagined?

By Larry Price

Published November 5, 2008

On the morning of November 5, 2008—at a time when their advertising dollars are shrinking, their circulations are dwindling, and they struggle to survive as an industry—newspapers across the country sold an extraordinary number of papers. On street corners in cities from New York to San Francisco, and Minneapolis to cities of the deep South, people stood in line at newsstands to capture an historical keepsake—a front page memento of the election of America’s first African-American President, Barack Obama.

The New York Times and one of Obama’s hometown papers, The Chicago Tribune, restarted their printing presses to roll out hundreds of thousands of additional copies to meet the demand. In suburbs, people who long ago stopped delivery of a newspaper to their homes were searching for a copy of editions disappearing from drug store, grocery, and supermarket shelves.

Whether Republican or Democrat, McCain or Obama supporter, red or blue state resident, most Americans recognized and appreciated the historical significance of Barack Obama’s election and wanted a reminder of it.

While the debate among all political parties on how America should solve the many issues that face us as a nation—and there are many—will continue, we will again transition peacefully from one leader to another, just as the founders of our nation envisioned. But this time, the transition will be of epic proportions that even the drafters of the Declaration of Independence and the U. S. Constitution, and Abraham Lincoln also, could not have imagined.

Think about all the obstacles overcome to arrive at this moment in American history. Slavery and racism, a Civil War and civil rights struggle, fire hoses and attack dogs, marches and segregation. Perhaps, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. really did envision it would some day happen when he made his “I Have a Dream” speech, but the tears rolling down the faces of so many black Americans on election night tell us most of them did not believe it possible—until it actually happened.

Regardless of your politics, this is a moment to remember. This is a time you will recall to your grandchildren when you explain where you were on the night another barrier fell in America.

Our presidential campaigns grow longer every four years. We tire of the rhetoric, the campaign ads, and the distortion of issues from both major political parties, but when the campaign is over, we the voters make a decision. Americans move forward not knowing what the next four years will hold for them and their nation, but together we recognize and accept one person to be the president for of all of us. This year’s election is no different with one important distinction—momentous history was written.

This year’s election could have changed history in three different ways. We could have elected our first female president, we could have elected our oldest president ever, we did elect our first African-American president. I have no doubt that some day in the future we will also elect the first woman to be our president. She may be white, she may be black, she may be Latino or Asian-American, or she may be of any ancestry and the oldest person ever elected president. For every time a barrier falls, it’s easier to knock down the next one on the road to equal opportunity.

The extraordinary and historical significance of this election is important to remember because it leads us closer to a time when such events may become ordinary. It leads us closer to a time when we accept our candidates and we accept each other without noticing color of skin or gender or age.

In this election, I believe most Americans, whether they voted for Barack Obama, John McCain or someone else, genuinely voted their choice based on issues and the belief that one or the other would do a better job. In the end, the issue of our economy probably played the greatest role in electing our first black president. Surely, race and age were factors, for all the right and wrong reasons, but Tuesday, we as a nation took an historic step, once never imagined for the front page of a newspaper—a change in a succession of 43 white male presidents.

Google Me Philippians 4:4-7

By Larry Price

Published October 11, 2008

Along with everyone else, have you been following the economic events on Wall Street and their effects on Main Street? As stocks plummet, pensions and 401-Ks diminish in value. Some workers are considering postponing retirement, while others worry about keeping their jobs. And something else. Noon time attendance has been increasing at churches and synagogues near Wall Street, according to news reports.

Google “religion and Wall Street” on the Internet and you’ll see several versions of the story: “Wall Street bankers are spending the noon hour schmoozing with the boss upstairs. No, not the CEO with the top-floor office: God.”

The stories go on to report that clergy have seen a “sharp up-tick in attendees dressed in business attire.” There’s high anxiety in America and, yes, we tend to turn to God when we are anxious.

I remember a time in my life when I went through unemployment for a few months and then had to spend several more months working away from my family to keep a paycheck coming. Many months later, the ordeal finally ended and I landed a new job back home, reunited with my family. One of my first business trips in that new job took me to Maine. I was driving in the car and it was a beautiful day and I was overcome by feelings of joy and happiness I had not experienced in years. I wrote about it in a piece I called “A Prayer from Maine” [ Giving Thanks--A Prayer from Maine ] in which I thanked God for His blessings and my deliverance. One of my former pastors, The Rev. Richard Davis, read it in our church newsletter and dropped me a note in the mail. He simply wrote, “Philippians 4:4-7.”

When I looked it up in the Bible, it made perfect sense. “Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

Ever since that day 14 years ago, Paul’s words to the Philippians has been my favorite piece of scripture, always offering special meaning to me. It’s also mysteriously entered my life on several occasions. As a lay speaker I volunteer four or five times a year to be the liturgist at Sunday worship. Over the years, that scripture has come up twice when I have volunteered to be liturgist—and each time it was a surprise because I had not known beforehand that it was the assigned reading from the lectionary.

This Friday I received the weekly worship bulletin in email and was about to publish it to our church website. But, there was a note in the email that no one had signed up to be liturgist for the Sunday service. I replied to the church office that I could be available for 10 AM if needed. The pastor wrote back later that night saying that would be fine so I began to look at the assigned scripture to prepare for the Sunday readings. I was surprised—and by now I shouldn’t have been surprised—to find there in the order of worship, for a third time in my life, Philippians 4:1-9. Coincidence? I like to think it is God bringing an old friend back to me.

It occurs to me that Paul’s words are the perfect message for an anxious people troubled by worries over jobs, pensions, life savings and recession. “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” Let us put our faith not in riches and not in the stock market, but in God. Perhaps, we should be reminded of this every time we gaze upon a piece of paper currency and notice the message: “In God We Trust.”

And wouldn’t it be nice if every time we Google “religion and Wall Street,” the number one response would be "Philippians 4:4-7.”

Remembering Eric

By Larry Price

Published July 1, 2008

My first cousin, Eric, was one of those salt-of-the-earth men who was married for over 50 years, loved his family, wasn’t afraid to get his hands calloused and dirty, and had a big ready smile and a large laugh. I think next to spending time with his family, he was happiest lighting up a good cigar while tinkering in his barn, or driving that tractor on his farm.

His family will freely admit that along with his gentle side, Eric also had a stubborn streak, but he came by it honestly and naturally. He was a lot like his uncle Frank, my father, who along with his aunt Alice raised him, his brother Thor and sister Sally for much of their lives after their mother Winifred’s illness.

Eric’s stubborn streak was especially there when it came to dying. Eric battled a long illness, but he was tough. His doctors called him a miracle patient, because to their astonishment, he rallied several times from illness before passing away at the age of 81. I saw him in April, and despite his illness, he looked good and we had a very nice chat together. I am so thankful I was able to see him during that visit.

Eric was always there when his family needed him. When I was living with my dad and aunt Alice on Coleman Road after my mother died, Allie once fell down the stairs when I was alone in the house with her. When I jumped out of bed and rushed to find her lying at the bottom of the stairs, her first instructions were not to call for an ambulance. She said, “Call Eric!” Eric was at the house in minutes, very concerned, very fearful, but also calmly comforted Allie and assured her she would be okay. The ambulance he called before arriving, quickly followed to take her to the hospital.

Eric came from strong family stock—Scandinavian and English. I’m always amazed how serendipity, chance encounters, often play a role in the creation of families. Two examples from Eric’s life. First, well into his adulthood, he discovered a group of half-siblings with whom he was open and willing to establish contact and a relationship. Good for him! Secondly, there is the serendipitous story behind Eric’s middle name Langdon. The name comes from the maternal family of Eric’s second great grandmother, Charlotte Langdon, who was born in England in 1816.

If I’ve got this right from my genealogy research, Charlotte and her sister Elizabeth came to America before 1850, crossing the Atlantic from England on a ship. On that same ship, came two brothers, Thomas Bullymore and Jewett Richard Bullymore. The two brothers and the two sisters fell in love while crossing that ocean and eventually married in America. Thomas, mine and Eric’s 2nd great grandfather, married Charlotte Langdon and our 2nd grand uncle Jewett married Elizabeth. By the census of 1850, Thomas and his brother Jewett were operating Jewett Thomas & Company, a butcher shop in Buffalo. Several of us wouldn’t be here today if love had not blossomed for those two-salt-of-the-earth meat cutters and the Langdon sisters on that ship.

There are many great stories from Eric’s family tree that connect him to Western New York. Another 2nd great grandfather was Jonas W. Price, a wagon maker in Newfane in the early 1800s, who rests in a cemetery, near the lake in Olcott. Eric’s great grandparents, Sylvester Price and Aurilla Albright ran the old Allbright Hotel in Olcott, NY. Our grandfather Frank Price, Sr. was a traveling salesman and sometime farmer who spent part of his life on a Lake Road farm and other years in Texas. A few years ago, Eric graciously gave me the typewriter that our grandfather used to type his sales orders. And I’ll also always be indebted to Eric and his sister Sally for entrusting to me the family Bible that offers many references and photos of our family.

Families are precious. Life is precious. When a loved one leaves us, it’s important to celebrate that life, cherish the love and also realize that the ever present challenge for those left behind is that we must continue on just as our ancestors did before us. The important thing to always remember is that despite the separation of geographic divides, we need to show our love to each other as often as we can, while we are together.

That great philosopher, comedian George Carlin, said, “Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away. Remember to say, ‘I love you’ to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.” Spend time with your loved ones and hold them close, because they are not going to be around forever.

Eulogy for Charles E. Jeffrey

A Celebration of Life Memorial Service

Faith United Methodist Church, Barker, NY

April 19, 2008

By Larry Price, son-in-law

Dad’s two oldest children will always remember the night. It was early in their lives, and they were slow to go to sleep, well past their bedtime. Suddenly, there was a tapping sound on the window of their bedroom and from the dark outside, a voice boomed: “This is The Sandman. Go to sleep!” That was dad.

I love that family story because it says so much about my father-in-law, our dad. He was a tall man, but he had an impish quality about him, and a playful sense of humor.

Sharing small stories—especially the joyful ones—are important. They celebrate a life and soften sadness. So, among today’s tears, don’t be afraid to find the laughter, because most of dad’s life was all about joy.

Thank you for coming today. It’s a privilege to try to tell you about our dad, his family and what we mean to each other. And if I go on too long today, it’s only out of love—for every time I tried to remove a loving thought, another would leap from my heart to the page.

Charles Jeffrey grew up an only child in Norwich, New York. He never knew his father who died when dad was just two years old. So a loving, single mother raised him for nearly all of his young life. Today, our memories are also with her, our loving grandmother, Dorothy Jeffrey.

Dad was just one of many in that now vanishing generation of World War II veterans—heroes who served their nation at a time in the world when there was a clear choice between good and evil. He served on an infantry landing craft with the Navy in the Pacific and he safely made it all the way to Japan. After the war—like so many other vets—he came home to take a bride, start a family, and pursue an education—all at the same time.

By the time he graduated from Hartwick College in 1950, and began his first teaching job, he and mom already had two children in tow and a third would arrive just a year later.

Those early years must have been difficult, but looking back, I don’t think dad OR mom would have traded them for anything in the world.

While he was teaching, dad also managed to get his master’s degree and years later—with great pride—would finally find the time to get his doctorate. Dr. Jeffrey’s life was one of dedication to education—first as a math teacher in Weedsport, NY and then principal in two other tiny towns you won’t find on any world map: Dalton and Barker.

He arrived here 50 years ago as a crew-cut young man of 32, brimming with ambition, to be Barker’s new principal. He hired a few younger teachers who, like him, had dreams of opening opportunities for the next generation.

Dad once shared with me how one student at Barker was struggling and was about to fail. As principal, dad suggested that two of his more seasoned teachers should tutor the young man to help him graduate. For whatever reason, they didn’t. So dad himself tutored him, saw him graduate, and always wondered how he had fared in life. Dad was very proud of that accomplishment.

I was in the sixth grade when I first met this Jeffrey clan. The new principal’s oldest son was in my class. Chuck, Steve and I played together on the same Little League team. And I remember once, their cute blonde sister riding with us to a game. She was very cute—still is.

I always respected teachers and principals, but I also found them a little scary—even former principals. So imagine how I felt six years later when I started dating his daughter, and Mr. Jeffrey would greet me at the door.

Nearly 38 years ago, on the day Charlene and I were to be married, I called him ‘dad’ for the first time. He looked at me sternly, and said, “I’m not your dad, yet!”

I don’t think he was joking. I do think he was reluctant to give away his daughter—too soon.

One of Charlene’s best memories of dad is on that same day when dad leaned over and kissed her on the cheek as he was about to walk her down the aisle.

When Charlene was a cheerleader, and mom and dad rooted for Chuck and the Barker basketball team, Jon, their youngest son, was just an infant on mom’s lap, as they sat in the stands, cheering every basket, at every game.

When Charlene and I started dating, Jon, a young child, would come and plop himself right between his sister and me on the front steps of their house on Pallister Avenue—usually when I was about to kiss his sister. I always suspected dad probably sent him out there on those starry nights to distract us.

One night, as we gazed at the sky, Jon asked—and we both still remember it—“why are there so many stars?” Well, science and astronomy were not my strong suits, so I told him, “If a star is good, it is allowed to come out at night and shine brightly. Those are the good stars.”

Dad was one of those good stars God allowed to come out and shine brightly. He worked tirelessly all his life to brighten his family’s path—and he was always willing to help.

We moved too often, and every time, dad would soon follow to help. Three times, he came to build decks on our homes. He was skilled with his hands. He could fix things. I never could. He had patience—a virtue, my family will tell you, still escapes me. But with dad’s gentle teaching, we built those decks together and I have always looked back at those times—and the days we played golf together—as the best personal moments we shared together.

At our home in Rhode Island, there’s a tree house and swing set dad built for his grandchildren. Heather, Jeffrey and Travis are adults now. The swings are long gone, and the tree house has been vacant for years. It’s 20 years old, the roof is gone and the sides are falling off. It’s weathered, but still standing; And to anyone else, it’s probably an eyesore in our backyard. But to us, it’s still a thing of beauty. And we’ve never discussed tearing it down. Not yet. There’s too much love in it.

This family is close. We’ve done much with each other, but we especially look forward to our annual summer reunion because it’s the one time each year when we all are together—for many wonderful years on Cape Cod, until it became difficult for dad to make the trip. Then, we traded the ocean for the lake and all came back to Barker. It was never really about where we were—as long as we were all together.

At Christmas time, we gathered at the lake to exchange presents, and I learned to accept the Jeffrey family tradition that any gift could and should be returned for something else, the day after Christmas. I learned it wasn’t personal. It was just a fact of life in this family that everyone should get the gift you truly wanted. There are other Jeffrey family traditions: Mom and dad’s required photo of every ice cream birthday cake—always chocolate because, except for me, dad and everyone else in this family loves chocolate. We must have a collection of hundreds of those award-winning photographs of ice cream cakes.

Dad loved this community, and for 50 years, he gave his time and talents—to the Lions Club and to this church which he loved so dearly. When he left as principal, he could have moved away, but he chose to stay. So for 34 years, he commuted day after day to Buffalo to work at the University. He was happy there and his daily drive was a love affair with his cars. He would strap on those driving gloves and log hundreds of thousands of miles on his cars. And every five years or so, he looked forward to swapping cars when he could negotiate ‘the new deal.’ Dad elevated trading cars to an art form.

Dad loved his children.

When he saw Chuck ship off with the Army to Viet Nam, he never let a father’s fear take hold. He just let him know, in his own unemotional way, he loved him and expected him to come home safely. With his father’s strength and wit and his mother’s heart of gold, Chuck is one of those special sons, brothers, and brother-in-law you’re blessed to have. Tomorrow is Chuck’s 61st birthday. Last night, we celebrated with another ice cream cake. I have the photo to prove it. Chuck, know that dad was with us and he will always live in your heart.

Steve’s fondest memory of dad is lying as a small child on his father’s chest as Dad would swim on his back to the deeper waters. To this day, Steve’s swimming, far out in the lake, brings him contentment. When Steve returned to Barker, at a difficult turning point in his life, dad helped him enroll at the University, and Steve, like his father before him, worked hard to get his degree. He went on to obtain an advanced degree, began a new career and started a new chapter in his life. It was a blessing for all three as Steve stayed on and became so important in caring for mom and dad in their later years. And, Steve, we will always love you for it.

Jon, the youngest son, arrived 11 years after Steve’s birth. Mom and dad were 36 years old and raising another child, all over again. Jon’s older brothers argue that by then, dad had mellowed, and Jon got away with a lot more than they ever did. Maybe so, but he also gave as much, or more, than he received and he enjoyed a childhood, blessed by more ‘alone time’ with his dad; And he’s much like his father—right down to the gas mileage book he keeps in his car. Jon, dad was very proud of you and the life you and Janet have made together. Never forget that in your dad’s eyes, your greatest achievement will always be your son John Robert, a miracle blessing to you and Janet and all of us, just four years ago.

Charlene is amazing. She brings out the best in her brothers. Her loving determination binds this family together. She does whatever it takes, whatever her heart tells her is best for her parents and her brothers. I’ve always worried how losing a parent would affect her. She hasn’t been touched by death as often, but she accepted dad’s death with amazing grace. First forged in that old Barker Methodist Church, her faith, and her love, always have been a rock for this family. And ‘Jeff’, to our children and to me, you will always be mom and dad’s greatest gift.

Dad loved all his children, but the love of his life was mom. His greatest joy was making her happy. And her passion was loving him. For 62 years of married life, they jitterbugged, went camping and snowmobiling, and worshipped in this church. They did everything together. And along the way they seeded and nurtured this loving family I’ve tried to tell you about—a family I’ve grown to love as if it is my own.

Janet, Nancy and I were lucky enough to become part of this family simply because we happened to fall in love with a Jeffrey son or daughter. Mom and dad’s love, and the love we all have for each other in this family, were the extra blessings that came with it.

If you’re here with us today, you’ve probably been touched at some time, in some small way, by our father or his family. The Jeffrey family is NOT special. We’re no different than your own family, but here’s the thing: we’re special to each other—and dad was special to all of us.

When we lose someone we love, it’s difficult NOT to hold on—very difficult to let go.

Our father was a strong man with a sharp mind and keen wit. It has been a struggle for our family to see his courageous battle with Parkinson’s deplete his strength and slowly imprison many memories made. We know in our hearts, and by God’s grace, it was his time to go, but it’s difficult to let go.

Dad would teach us to move forward, to be happy in our lives—to remember the Sandman smiles of his life, not the sadness. He would tell mom: Don’t be afraid to go on alone because our family will be there for you. He would teach us to let go of what had become a painful, earthly life, and embrace his new heavenly life. We know he lives because of Christ’s death and resurrection.

Our dad lives inside our laughter. He’s crystallized in every tear drop. A father is the place we came from, our first home; And he's the map we follow with every step we take. He’s one of our first loves and one of our first heartbreaks—and thanks to God’s grace, nothing on earth can separate us. Not time, not space ... not even death.

Let us pray.

Our loving and gracious Lord, today, we … we let go. We surrender our father to Your loving arms. Embrace him. In Christ’s name, we ask. Amen.

It’s the Season for Clergy Change

By Larry Price

Published March 22, 2008

Last week I received an email that surprised me. The pastor at the United Methodist Church in the small village in upstate New York—where my wife and I grew up, attended worship, and were married—is leaving. Like so many other ministers this time of year, he has been assigned to a new church, about 40 miles away, and in a few months will be moving. Pastors eventually receive new appointments. It is a way of life for these dedicated servants of God. It shouldn't have been surprising because Pastor Daryl has served at Faith United Methodist Church in Barker, NY for many years, but we tend to forget that eventually a pastor must go.

We moved away many years ago so while he was never our minister, we like Pastor Daryl. He’s friendly and caring. He’s been a good minister to my wife’s mother and father and my relatives who still live in the community. He’s married couples and he’s consoled many families who lost a loved one. He celebrated the life of my brother at his funeral, eight years ago and we thought he would be there for my sister-in-law’s memorial service later this year. He devotes a lot of time to his children’s sermon each week. In short, he has tended his flock well for more years than I can remember. That’s what good ministers do.

The email said, “There was sadness and tears,” at the Sunday worship when the announcement was made. No doubt, there was sadness and tears at the church where he’s going too, because that church is also losing a minister who was most likely also loved by the congregation there. And the announcement there was probably a surprise to most of that congregation, too. Typically, these changes are announced in both locations on the same day. It’s like a game of clergy dominoes with one announcement leading to another.

Change is difficult, but if both pastors were well liked, they’ll likely fit in well at their new churches, also. It will just take time for the congregations to realize it.

It’s the season for clergy change. On the website of the New England Conference of the United Methodist Church, I counted 40 pastor appointment changes announced so far this year. Many are retiring—the average age of the clergy in the United Methodist churches is getting older—but there are many who will take on new churches.

I don’t know all the factors that go into deciding clergy appointments, but I do know the changes affect congregations and clergy. Pastors become attached to their flocks and so do congregations to their pastors. I would imagine the longer a pastor has been in one place, the deeper the relationship, and the harder it is to say good-bye. Pastor Daryl has been a fixture in that church for many years.

We have not been members there for many years and there have been several pastors at Faith United during those years. After we got married and began our life together, my wife and I moved many times and attended many churches over the years, but when we go back to visit family in our home town, it still feels like a home church to us and always will.

When we were planning our wedding 38 years ago, The Rev. Alan Foster—you always remember the minister who married you—offered us a choice. The old church on Church Street in the village where we both grew up, worshipping and attending Sunday School, was scheduled to be torn down, to be replaced by a brand new, modern and contemporary, house of worship, a few miles away.

(At left, our wedding at the old Barker Methodist Church, 1970)

We could be the last couple married in the old church before it underwent the wrecking ball, or be the first couple to be married in the new church. We elected to start our new life at the old church. It was an easy decision. Our memories were there and even though it's gone, I can see the image of that church standing there every time I drive by Church Street. Some of the memories, I must confess, were not good ones. When I was a young kid, I accidentally put a small hole in one of the windows while tossing chestnuts near the church. I was terrified walking up to the door of the parsonage to tell the pastor what I had done. At first, I wanted to run, but an older kid convinced me that was not the right thing to do. Fortunately, The Rev. Mucci was understanding. Lesson learned.

Here’s the thing. The few times a year when we go back home and worship in the new church—which isn’t so new any more—it still feels like home, because it’s never really been about the building, but the people. Truly, “The church is the people.” When we visit, there are plenty of new faces in the congregation, but we also see the familiar ones, older now, but still recognizable as the people we have known for so many years.

We’re on the mailing list for the church newsletter and we look forward to reading it each month. We also visit the website and enjoy the photos of all the activities. It's almost like we're cheating on our church here in Rhode Island, but in a good way. My wife is also on the list for Pastor Daryl’s email where he shares an inspiring daily message. After he moves on to his new assignment, the newsletter will still arrive every month and the website will still be there, but I’m not sure about the email my wife enjoys every day. I hope she keeps receiving it, but doesn’t that really depend on whether the new pastor decides to do a daily email? Rightly, Pastor Daryl’s daily thoughts should move to a new distribution list in his new congregation.

We’ll go through the same challenges here at North Kingstown this summer because we know our own Pastor Beverly is leaving after 11 years of faithful service to become a district superintendent in Maine (Related: Pastor's Beverly's Legacy). Some time soon, the other clergy domino will fall when another minister, unknown to us, will stand before a congregation somewhere, and tell another congregation the sad news he or she is leaving to go to a Rhode Island town called North Kingstown.

It’s interesting that these two churches that have been faithful rocks in my family’s life will make the same journey of transition at the same time. Yes, there will be some sadness and tears along the way, but they’ll both come through it because of the strength of faithful congregations and the dedication of good shepherds. That’s what good congregations and good pastors do.

It’s the season for clergy change. Change is difficult, but it also offers new challenges and fresh opportunities that can be exciting in the faith journey for pastors and congregations alike. With mixed emotions, here’s to change along with a few prayers for Pastor Beverly, Pastor Daryl and two faithful congregations.

Editor's note: The Rev. Daryl Hansen passed away on Thursday November 12 after a courageous battle with cancer. He died too young and he is missed greatly.

44-year-old man to sell his life on eBay

By Larry Price

Published March 21, 2008

Here’s one for the digital age. According to press reports, a man in Australia is about to auction off on eBay his entire life’s possessions—an expensive home, car, motorbike, his job, friends and lifestyle.

He says he is surrounded by memories of a failed marriage and is desperate to start a new life so he will put it all on sale for the starting price of one Australian dollar—dependent on a two-week trial period.

The package to mend his broken heart is thought to be worth at least $500,000 (US), according to the newspaper, The Daily Mail, but the article says the publicity surrounding the auction is likely to make Ian much richer. Hmmm.

On his website, he is mysterious about the circumstances of his break up after five years of marriage. To find out the rest of the story, you have to download four parts of his autobiography which promises graphic details—at a cost of $2.95. I suspect he’s about to get richer.

The paper says the details may not be as interesting as he promises. Quoting friends of the man, the story says his wife just told him she no longer loves him and wants to move on in her life.

The man's motives—selling it all to start over because of a broken heart—sound fishy, but his ingenuity may make him richer. The downloads on the website alone could make him a millionaire, never mind the sale of the home, jet ski, motor bike and the rest of his ‘stuff.’ I guess that’s the makings for the start of a new life.

At first glance, the headlines on this story in several publications led the reader to believe that here was a broken man about to give up all his worldly possessions to start a new life. The more you read, it appears it is just a ploy to launch one of the biggest Spring cleaning sales ever. The devil is in the details.

As I read the story, I kept thinking how different his abandonment of his worldly possessions is from the sacrifices made by Christ’s apostles.

It may be a stretch, but let’s assume for the moment his broken heart is sincere. He’s giving it all up because someone doesn’t love him any more. The disciples gave up their worldly possessions because they fell in love with Jesus and His message. And then there’s the wealth issue. This man appears to be well off financially, but may be on the road to become even wealthier. The disciples were not rich, but giving up the meager means of living they had—remember Jesus made the fishermen, fishers of men—and leaving their families behind was a greater sacrifice.

We won’t even touch on the persecution that the disciples faced and the earthly lives lost as they gave up everything to follow Jesus. It’s all there to read in another book—better written I’m sure than this man's autobiography. And you can go online to read it free without paying a $2.95 download charge.

I don’t know all the details of this man’s life so I know I’m wrong in ‘casting stones.’ It would be a difficult choice for all of us to follow the example of Christ’s disciples and truly give up everything—income, family—to follow Jesus. Unlike the apostles, we’re not saints, but I don’t think Jesus is asking all of us to give up everything in our lives. He’s only asking us to love one another as He loves us and to serve with our time, our talents and our gifts, whatever they might be.

I hope the eBay auction gives him what he is searching for, but I suspect it won’t be as satisfying as he hopes. I know he'll probably accumulate wealth—if his two week trial period works out—but I would just feel a lot better about this auction if I knew he was giving something back in his new life startup. Perhaps, a good donation to feed the hungry in America or a few mosquito nets to prevent malaria in Africa? Wouldn’t that help mend a broken heart and offer a fresh start in life?

Unfortunately, it’s not available on eBay this week.

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Palm Sunday Postcard—On the Road, A United Methodist Church Is Always Nearby

By Larry Price

Published March 16, 2008

PACIFIC GROVE, CA—Greetings. It’s Palm Sunday and I find myself a few thousand miles from our home church—on a trip in the beautiful area of Monterey, California. That's me at the iconic "Lone Cypress Tree" along Pebble Beach's 17-Mile Drive, in the photo at left.

Fortunately, the First United Methodist Church of Pacific Grove, California was a short drive away from my hotel, and a welcoming place the morning after a long and tiring cross country air flight. Nestled among pine trees—off Sunset Drive and near the entrance to the renowned 17-Mile Drive at Pebble Beach—it’s a beautiful place of worship.

The current church building was founded just a few years before our church in North Kingstown, R. I., but its history goes back farther—to the 19th century.

The church and the city of Pacific Grove were one and the same, long ago. While most cities or towns are founded by commerce, Pacific Grove was a “child of religious desire” and grew out of a Methodist Retreat.

In 1875, a bishop and group of clergy and lay people of the Methodist Episcopal Church met in San Francisco to establish the Pacific Grove Retreat, which later became the City of Pacific Grove. Chautauqua Hall was built in 1881 with Methodists worshipping in the morning and Episcopalians in the afternoon.

The site of the present church on Sunset Drive was purchased in 1955 and, coincidentally, groundbreaking ceremonies on the new church building were held on Palm Sunday, April 15, 1962. A year later—also Palm Sunday, April 7, 1963—the church was consecrated and the first worship service was held. A 40-year anniversary was celebrated on Sunday, April 6, 2003.

First United Methodist is known as the butterfly church, because gorgeous butterflies gather amid the pines in the winter. The church website address is www.butterflychurch.org.

Photo, First United Methodist Church, Pacific Grove, CA

Thanks to the church locator on the United Methodist Church website, and search engines on the internet, you can always find a place to worship on the road.

This is a lovely spot, a pretty church with a warm and welcoming congregation. It’s not home where I would rather be on Palm Sunday, but it’s nice to connect with other United Methodists. And, it’s always good to be reassured that God is with us, wherever we are in this wonderful world. Speaking of wonderful world, today ended here with a glorious sunset on the Pacific (see photo at right) at 7:01 PM PDT.

Hope you had a joyous Palm Sunday in Rhode Island and we’ll see you at Easter Sunrise worship at North Kingstown Town Beach next Sunday at 6:30 AM.

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So Much of Our Lives is ‘Out of Our Hands’

By Larry Price

Published March 7, 2008

Along with thousands of others, I received an email today from Southwest Airlines assuring me that safety is always the airline’s first concern. This followed news accounts that the airline faces millions of dollars in fines for allegedly flying some of its planes which didn’t pass inspection and should have been grounded.

I’m a frequent flier on Southwest and have always been a fan of the airline. The airline has been more dependable than most on departure times and their employees are always friendly and courteous. I want to be reassured by their email, but the news accounts concern me and leave me wondering if some of those flights I took were really safe.

Statistically, airline travel is said to be safer than driving a car, but I’ve always known that when we board a plane, our lives are ‘out of our hands.’ You like to assume that the pilot cares more about his or her life than yours, so he or she will do everything possible to make it a safe flight. I hope the ground crews and safety inspectors--who don’t fly with us--take our safety as seriously as we do.

This week, I was flying back home to the Providence airport from Atlanta. In order to get the lower fare that my company’s travel agency offered, I had to forego a direct flight and accept a ticket from two different airlines. Here’s the strange part. The route took me first from Atlanta south to Jacksonville, Florida—the opposite direction from Providence. Huh? I will never understand how flying more miles and using more fuel results in a lower fare, but it often does in the world of air travel. It’s ‘out of our hands.’

Once I arrived in Jacksonville, I had to connect to another airline and fly to Washington, DC where we were suppose to land, pick up passengers and continue on to Providence. However, when we landed in Washington, we were told we had to board another airliner for the remainder of the trip to Providence. And the flight was late leaving Washington. A lot of flights are late these days. It’s ‘out of hands.’

Just before we left DC, a man, lugging a suitcase, came running on board—one of those mad dashes to catch a plane. He fell into a seat, exhausted, breathing heavily and clutching his chest. Everyone thought we were about to witness a heart attack—including a flight attendant who asked him, “Do you need a doctor?” He grunted, “No,” but he wasn’t able to get up to put his luggage in the overhead storage bin. A flight attendant stowed it for him and asked him again if he needed assistance. Quite angry now, he again said “No,” and the flight soon departed. We were well into our flight before he seemed to get the color back in his face and began to breathe normally.

Several years ago, I was that man racing to catch a flight because I was in a panic that I would miss my connection. After that experience, I promised myself I would never again run through an airport like O.J. Simpson in those old Hertz car rental commercials. And I never have. I figure I wasn’t meant to make that flight and there will always be another one, and running for one particular one is not worth risking my health. That’s something that is not ‘out of our hands.’

Airline travel is just one example of all the things in our lives that can be ‘out of our hands.’ Every day we face obstacles, troubles and setbacks, some of which we can control or change and many that we can’t. Learning to accept that is a big step in life. Learning to surrender to God what is ‘out of our hands’ is a big step in our faith development.

When I get on a plane, I try to surrender to God any fears I have with a prayer before take off. Trying to surrender to the good Lord all the other things in life we can’t control is harder.

I read today that our government is spending $42 million for postage to send all of us a letter from the President telling us our income tax rebates from the economic stimulus package will be in the mail shortly. That’s right, $42 million to tell us the check’s in the mail—almost. In a political year, it smacks of a self-congratulatory letter to let us know our government is thinking of us. We already know from reading the newspaper, watching television news and reading the internet that the checks will come one day. They’ll also spend millions more to mail a letter to the rest of the people who don’t qualify for a rebate. And then they’ll spend millions more to actually mail the checks. Is this nuts, or am I just crazy? Isn’t there a better way to spend millions of dollars?

Last week, CBS’ 60 Minutes reported the story of hundreds of people without health insurance who lined up in a Tennessee city to receive free medical and dental care offered by a charitable group that organizes doctors and dentists to volunteer for this wonderful service. Some of the people had driven hundreds of miles and waited in their cars overnight trying to ensure that they could see a doctor or dentist for the first time in years. One woman had cancer, but had not had a follow up exam in over a year because she couldn’t afford it. Despite all their work, the volunteers had to turn away many when time ran out at the end of the weekend clinic. I have to wonder: how much more that organization, and many other worthwhile volunteer programs like it, could do with just a token of that $42 million paid in postage stamps?

Where’s our compassionate leadership?

From all I’ve read, President Abraham Lincoln was one of the most compassionate leaders we’ve ever had in America. In a recent column, a popular business speaker, Harvey Mackay, writes that after the Civil War, Lincoln once was criticized for referring to the Confederates in kind terms. The woman critic asked the President how he could speak generously of his enemies when he should rather destroy them. "Why, Madam," replied Lincoln, "do I not destroy them when I make them my friends?"

Where’s the leadership in today’s often greedy world?

Mackay tells another story about Lincoln. “One of Lincoln's neighbors in Springfield, Ill., heard children crying in the street and rushed out of his house to investigate. There he found Lincoln with two of his sons, both of whom were sobbing uncontrollably. ‘Whatever is the matter with the boys, Mr. Lincoln?’ he asked. ‘Just what's the matter with the whole world,’ replied Lincoln. ‘I've got three walnuts, and each wants two.’"

Lincoln understood a world that has dramatically changed in 150 years, and yet hasn’t changed at all. Let’s hope life’s great task of getting some of the ‘walnuts’ out of our hands and into the hands of those who truly need them is not yet ‘out of our hands.’ We know the concern is already in His hands.

Editor's note - I was glad to see the 60 Minutes report mentioned in the essay above was awarded a coveted Peabody award in March 2009

The Dance of Life

February 14, 2008

By Larry Price

You’ve seen it at wedding celebrations. Couples go to the floor and dance as the band plays on. The band leader asks couples married fewer than one year to leave the floor. A few leave. Then 5 years and more depart. 10 years of marriage and the number of couples on the floor shrinks. 20 years, 30 years, 40 years and soon you are looking at only a few couples. By 50 years, it’s a handful of couples still dancing. Over 55 years and my brother Tim and his wife Brenda, married 57 years, were always the last couple dancing on the floor.

Proudly posted on the wall of a Florida hospital room wall was a photo of the smiling couple as they captured their last recognition for the longest married couple at a recent wedding. It brought smiles to the faces of two daughters, six grandchildren and extended family who had flown in from distant homes each time they looked at it in those final days.

Once upon a time families were not separated by distance. They grew up together in the same city or small town and we took it for granted. Several generations lived together, often in the same house, but at least growing up in close proximity to each other. Automobiles, airplanes, college educations, and job opportunities changed all that. Each generation scattered to all different parts of the country and the opportunities to see each other diminished to a few times a year—holidays, vacation trips, family weddings and other special occasions, and sadly, in times of death.

Like so many families, death has not been a stranger to our extended family. We’ve lost spouses, mothers and fathers, grandparents, children, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, a nephew, brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law, cousins. As family tree branches spread, each family unit naturally tries to spend quality time with its children, grandchildren and great grandchildren and time with extended family is reduced.

A birth, a marriage, but especially the death of a loved one brings us back together, reminding us how precious a life is, our need to celebrate it, and how fleeting it can be.

Brenda, my sister-in-law, was recently diagnosed with cancer, hospitalized in that hospital room with the precious photograph, and despite the best efforts of skilled doctors and nurses was taken from us two weeks later. While we all consoled each other with the comfort in knowing she didn’t suffer for a long time, her sudden death was difficult to comprehend. It left us coping with sadness and an emptiness in our hearts. She had great faith and near the end, said she was ready to go. By her faith, she had made her peace with dying and told her family she was ready to “meet her maker.” Accepting death is hard, and it is even harder on the loved ones left behind.

The family that surrounded her in those last days was loving and strong. Two daughters, a son-in-law, her six grandchildren and a devoted husband maintained the vigil and said their loving goodbyes. A few members of the extended family also gathered in the final hour. In her final days, Brenda had worried about the husband and family she was leaving. Caring doctors and nurses assured her that right now, “It’s all about you.” When her mother passed, Pam, the eldest daughter, told her father, “Now, it’s all about you.”

As we gathered together in the days following Brenda’s death, we shared our emotions and our memories—both poignant and humorous. And for brief periods, we were able to bring smiles to her husband’s face, my brother Tim. We knew great sadness was constantly in his heart between the smiles and laughter, but celebrating a life through laughter amid the tears helped.

We laughed about how early in their marriage, Tim several times loaned his car to his kid brother George and how his wife Brenda, a good sister-in-law, would slip him spending money for the dates. Twice the car came back damaged, but it never stopped the young couple from helping a brother.

We talked about the youthful escapades of Tim and his brother and sister. How they grew up poor, but never felt poor, because they always realized the richness of a loving divorced mother and a caring grandmother. How the siblings worked from the time they were young to help out a struggling family growing up in the depression of the 1930s and the decade that followed. How their mother worked long hours in a five and dime store to pay the bills and then labored in an aircraft factory during World War II. She eventually married again to a good and hard working man with whom she had two more sons. My brother Frank and I were both much younger than our older half-siblings. We four brothers and one sister never considered ourselves half of anything, but rather full brothers and sister because we shared a love for each other and for the same loving mother. Because my late brother Frank and I were younger, we became uncles when we were still kids--thanks to Tim and Brenda, brother George and his wife Pat, and our sister Beverly and her late husband Bob. I’m now blessed with grand nieces and nephews and even great grand nephews and nieces. Most of my nephews and nieces are only a few years younger than me and their parents, my siblings, are old enough to be my parents, which they were in many ways when our mother died when I was 17.

Together, we all talked at length, reviving long ago memories that Tim and Brenda’s grandchildren, assembled around us, had never heard before. My brother George—I tell him he got the talking genes in our family--regaled three generations of family with humorous stories as only he could tell them. The times Timmy hit him on the head with the Sears catalogue. “See, I’ve still got the indentation,” he claimed, pointing to his head. He worried later that some of his stories may have been inappropriate for the occasion. They weren’t, of course. They all helped, triggering laughs and smiles that for a time wiped away tears. One story would lead to another and Tim’s face suddenly lighted up and he laughed out loud as he began to recount his own version of the stories of his youth like when he threw a clothes hamper at George and they both threw tomatoes at sister Beverly while she danced. How the boys quickly ate their chocolate pie and their sister finished hers slowly, all the time teasing them about how good it was as they watched her. His grandchildren marveled at a side of their grandfather they had not seen before. One said it was like watching and listening to an episode of The Little Rascals comedy.

When the laughter stopped, the pain and sadness returned and we know there will be many difficult days ahead for the family--especially Tim. Losing a spouse is the most difficult thing in life. Tim’s oldest daughter Pam knows. She lost her husband and raised two sons by herself with help of her parents, her husband’s family and many friends. The sons grew up and Brenda was proud of them. She was proud of all of her grandchildren and especially her two daughters, Pam and Vicki. Her emails and conversations always related all they were accomplishing. My sister Beverly knows how difficult it is too. She also lost her husband and, tragically, a son too. She says the sorrow never leaves entirely, but you learn to cope with it, one step at a time, one day at a time.

Everyone has to grieve in his or her own way. It is a long and very personal journey. Others can help, but you have to travel that road largely on your own, one step at a time. With God’s help, you get through it, still carrying an empty place in your heart, but committed to going on because your loved one would want you to do that. God’s love gives us the grace to celebrate and honor the lives of those who go before us and eventually the happy memories over take the sad ones.

I am fascinated by how from humble beginnings, couples like Tim and Brenda can create and build amazing legacies through their children and grandchildren. Family trees sprout and grow from one generation to another until most of us reach the point where we don’t know and have never met the distant cousins. Grandparents of several generations ago fade away without us ever learning much, if anything, about them. Interest in genealogy often comes too late in life and those personal stories that are never told are lost forever because families don’t spend time passing them on to the next generation. Telling stories is part of the celebration of life.

Never forget that each life is a celebration to be shared for we are all precious children of God. The life of the dance will one day end for all of us, but the dance of life never stops.

Pastor Beverly’s Legacy at North Kingstown United Methodist Church

By Larry Price

Published January 8, 2008

Beverly Stenmark came to North Kingstown United Methodist Church in July 1997. She will leave in July 2008 to become the superintendent of the Mid Maine district of the New England Conference, closing out a remarkable 11-year run as our pastor. Eleven years in one place is unusual for a Methodist minister. After all, they trace their roots from the Wesley tradition of circuit riders. We all knew, including Beverly, that her time here would end some day. We just didn’t know when that would be, choosing to enjoy it while it lasted.

Her appointment was historic. Beverly was our first female pastor, but more importantly, she brought us together at a difficult time in our church. She went on to lead us through the tragedies of 9/11 and the Station fire, grew our congregation and added a second Sunday worship service, helped one young child receive a life-saving liver transplant and another a second chance heart surgery and new life in America. She was here for the celebration of our church’s 30th, 35th and 40th anniversaries. She celebrated with us weddings and wedding anniversaries, births and baptisms and helped us understand the deaths of loved ones.

She found financial help for people in need—many of them anonymous to us. She constantly educated us on issues of justice---domestic violence and the need to correct the injustices of society. Without counting them all, I would guess that by the time she leaves in July, she will have written more than 470 sermons for our congregation, delivering most of them twice a Sunday since 2001. Even more impressive, over 470 inspiring and often humorous Sunday lessons for the children of our church. If you think it’s easy, try to do just one a year and then you’ll appreciate the math.

She pushed us to be good stewards with our time, talents and gifts, always relating it to the Glory of God and thanksgiving for the blessings we have. She encouraged us to help flood victims, to feed the hungry and buy blankets to keep people warm in dark places. She laughed with us at talent shows and encouraged us to reach out to our community and beyond wherever there was need. She saw the need for a Learning Team to plan the future of our church while always remembering our blessed history as a church.

She embraced the new technology of email and website to improve efficiencies and grow our mission, but she still had an amazing way of remembering everyone’s name as we filed out of church on Sunday, whether or not we wear name tags. Most of the teenagers and young adults in our church grew up while Beverly was their pastor. She knows them all and cares about each one of them. For Beverly, this church has been family now for over 10 years. And that’s why it will be difficult to say goodbye in July. But Beverly’s greatest strength may be how she has always led us by giving our church congregation the faith to get things done. That faith will remain with us as we transition to a new pastor. She will leave us better than we were when she arrived and she knows we will carry on because she has instilled in all of us the solid belief that “We are the church and part of the body of Christ.”

Pastors come and go---and we have been blessed with some very good shepherds over the years---but our church always endures, in good and difficult times. Each pastor becomes part of our church’s DNA, but a few are always remembered in our hearts long after they leave to accept God’s next call. Pastor Beverly will be one of them.

To the pastors and congregations of the Mid Maine District, we can assure you one of God's wonderful gifts will arrive in July.

Prayers for Mary Fran and Dave

By Larry Price

Published March 23, 2007

Your editor was on business this past week in one of the most beautiful places on earth – Pebble Beach, California. And no, I didn’t get to play golf, but I did almost come into play on one shot. More about that later.

During a break in our business conference, I took Dave, a business associate, for a ride on the beautiful 17-Mile Drive that stretches along the Pacific coast. That’s Dave in the photo at right as we stopped to view the famous Lone Cyprus Tree, one of the most photographed spots in the world. He had never seen this beautiful part of the country before. I’ve been fortunate to have been here about five times now. I’m still in awe every time I see the majesty of this part of the world.

But this story is not about me. It’s about Dave’s wife Mary Fran and about what she and Dave are about to go through. Next week, Mary Fran will go into a hospital to donate a kidney to save her brother’s life.

In her sermon this Sunday, Pastor Beverly speaks of risking 'extravagant love,' relating the scripture when Mary knelt before Jesus and poured expensive perfume on his feet in an act of love and kindness at a time when Jesus knew he would face death on the cross. While others questioned Mary's action as wasteful, Jesus recognized it as an act of love. Pastor Beverly says, "Mary shows us here that sometimes it’s okay to be extravagant because God’s love is extravagant beyond imagination. There is an extravagance in God’s actions that unlocks doors that have been locked, breaks down barriers that have been built through the years and offers a new and exciting way of life."

Donating a kidney to give life. Wow, talk about a courageous and extravagant gift of love. I ask your prayers for Mary Fran, her brother, and Dave, too. May God be with them all. Amen.

On our trip last week, I also took Dave to the Pebble Beach golf course. We walked the cart path along that famous 18th fairway that dog-legs along the Pacific Ocean. It was a beautiful day until we heard someone shout, “Fore!” We stopped, but before we could take cover, a ball bounced about 3-feet in front of me, bounced over my head and then careened off the cart path, and back onto the fairway. It was then we spotted the golfer, who apparently has a slight slice to his stroke, emerging from a sand trap about 100 yards ahead. When the concerned golfer got closer and offered an apology for the errant shot, I recognized him as a customer of mine from San Diego. I matter-of-factly said, “Mike, I know you don’t like paying those bills we send you each month, but did you have to take it out on me?” He laughed and said, “Let that be a lesson to you.”

Lesson learned: No more walks on the cart path. It's said ‘close’ only counts in handling hand grenades and the game of horseshoes, but I can tell you it counts in golf too. And closeness matters even more in the life of a family.

Keep Mary Fran in your prayers this week. She's one brave and gracious lady. May her extravagant gift of love unlock doors and may the Lord be with her and her family.

By Larry Price

Editor www.nkumcri.com

editor@nkumcri.com

The Faithfulness of Ken Green

By Larry Price

Published October 18, 2006

The next time I wake up tired on a Sunday morning and contemplate skipping worship service, I’m going to think about Ken Green. Except for the times he was hospitalized, I hardly remember a Sunday that I didn’t see Ken sitting in a back pew when people gathered to worship at North Kingstown United Methodist Church. Over the past several years, despite Parkinson’s disease steadily wearing down his body and his mobility, Ken still made it to church each Sunday as he has for forty years – the entire life of the church he loved. If you’re looking for inspiration to make it to Sunday worship, remember Ken Green.

Ken and his wife Ida are charter members of our church, a small select group of dedicated people who built our place of worship, nurtured its growth, saw it through the tough times when the Quonset Navy Base closed, and remain active today. When we held our annual yard sale just over a week ago, Ken was there with Ida, offering coffee and doughnuts.

When Ken Green died Wednesday, October 18th, only weeks before the 40th anniversary celebration of the church he loved, we lost someone special, a part of the soul of this church.

Ken was part of the fabric of our church tapestry. Over the years, he served our church in many capacities. He served on committees and held positions, but often his time was spent performing the hard tasks that bring no recognition – the kind of work that is necessary to make a church function, but often fails to be noticed. Even when his health began to slow him down, he would be the first person to carry tables into the fellowship hall to set up dinners and special occasions. And he was there to take them down at the end, too. In recent years, he would pause and rest from the heavy lifting only after someone insisted that he take rest.

I found two references to Ken Green in the history pages of our church website. Nora Almond is the wife of The Rev. Jonathan Almond, who became our part time church pastor when we were forced to ‘yoke’ with another church in Wakefield after the Navy base closing in the early 1970’s. Jon eventually became our fulltime pastor and led us through the difficult times. In her note to our church during our 35th anniversary, five years ago, Nora Almond recalled with fondness the choir rehearsals back then “in Jon’s office, no bigger than a closet, but then the whole choir was Jon and Ken Green.” In his account on how our church found an available pipe organ at a church in Newburgh, New York, Syd Gledhill writes how a hearty band made the trip, took apart the organ, “loaded the pipes, console and blower on a van and sent it to Ken Green’s attention at a warehouse where he stored it until the new sanctuary was completed years later.”

Ken sang in the choir for many years and that pipe organ he stored for several years is the same organ in our sanctuary today. Ken Green never sought fame or recognition. He was truly an unsung hero for this church and the God he loved. Faithful to the end. His faithfulness to worship. That is what I will remember most about Ken Green. For most of us, it is easy to get to church and get home. For Ken, it was a struggle in recent years, but he did it, faithfully.

I’ll also always remember the dedication the couple had for each other. Each weekend Ken would help his wife of over 61 years, Ida, set up the coffee for Sunday fellowship. In more recent years when his health became an obstacle, he would sit in the Narthex and wait for Ida to finish cleaning the coffee pot that they used to prepare together each Sunday for fellowship, year after year. Another example of the work that gets done without much recognition. And then together – after most people were gone – Ida would help Ken, aided by a four-wheel walker, negotiate the slow and careful walk to the car. And if you offered to help, they usually declined, choosing to make the trip together -- as one -- just as they have lived throughout their married life.

In January 2005, the church celebrated the couple’s 60th wedding anniversary. The wedding in 1944 was actually held in December, but snow storms postponed our celebration for a few weeks. When they got married, it was wartime and Ken was in the Navy and Ida was in the Army-Air Corps, the forerunner of the Air Force. As she cut the cake during their 60th anniversary, Ida remarked “we didn’t even have a cake when we got married.” Cake or no cake, the marriage lasted. And the couple’s love for each other is an inspiration for all married couples. Each lived to serve the needs of the other. Each lived to care for the other, in sickness and in good health. Each made the other complete.

When we pause to reflect on our church’s 40th anniversary on November 5th, take a moment to think about Ken Green and celebrate his life -- his love for Ida, his love for his church, and his love for the God he worshipped every Sunday. Whether he was young or old, in good or failing health, Ken Green was faithful to all of his great loves.

Tribute to a Friend

By Larry Price

Tribute to my friend and colleague Bart Swenson – announcing to his colleagues at AP his death June 29, 2006, after a 19-month battle with cancer.

Bart Swenson

We have prayed for a long time that this day would not come, but I knew that if it did, I would not let Bart’s passing go without letting you know how we who worked with Bart at The Associated Press, felt about him.

Bart had friends throughout The Associated Press and at TV stations from across the country. But the small circle who worked with him on a daily basis at AP had a special bond. There has always been a joke around AP that the band of TV sales people always travels in a pack. Whenever, we are together –- those few times each year at conventions, meetings -– we always do everything together. There’s a reason for that. The fact is we talk to each other every day by phone and through email, and when we are together, we like to spend time together because we genuinely enjoy each other’s company. We joke with each other, we argue with each other, we care about each other. We’re just like brothers and to us, Bart was our youngest brother.

Bart’s memory will always be with us -- his friendship, his passion for what he did in life, his smile, and his humor.

Before we joined AP Television’s sales team, we all had a previous life in TV journalism. We covered stories, managed newsrooms and dealt with daily deadlines on stories that we thought mattered. It was exciting, but we all learn too late in life that those are not the really important stories. The really important stories in life are the marriages, the births of our children, the baptisms, the graduations, the family holiday celebrations, the celebration of the lives of family and friends who pass from this earthly world; the faith we have in the God who made us, the kindnesses that human beings do for each other. These are the really important stories of life.

When Bart’s mother passed away, I shared with Bart some of my feelings when my mother died many years ago. I was 17 and I remember feeling anger, extreme sadness and great love all at the same time. I shared with Bart that losing a loved one requires a period of grieving and it is different for each and every person. It is a process we all have to go through. But I also told him that I found that in time God has an amazing way of changing that grieving to good memories. And that in his own time, he would feel more good memories than sad memories. When you lose someone you love, there will always be a part of your heart that feels empty, but there’s a larger part that will carry good memories and allow you to celebrate that person’s life. In time the tears change to smiles when you remember.

All of us who cared for Bart are from different parts of the country, different families, different backgrounds, different faiths. But we are all connected today for one reason --- we all loved Bart. He touched each and every one of us. He made a difference in all of our lives.

I remember a specific time when Bart and I were in Washington together. We had finished a day of work and we went to see the new World War Two memorial, and then stopped by the Lincoln Memorial. Bart got a phone call from one of his children who had been dropped off at the wrong athletic field back home in Minnesota and wanted dad’s advice on what to do. We sat down on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial while Bart made some phone calls and reached his brother Jeff back home who could pick his daughter up. When she was safely in the hands of his brother, we both sighed with relief and we talked about how this was the part of the our jobs that was most difficult -– on the road, away from family. Bart said to me, “I’m fortunate, I have a lot of good family back home to help in times like this.” In this case, a good brother. There in the shadow of one of America’s greatest monuments, our thoughts were properly centered on what’s important in life – family.

To us, Bart was also that good brother. And we celebrate his life and the time we had together.

A noted preacher once said:

“I have concluded that the accumulation of wealth, even if I could achieve it, is an insufficient reason for living. When I reach the end of my days ... I must look backward at something more meaningful than the pursuit of houses and land, of machines and stocks and bonds. Nor is fame of any lasting benefit. I will consider my earthly existence to have been wasted, unless I can recall a loving family XE "a loving family" , a consistent investment in the lives of people and an earnest attempt to serve the God who made me. Then, nothing else makes much sense.”

Bart measured up to that --- a loving family, an investment in the lives of all of us, he served the God who made him. And we are all better for having known him.

We thank God for allowing us to be part of Bart’s life. We ask His grace and love for Bart’s family. May He wrap His arms around them and comfort them. Give them strength and the support of family and friends. Lord, we ask that you work your wondrous ways to change the pain we feel today to good memories of Bart, our friend, one of your children and loyal servants. Amen.

A New Appreciation for “The Fonz”

By Larry Price

Published May 7, 2006

I have a new appreciation for actor, producer, director Henry Winkler and I think a few thousand other Rhode Islanders do too. Winkler, better known for his long running role as Arthur Fonzarelli, aka “The Fonz”, in the popular television sitcom Happy Days, was the speaker at New England Institute of Technology’s commencement at the Providence Civic Center on May 7^th.

Winkler’s speech would have been enough to impress the graduates and parents, faculty and staff assembled. He was eloquent, humorous and had a telling message about how everyone has a talent. “If you will it, it is not a dream,” Winkler told the graduates. You only need to never finish a negative thought to make a contribution.

He talked about growing up and his struggle with education -- how he had to work so hard to learn and how the arts and in his case, acting, provided him with an avenue to focus on the positive. Despite parents not understanding him, he graduated from Emerson College and went on to Yale’s drama school and began his career by doing commercials. He eventually landed the role on Happy Days and more recently has been a successful producer and director.

He related how he had to work so hard to achieve success because of a learning disability never understood and never diagnosed until much later in his life.

The epiphany came in the moment he realized he was suffering from the same symptoms diagnosed in his step son.

You see, Henry Winkler is dyslexic. He reminded the commencement audience that people with learning disabilities are no less intelligent than anyone else, they merely learn differently.

His message gave hope to a few thousand graduates that they can overcome what life deals them in the future. Yes, the speech alone would have been enough from Henry Winkler, but after the speech, The Fonz went the extra mile.

As the graduates began to parade across the stage at the Civic Center, one of the early parade of graduates reached over and shook Winkler’s hand as he sat nearby. Winkler stood up and then did something I have never seen a commencement speaker do before. He remained standing and personally congratulated every graduate after he or she received the diploma. Winkler congratulated each graduate by name –- shaking a hand, accepting a kiss on the cheek from the girls. For nearly two hours, he stood and personally sent each student on to their new life.

While the governor had to leave early, while parents left for the restrooms or the coffee stand, or to stretch their legs, Winkler remained on stage, standing and shaking hands. It was quite extraordinary.

Henry Winkler’s accomplishments are well know. His sitcom was on TV for years. The black leather jacket he wore as The Fonz is in the Smithsonian. He’s lesser known for his important work in creating books to help children learn. And his motivating speech and his selfless gesture in personally congratulating hundreds of graduates will not be widely known outside the Civic Center audience on this day, but I’ll bet everyone in that audience has a new appreciation for Dr. Henry Winkler.

Commencement speeches often can be empty clichés, but Winkler’s message clearly was spoken from the heart of a man who has lived its meaning. When he began his speech, Winkler said, “I can’t think of another place where I would rather be today than here.” At the end of the day, it rang true.

A Lesson from the Good Lord: When You’re Angry, Make Something Good Happen

Published April 19, 2006

I love Easter Sunday and always find it to be a joy to get up early to catch the Easter sunrise worship. Mondays are a different story. It’s back to work and some times I find it difficult to start the new work week. Remember that feeling as a kid when you had to go back to school on Monday morning?

This Monday, a day after Easter, was particularly difficult because I had to get up at 4 AM to catch a 6 AM flight at the airport. If you’re a regular business traveler you know Mondays and Fridays are the busy travel days you try to avoid at the airport, but it’s often impossible because you can’t always control your appointments.

I got through the hassles of airport security and was glad to see that my flight was scheduled to be on time. The plane was full, but we did take off on time and arrived safely in New York City on time. I had an hour wait at LaGuardia, but my connecting flight to Richmond also looked to be on time.

We boarded and taxied toward the runway. Then the problems began. The pilot announced that because we were a few minutes late in leaving, we had missed our assigned departure window and would be penalized by the flight controllers. We would be moved back in line. Our plane sat and then would move ahead slowly. As the minutes clicked away, I started to stress about making my 12 noon appointment in Richmond. I had scheduled an early flight in the first place to account for delays, but as the parade of planes ahead of us slowly marched forward, I began to realize that the appointment was in jeopardy.

We left about an hour late, made up some of the lost time in the air, and I arrived in Richmond a little after 11 AM. With a 20 to 25 minute ride to downtown, I should be okay. When the plane landed and I turned on my cell phone, there was a message from my business colleague who was flying in from Atlanta to meet me for the planned meeting. His flight was running late, but he thought the delay would be minimal. He asked that I wait for him. He had our rental car reserved. Now do I wait for him and risk being late for the meeting or jump in a cab? I decided to wait. As the clock ticked away, more stress.

Well, he arrived about 11:30 AM. I called ahead and told one of our customers we were running a little late but we expected to be there by noon. We got the rental car and headed out of the airport. My colleague who was driving turned to me and said, “Do you have the directions?” I stared at him and replied, “You were supposed to have the directions.”

As he headed the car toward downtown, I quickly called another colleague and said, “Are you sitting by your computer?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Good, please look up on Map Quest how to get from the Richmond airport to this address.” I proceeded to give him the address for the meeting. After a few minutes, we got the exit number and the street turns and, well, we arrived safely at our destination.

We quickly found a parking spot. While my colleague fed coins into the meter, I went inside and began checking us through the company’s security. Four quarters later, he was there and we jumped in the elevator and arrived at the meeting room just strokes before noon --- to find that two of the three meeting attendees had not arrived.

They came in about 15 minutes later and we began a two and a half hour meeting. The meeting went well. It was a working lunch meeting and the only problem was the sandwiches arrived late too. But that was only a minor problem.

We left for the airport about 3 PM. We both had booked 6 PM flights because we weren’t sure how long the meeting would last. We felt lucky because we were both able to get on earlier flights. It was a race to the gates since the flights were leaving about 3:50 PM.

Both our flights left on time and we were heading home, always a great feeling when you travel nearly every week. I arrived in Philadelphia thinking I’ll be home about 7 PM instead of 9:30 PM.

The connecting flight from Philly left on time --- or at least left the gate on time. However, as we taxied out, the pilot announced there were about 25 planes ahead of us and allowing about two minutes in take off time for each plane, we faced a delay of --- well, you do the math. A note here. If you travel and someone tries to route through Philadelphia, avoid it. Philadelphia’s airport is notorious for delays. Congestion between New York and Washington? The slightest rain? Too many flights? No one knows why. It’s just a fact of road warrior life. Philadelphia always seems to have its problems, but some days you can’t avoid changing planes in Philadelphia. About an hour later, we finally reached the runway and took off.

The flight had its bumpy moments, but we arrived safely, and any flight that arrives safely, is – in my book -- a good flight. We taxied up to the airport gate and I thought “home at last.”

Then the voice of the pilot came on the intercom. “Folks,” he said, “We have a slight problem. We apparently got a bad gate. They can’t seem to get the moving jet way to the plane’s door. We may be here for awhile. Welcome to Providence!” By now frustrations were setting in among the passengers. And it didn’t help when the pilot came back on and said, “Any one want to go back to Philadelphia?”

To myself, I was screaming, “Just open the door and I’ll jump out.”

After twenty minutes in a hot cramped airplane, they finally got the moving jet way to move, but the flight attendant warned that the door could not open all the way so “be careful on the way out.” As I was about to get out of my seat, a passenger in the row behind me stood up, and in his rush, swung around and hit me in the head with his elbow. It hurt. He apologized and I just nodded an acknowledgment.

When I finally left the plane, I was tired, frustrated, and quite frankly, angry. My day had begun at 4 AM and it was now after 8 PM and I had had very little to eat all day. I began walking quickly down the airport corridor. I had one thing on my mind --- get to my car and go home. As I rushed down the corridor, I started to pass an elderly lady. I had remembered seeing her on the plane sitting in the first row. She had boarded the plane early – that time when people who have difficulty can get some extra time to walk down the jet way. Just as I was about to race past her, I noticed she stopped and put down her bag and gave an audible sigh. I was about to keep going, but a voice inside me said, “She’s having trouble carrying that bag, stop and help her.” I stopped, turned, and asked her, “May I help you carry that bag?”

She looked up at me somewhat surprised and said, “Oh, would you?”

“Sure, I’d be happy to.”

I reached down and picked up the bag and we slowly resumed our walk.

“That was a tiring flight,” she said.

“Yes, flying is always an adventure,” I replied.

“She’s my baby,” she offered.

“Excuse me?”

"In the bag, that’s my little dog in there,” she said.

I had not realized her bag was one of those mesh carriers that people use to transport small dogs on airplanes.

“What kind of dog is she?”

“A Pekinese, she explained.”

We walked along and talked and when we got close to the terminal waiting area, she said, “I can carry her now. Thank you so much for helping.”

I told her it was my pleasure and we said our good-byes and went our separate ways.

As I continued on to the parking garage, the frustrations, the stress, the anger melted away and the tired body felt renewed. And I slowed down and thought to myself the good Lord taught me another lesson tonight. If you want to change your disposition, do something nice for someone and make something good happen. A good deed has its own reward. At the end of the day, that's what it's all about.

God uses talents and kindness of strangers to save a 12-year old girl

By Larry Price, North Kingstown UMC website editor

In a world of religious strife, the Lord has used the kindness and talents of strangers from many faiths to marshal a miracle in providing life-saving heart surgery for a Muslim child half-a-world away.

12-year old Saffiatu Bah from Sierra Leone, West Africa, finally had a second chance at life in March when surgeons repaired two faulty valves and a hole in her heart at a hospital in Israel. Saffiatu’s story can best be summed up in the words of that great hymn, Pass It On: “It only takes a spark to get a fire going … that’s how it is with God’s love.”

Saffiatu’s condition was first diagnosed in the summer of 2005 at her home town of Kabala, Sierra Leone at the NarSarah Clinic, operated by Cranston, Rhode Island residents Daniel and Dorcas Kamanda. Dorcas also grew up in Kabala and founded CITA International, a charity that supports the clinic which provides basic health care in the remote rural town. Dorcas related Saffiatu’s plight in the weekly bulletin of the North Kingstown, Rhode Island United Methodist Church where she and Daniel are members. The "spark" was ignited.

When 11-year old Samantha Dallas read the item, she told her mother Lisa, “Saffiatu should not have to suffer because of where she was born. If she lived here, she would have had surgery by now and would be playing with her friends.” Samantha’s caring wisdom touched her family’s heart. Lisa, mother of four daughters -- including Samantha’s twin sister Abbey, Carly 8 and Grace 4 – and her husband Jeff decided to do something about it.

Lisa began making phone calls and sending emails in an effort to secure the life-saving heart surgery Saffiatu needed. The North Kingstown UMC congregation began responding with donations, and The Rev. Beverly Stenmark, pastor of the church, approached her flock about using a few thousand dollars -- what was remaining from a fund that had been raised a few years ago to provide successful liver surgery for another child in the congregation – as seed money to start a new fund to pay for Saffiatu’s travel, surgery and medical care. The congregation unanimously agreed.

After months of hard work, cutting through red tape and securing passports, Lisa found, through Save A Child’s Heart foundation, a hospital in Israel willing to accept Saffiatu for evaluation for the heart surgery. A doctor accepted Saffiatu’s case despite the fact the most basic of routine heart examinations could not be secured in her native country.

As the summer stretched into autumn and winter, the North Kingstown congregation raced against time and Saffiatu’s deteriorating health to raise the estimated $25,000 needed for Saffiatu’s travel, medical care and surgery. They made homemade bracelets and Valentine cards which were offered for donations at the church, in local schools and at tables outside a local supermarket. A complete stranger taking his jar of coins to the supermarket to exchange them for paper money, instead gave the money to Saffiatu’s fund. The youth in the church began work projects for donations.

By now, the local news media – newspapers and television stations – had begun picking up the story from church news releases and updates on the church website www.nkumcri.com. The church secured enough donations from a generous public to pay for Saffiatu and her mother to travel to Israel for a medical evaluation; but more money was needed. Jeff Dallas' employer offered a generous donation.

An 8-year old boy in the congregation, Hudson Reynolds, came up with the idea to ride his bike for 16-miles to collect donations from sponsors. Hudson, his sister Miriah and mom, Melody, and Lisa Dallas and her twin girls, finished their ride on a cold February Saturday, just hours before a huge snow storm blanketed the state. A local toy store donated 10 per cent of its day’s receipts to the cause. Teachers at Hudson’s school donated their “casual dress Friday fund” and gave Hudson scores of balloons to mark the site of his ride. Another perfect stranger stopped by prior to the bike ride and said while he couldn’t ride with Hudson, he had a check for him. When the donations had been collected, Hudson stood before the congregation on a Sunday morning and reported he and his friends had raised over $1,700 for Saffiatu.

By early February, Saffiatu had endured more than 16-hours of air travel to arrive in Israel and began undergoing medical evaluation. Her condition was worse than expected. In addition to the hole in her heart, the young child had two faulty heart valves which were leaking. She was jaundice and weak from rheumatic heart disease. The congregation was worried, but could only wait and pray. The child’s fate was in the hands of doctors and God.

More anxious weeks passed with little news on the condition of the little girl whom the church congregation members had never met, yet held close to their hearts.

Finally, in March, word came in an email to Lisa Dallas. Surgeons had successfully repaired Saffiatu’s heart. Saffiatu was recovering in intensive care, and while she faced a long recovery period, the first critical step had been taken. She would have the best chance of a full recovery.

The church is celebrating by sending “get well” cards to Saffiatu, and encouraging people of faith everywhere to look for ways to serve the Lord by helping others. In her weekly sermon on the weekend following Saffiatu’s surgery, Pastor Beverly Stenmark encouraged the congregation: “Each of us has the same 24 hours in every day. The world is quick to tell us how to fill those 24 hours, just as the world was quick to tell Jesus what was important from their perspective. One of the lessons we can learn in the wilderness is not to let others tell us who we are and what is important. Let us use this time (Lent) to discover or rediscover our priorities in life.”

Pass it on. “It only takes a spark ... that's how it is with God's love."

Pass It On: God Uses the Kindness of Strangers to Make Miracles Happen
By Larry Price

Published Saturday, February 11, 2006

8-year old Hudson’s Reynolds’ email address (thereynoldsbarn@cox.net) in box has been working overtime, accumulating messages of support and promises of donations. His Stony Lane Elementary School presented him with 500 balloons. Teachers at the school donated their weekly “Friday casual dress” fund to his cause. A local toy store owner pledged 10% of today's business to Hudson's ride. And before the start of his 16-mile bike ride to raise $1,000 to help pay for Saffiatu Bah’s heart surgery, a man and his daughter showed up to tell him they would not be able to ride, but they had a check for him.

The outpouring of kindness from friends and perfect strangers has been astounding and will likely allow the youngster to reach his goal. At the start of his ride today, Hudson said he had pledges amounting to close to $800.

Hudson, his mother, Melody and sister Miriah were at the Kingston Amtrak station early Saturday morning, braving the chilly temperatures to erect an arch of colorful balloons to mark the start of the bike4heart ride along the Kingston Bike Path. Also there, Lisa Dallas and her daughters, Abbey and Samantha. Lisa has been devoting herself to the mission of providing Saffiatu with life-saving heart surgery. Spurred on by her daughters and husband Jeff, Lisa has spent months arranging the necessary travel papers and securing a hospital and surgeons in Tel Aviv, Israel where Saffiatu is being evaluated to determine if they can save her life with surgery to repair a hole in her heart. The 12-year old girl from Sierra Leone, West Africa arrived in Tel Aviv earlier this week after enough funds were raised to put the miracle in motion.

The North Kingstown United Methodist Church congregation has been making home-made Valentine cards, bracelets, and crafting work projects to raise the estimated $25,000 in donations needed to provide for Saffiatu’s travel, surgery and extended medical care. Lisa Dallas said this morning the effort is within striking distance of its goal.

The church earmarked a special fund for the mission and members of the congregation have donated generously. Thanks to local television and newspaper reports, the public has responded with much needed donations to help make the fund raising successful.

The Lord truly does touch hearts. It has been a loving time since church members Daniel and Dorcas Kamanda first appealed for help to save Saffiatu months ago. In the words of that great hymn Pass It On, “It only takes a spark to get a fire going, and soon all those around can warm up in its glowing. That’s how it is with God’s love once you’ve experienced it.”

(Editor's note -- Hudson's bike ride raised over $1,700 --- exceeding his $1,000 goal)

Waiting for News about Saffiatu Is Difficult

Published February 18, 2006

Waiting for good news is difficult. So it is on the watch for Saffiatu Bah, the 12-year old girl from Sierre Leone with an ailing heart who waits in a Tel Aviv hospital for surgery to save her life. Lisa Dallas, the mother of four who has tirelessly led the successful effort to get Saffiatu from her home in West Africa to the hospital in Israel, described it best when she said it has been a “roller coaster ride of hope.”

Saffiatu arrived in Tel Aviv on February 7, and an anxious congregation has waited for word on the condition of their little friend. The first real update on her condition arrived this week when doctors reported she has several serious heart ailments – more than the hole in her heart -- that are being evaluated to determine a course of treatment. Doctors remain hopeful they can treat her successfully, but the evaluation needs to be thorough and it will take time. It may be some time before we know more.

Born and raised in a country where modern medical care is not readily available, Saffiatu Bah is a victim of circumstances and as a result her health has been endangered. Lisa’s daughter Samantha, with wisdom beyond her years, put it in perspective when she said at the beginning of this effort, “If she lived here, she would have had the surgery by now and would be playing with her friends.”

We are all looking for a happy ending to this miracle and remain prayerful that it will be written; but the waiting, the worrisome waiting, is difficult. In times like this, we can only pray, and leave it in the hands of God, and skilled doctors.

I am reminded of that wonderful Serenity Prayer: “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.” The congregation of this church, and a generous public, has had the courage to change Saffiatu’s chances for life. We continue to pray and labor each day for that happy ending, but we also need to have the serenity to accept the waiting, knowing that God is with us, and more importantly, with Saffiatu and her family.

Look how far God has taken us. In a world of religious strife, the congregation of a Christian church has placed a precious Muslim child in an Israeli hospital, securing the best of hope for life. Now we pray and wait. “Wait patiently for the Lord, be brave and courageous. Yes, wait patiently for the Lord.” – Psalm 27, verse 14.

"WHATEVER WE GIVE OF OURSELVES ALSO BELONGS TO GOD"

Published October 15, 2005

When I read Pastor Beverly’s sermon this week, before publishing it to our website, it made me think about an experience at work this past week. I was making sales calls at television stations in the Los Angeles area with a colleague who handles a 9-state sales territory in the west and reports to me. We visited several stations in that city which is the second largest TV market in the U. S., but the most interesting visit to me was a stop at Biola University in La Mirada, just outside Los Angeles. I had never heard of Biola before this week, but it was on our schedule because they have a fledging journalism department and expressed interest in our products.

Before our meeting with a professor, we were invited to join the dean and the journalism students who were attending one of several 'Chapel sessions' they are required to attend as part of their education. Biola is a Christian university, and there was no hesitation or embarrassment about inviting two businessmen to the hour of prayer and discussion even though they knew nothing about our personal backgrounds. My colleague and I, both Christians, jumped at the chance to attend. The lady who first greeted us introduced herself as 'V. J.' "As in the first name of the golfer," my colleague asked? She replied: "I like to think of it as in "victory in Jesus." Biola’s stated mission for its mass communications students is (1) to develop personal and professional communications skills, (2) the ability to develop personally and professionally after graduation, (3) offer entry level skills for employment, and (4) expose the students to communication industry contacts and experience --- pretty much what all journalism or communications colleges and universities hope to offer their students.

What was different about Biola were points 5 and 6 in its mission statement. The school also expects that when students graduate they will have (5) “a workable worldview which unifies your life’s work and your Christian faith and (6) Christ-like attitudes and habits.” This particular Chapel meeting dealt with ethics and included the opportunity for prayer.

How refreshing. Not only does the college endeavor to train professional journalists, but also hopes to unify the professional skills with a Christian faith and Christ-like attitudes. When their lecture on ethics ended, I was surprised to be given the opportunity to speak for about 10 minutes. I told them how important I thought ethics should be to journalists and how wonderful it was to again see the passion for the craft that you see in young people just starting out – the kind of passion that kindled in me at about 8 years of age watching Huntley-Brinkley and Cronkite. I started to tell them to balance that passion for a profession with a passion for Christ, but the hour ended and the lecture hall was needed for another meeting. I know they wanted to hear some tips on how to get started in journalism, but I wish I had talked about Christ first. I wish I had talked about what God wanted me to talk about. I encouraged them to invite us back. Next time I will put God and Christ first and I hope the students will move items 5 and 6 in the mission statement to number one in their hearts. As Pastor Beverly would preach tomorrow: “In the church we give to God what is God’s …. and in the world whatever we give of ourselves also belongs to God.” Amen.

This place of worship which our hands have made

(November 2004)

On the eve of the 2004 presidential election, your historian and website editor was looking back rather than looking ahead. We have begun the ambitious project of preserving our history by scanning into digital images the fading photos and documents that tell the story of how North Kingstown United Methodist Church was born, how it grew and took roots through faith. It's a story of stewardship.

One of our charter members of the church, Eleanor Bourn, tells the wonderful story of this church on the history page of this website. And we’ve marveled at the story of dedication, perseverance and love of God that built this church. Take the time to read Eleanor’s account if you haven’t already. We also offer a timeline on our history.

History is important because it tells us where we came from and gives us the inspiration to build upon the dreams and hard work of those who came before us. When Vivian Flade, another charter member of this church, told me there was a box in a church closet that might be of interest to me, I decided it was important to start preserving some of the original source material of our church’s history before it fades away.

So we began digging into a box of photos, bulletins, newspaper articles, building plans and assorted papers that was tucked away in that church closet about to cleaned and painted.

We scanned a Providence Journal article from October 13, 1966 announcing the formation of the North Kingstown United Methodist Church. A program from April 1983 detailing the Service of Consecration for “This place of worship which our hands have made.” There was a membership directory from 1975 complete with black and white photos of the families of the congregation. Syd Gledhill looked a little younger --- didn’t we all in 1975 whether we were here or somewhere else. There are photos of every stage of the building program in 1993 when the Narthex and Sunday School rooms were added.

As you look through these first hand glimpses into our church’s creation, you gain a new appreciation for what many hands have built, the stewardship of an ever-changing congregation that has never changed in its dedication to a place to worship our God. If you look through the historical records, the photos of people working hard to build something, you’ll gain a new sense of faith and you’ll never look at our church on a Sunday morning in quite the same way again.

WITNESS GOD’S BEAUTY AND LIVE THE HISTORY OF THIRTY MILE POINT

August 2003

The natural beauty created by God is all around us along Rhode Island’s ocean shoreline. It’s easy to forget that His creating hand also stretches beyond our little part of the world. On a small point of land in Western New York , the dedication of many people has retouched and restored the beauty of God’s natural canvas for future generations.

Built in 1875 at a cost of $90,000, Thirty Mile Point Lighthouse has proudly held her ground on the stunning shore of Lake Ontario for more than a century and a quarter. The Light’s name comes from its location --- a point on the lake (in the town of Somerset, NY, near the village of Barker, NY), exactly 30 miles east of where the Niagara River joins Lake Ontario.

Up the spiral steel staircase in its uppermost lantern room, the powerful six-sided Fresnel lens, turned by a clockwork movement of counterweights, could magnify a kerosene lamp to more than 600,000 candlepower. The beacon was visible for 18 miles warning ships of the dangerous sandbar off its coastline. In later years, electricity replaced the counterweights and a 500 watt bulb replaced the kerosene lamp.

From 1875 to 1958, when the light was decommissioned and replaced by a steel tower and automated beacon, a succession of eight stalwart keepers-of-the-light lived and labored at the lighthouse. In pleasant summers, cool autumns and stormy winters, they ensured the light was turned on each night, the fog horn was sounded when needed, and in between, tended vegetable gardens and raised their families.

My late brother-in-law Bob Elmer’s parents, Oscar and Mildred Elmer, kept the light burning from 1954 to 1957. On a few occasions, as a youngster, I saw Oscar ascend that spiral staircase in his woolen Coast Guard-provided uniform for the nightly ritual of turning on the light. Oscar and Mildred kept the lighthouse, its grounds and family living area spotless, always in readiness for a surprise inspection by the Coast Guard which had taken over responsibility for Thirty Mile Point from the U. S. Lighthouse Service in 1935.

As the sandbar eroded, Thirty Mile Point’s purpose came to an end. By 1984, the U. S. government surrendered the great lady and its property to the New York State Office of Parks, Recreation and Historic Preservation. Thirty Mile Point and its history became part of the National and New York State Registry of Historic Places; but without its keepers, the buildings fell into disrepair.

Thirty Mile Point’s fate could have been sadly sealed had it not been saved by several factors. The growing popularity of lighthouses, a 1986 grant, some hard work by Somerset Town Historian Lorraine Wayner and the staff at Golden Hill State Park where the lighthouse sits, and the labors of a non-profit organization of volunteers called The Friends of Thirty Mile Point Lighthouse, successfully restored her.

In 1995, the U. S. Postal Service selected Thirty Mile Point as the Lake Ontario representative for its commemorative Lighthouses of the Great Lakes stamp series. Since then The Friends and New York State have championed the lighthouse, raising funds for continued restoration and preservation, holding an annual July Celebration Day, an October Christmas at the Lighthouse and offering weekend tours where you can climb the spiral staircase and take in the spectacular view from the deck, just outside the giant light.

During the summer, in the shadows of the lighthouse, the grounds of Golden Hill State Park are dotted with RVs, camper trailers and families enjoying boating, hiking, picnics and feasting on God’s beautiful sunset slowly sinking into Lake Ontario . And one lucky family or group is usually seeing it all from the restored second floor living quarters that once was home to the keepers of the light. For a modest $125 a night, you can rent the living area. Called the Cabin, it comes complete with the restored 1930’s style living room with fireplace and window air conditioning unit, kitchen, bathtub-shower and three bedrooms with queen beds. It accommodates a maximum of 6 family members. is heated and available for rent year round. You only need to bring bed linens.

The grounds include the original foghorn building, now a converted recreation room for campers and the original outhouse --- a classic two-holer. During the summer months minimum one week stays are required. After Labor Day, individual day rentals are accepted --- a perfect time to catch the gorgeous changing colors of the crisp autumn days or sample the apples, peaches and pears that are grown in abundance on the nearby farms in this heart of Western New York’s fruit belt.

Availability and reservations can be checked and made online through the New York State Parks Department’s booking agent at www.reserveamerica.com or by calling 1-800-456-CAMP. Specify The Thirty Mile Point Lighthouse cabin at Golden Hill State Park . Located about half way between the Greater Buffalo-Niagara Falls and Rochester , NY airports, Golden Hill State Park is about an hour’s drive from either airport and is accessed off Lower Lake Road in the town of Somerset , NY.

The view of Lake Ontario can be especially breathtaking in Winter when the sunlight can sparkle off the frozen ice and snow that forms on the lake near the shoreline. That’s one reason why I’m planning to go back to my home town and stay in the lighthouse for Christmas. I think Oscar and the other keepers of the light would be pleased to know that Thirty Mile Point Lighthouse is beautiful again and her history is now open to all.

If you make the trip, ask the locals how Golden Hill got its name? There are two versions that date back to 17^th century French explorers and include tales of sunken ships, buried treasure and golden rod blooms, but that’s a story for another day at Thirty Mile Point Lighthouse.

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In Praise of Mothers-In-Law

When we honor our mothers on Mother’s Day, I think we should also honor all the mothers-in-law. After serving as the target of jokes for decades, it’s about time mothers-in-law got the recognition and the love they so richly deserve.

Think about it. It’s not easy being a mother-in-law. After raising a child, giving him or her a mother’s love and nurturing care, a mother has to relinquish that son or daughter to a virtual stranger and hope that her new son-in-law or daughter-in-law will care for that child as much as she has. She also has to know when to offer advice and when to stay silent, letting the new couple manage their own new lives together. To quote Proverbs 1:5, "A wise person will hear, and will increase learning; and a person of understanding shall attain unto wise counsels." Roughly translated: "The first step to wisdom is silence; the second is listening."

The job becomes more difficult when grandchildren are added into the mix. How tempting it must be to pass judgment on how your grandchildren are being raised, to offer advice and how difficult it must be to remain silent and to listen.

When a mother welcomes and accepts that new son-in-law or daughter-in-law into her family as one of her own, it is a gift of unequaled love. If you’re fortunate enough to marry into a family with such a woman as your mother-in-law, you are truly blessed.

My mother-in-law to me is mom. She takes on too many concerns and worries too much, but it comes from love. She’s never been controlling, and always supportive. She’s also a lot of fun to be around. The family parties and gatherings are best when she’s around. The conversation and laughing only stops when she’s not there.

She has a keen sense of humor and the boundless energy of a woman half her age. When she last visited us, my father-in-law promptly announced they had been stopped on the eight-hour drive from Upstate New York by a state trooper. Mom had been driving and was speeding. It seems she was traveling at about 75 in a 65-mile-per-hour zone. Mom had discovered the re-instituted 65-mile per hour speed limit and figured if she used to drive 65 in the old 55-mile per hour zone, well, you know, 75 was okay. The trooper disagreed. He took one look at her license -- and according to dad -- probably figured out her age and decided not to interfere. He simply said, "Lady, if you promise to hold it to 70, I’ll let you go."

Mom’s been traveling in the fast lane all of her life. She raised four children and they all grew up to be people with hearts of gold. She’s treated me like one of her own.

I lost my real mom when I was 17 and a day doesn’t go by that I don’t think about her and wish I could have had more time with her. But God blessed me with a mother-in-law who filled that empty place in my heart.

Happy mothers-in-law day, mom. Have you loved your mother-in-law lately?

‘Fading’ Sounds Offer

Clear Meaning

I spend a great deal of my working time traveling, often by car, alone with the companionship of the radio. I like to hit those push buttons to find a variety of entertainment and information. I’ll listen to music for a time, switch to a talk radio station, catch a ball game, hear a newscast or discover an interesting item on All Things Considered on public radio. And occasionally, I’ll pick up a Christian radio station which will capture my attention.

There’s one station that has a powerful signal through the Mohawk Valley area of New York state, but I was traveling on the fringe of the coverage area when I began listening to a lecture on the family by Dr. James Dobson, a well known author and lecturer whose series of talks, "Focus on the Family" was first recorded at least two decades ago. The sound was fading as I continued down the highway, but it interested me so I stayed with it, often straining to hear the message of Dr. Dobson’s words.

He talked about fathers building a relationship with their children and family values rooted in a Christ-centered life. He was eloquent and his words were just as relevant today --probably more so -- as they were when he first spoke them in the 70s.

At the end of his lecture, he reflected back on his life and that of his father and mother. He once asked his father how he would want to be remembered at the end of his life -- "What would he want on his tombstone?" That’s a question most of us would never consider asking. But he apparently had a very good relationship with his father and they often talked about the meaning of life. His father reflected a moment and then said, "He prayed." That’s how he wanted to be remembered.

He then asked his mother the same question and got an entirely different answer. What did she want on her tombstone? She replied, "I told you I was sick." She was the one with the sense of humor.

When the laughter of his audience finally faded away, Dobson offered his. I carry a small tape recorder which I use to record notes to myself -- things I’ll otherwise forget -- on the front seat of the car. I grabbed it and turned it on to record his words. The recording is scratchy and the static of the radio drowned out a few words, but I got most of it. I’ll have to look it up in one of his books. He confessed it would take it "a very big tombstone":

"I have concluded that the accumulation of wealth, even if I could achieve it, is an insufficient reason for living. When I reach the end of my days ... I must look backward at something more meaningful than the pursuit of houses and land, of machines and stocks and bonds. Nor is fame of any lasting benefit. I will consider my earthly existence to have been wasted, unless I can recall a loving family, a consistent investment in the lives of people and an earnest attempt to serve the God who made me. Then, nothing else makes much sense."

Pretty good philosophy of life, don’t you think?

A Little Sign,

Big Message

Inspiration comes in many ways. Maybe it’s all too apparent from these monthly ramblings, but to tell the truth, I don’t fret too much in deciding what to write about in this column. I usually ignore the thought process and some time during the month, I’ll see something or hear something that triggers a thought -- a little kernel of inspiration that germinates into a column, for better or worse. It’s not divine inspiration, just the fact that God and His work are all around us, in our lives, every day if we just pause to see it.

So it was when I was driving through Schenectady, New York on my way to a business call. A white church, ordinary in appearance, set back from the road. Then in front of it -- I almost missed seeing it because of a sudden burst of sleet on this first day of Spring -- I saw the sign that, no doubt, has welcomed worshippers for decades. I didn’t catch the name of the church or its denomination, only the message that had been posted for Easter: "Nails Didn’t Hold Jesus To The Cross. It Was His Love For You And Me."

What a profound thought. The Bible tells us of the many miracles Jesus performed in his short ministry. Why should we not believe that Jesus could have removed himself from that cross and struck down his enemies? It was not his way, not his mission and it would have gone against all his teachings. Christ stayed on the cross and died for us because he loved us. It was part of God’s plan for us to love Jesus and love one another. It was His love for you and me that kept him on the cross enduring human kind’s pain and suffering so that we might be saved from our sins.

Easter morning is one of my favorite days. People seem friendlier. The air feels warmer. There’s the hope and renewal that seems to be ushered in by a spring time change of season after a long winter. Easter morning is the celebration after Good Friday, the most solemn day of the religious calendar.

It’s a time to be joyous. The clouds are lifting and the sunshine is revealing a new beginning that Christ gave to us on that first Easter morning.

‘Mayor’ of Candlewood Lived

Golden Rule

No one called him by his real first name. He was always just ‘Bucky.’ Bucky Mantius has been a good neighbor since we moved to Rhode Island in 1988.

He was retired and always there if you needed something. If anyone in the neighborhood was going away for a few days, he would gather up your mail and newspapers. He looked out for his neighbors and he cared about the neighborhood. I remember another neighbor first introducing me to Bucky by referring to him as ‘the mayor’ of Candlewood Drive in North Kingstown, Rhode Island. He was never elected, but as I got to know him, I understood that if an election were ever held, he would win with 100 per cent of the vote.

We played golf together several times and I always enjoyed it even when I played badly, which was most of the time. Bucky had a way of making you feel good even during a bad round on the links. I would slice a drive and it would land in the woods, far from the fairway, but Bucky’s response would be, "You really hit that hard and long," choosing to ignore the results. Another bad shot and he would compliment me on the ‘beauty’ of my swing.

A negative outlook was not part of Bucky’s make-up.

Shortly before Christmas, Bucky went into the hospital. Stricken by cancer, he had a lung removed in an attempt to save his life. After the operation, he developed pneumonia, struggled for a few weeks and died two days after Christmas.

You didn’t see headlines about Bucky’s passing. He wasn’t really a mayor, or a well-known celebrity. Like so many other of God’s people, he was an ordinary man with an extraordinary sense of kindness who spread good will wherever he went. He was like the good neighbor you know down the street in your neighborhood, the kind of person you would like to have live next to you, the kind of person who would "do unto others as he would have them do unto him." And he will be missed. Rest in peace, Bucky. God has brought you home.

Christmas, A Time To

Reflect On Miracles

Often God’s work is revealed to us in chance encounters. It was a day this past November. I was just finishing a sales call on a Chief Executive Officer. It had been a very friendly, but business-like meeting. As I was leaving, I noticed a strange looking metallic gadget decorating a table in his office. I couldn’t help but ask about it since it was something I had never seen before.

He told me there was a long story behind it and he would tell me about sometime. I guess my inquisitive look and pause gave him second thoughts so he began to explain it.

Years ago he had taken a bad fall from a horse, seriously injuring himself. The device was a medical contraption that had been used to hold his broken pelvis together and forge his body back into one piece. It was a medical option he had chosen because it gave him the best odds for a full recovery, but at a painful price. Every few weeks, he told me, the device would be tighten to mend his body. Just looking at it, you could tell it must have been very excruciatingly painful.

A colleague, who was with me on the visit, recalled actor Christopher Reeve’s paralyzing fall from a horse and asked "Do you think about his accident and say, "There but for the grace of God ....?"

He looked up with emotion in his eyes and said, "I have a son who is a paraplegic." He went on to tell us about his involvement with former football player Nick Bouniconti’s Miami Project which raises funds for paralyzed accident victims. The former linebacker for the Dolphins started the foundation when his own son was disabled. Both the CEO and the football player had known each other since college football days -- their lives now entwined by a common hardship.

He then walked us over a book shelf where he proudly displayed a picture of his son in a wheelchair. Standing behind was his beautiful wife and in his arms he was holding a young child.

The executive proudly pointed out his grandchild. He said they never expected his son would be able to conceive a child, but miraculously he had. The grandfather, his face beaming brightly, exclaimed, "The Lord works in many wondrous ways."

Have a merry Christmas, rejoice in this child’s birth as we celebrate the miracle of Christ’s birth, keep God in your life, and hold your loved ones close to you.

God Doesn't Use Voice Mail

"Thank you for calling. If you have a touch tone telephone, please touch 1. If you know the extension of the party you are calling, you may dial it at any time. If you want to reach our Billing Department, enter 1. If you want to reach our sales representative, enter 2. If you have a question about service, enter 3. If you have a rotary phone, please stay on the line and we might answer your call in an hour or two."

Have you ever encountered the experience of voice mail? It's getting harder and harder to talk to a live human being on the telephone. Voice mail, it seems, was designed so people may communicate with each other without ever talking to each other.

I've reached some systems which never seem to let you to talk to the person you're trying to find. You can push buttons on the phone until eventually you're back where you started and still can't even leave a message, never mind talk to someone.

Sometimes, the only escape is to hang up.

Modern technology is great, but there are times when it makes life more difficult.

Isn't it nice that we still have a direct line to God? How does He handle all those prayers without voice mail? He's never too busy if you're not to busy to try to reach Him.

Everyone has a different way of talking with God. For some it's the traditional prayer before bedtime or a prayer when waking in the morning. For others, it may be in the car, during a stroll or a quiet place in a park.

When I coached Little League, I would take a moment to pray before a game. Just before the National Anthem is played, I would pray silently, thanking God for the chance to participate, asking Him to protect all the players from injury during the game, to allow them to play their best and -- win or lose -- let them accept the outcome with grace and take joy in just playing the wonderful game that it is. I never asked for the victory because I don't think God likes to take sides in a sporting event. It would disappoint half the people on the playing field and let's face it, God has more important concerns than the outcome of a baseball game. It would be nice though if He would make an exception for the Red Sox.

When we played those Little League games, we won our share of games. The players always enjoyed the game, albeit not always without some disappointment along the way. We had no serious injuries on either side. We always accepted defeat gracefully. And I never felt I got a busy signal or a recorded message when I called. As for the Red Sox, it's been a long time since a World Series championship. I'm still counting on St. Jude.

[Postscript: The above essay was posted on the website when the Red Sox were down 3 games to 1 to the Yankees in the 2004 American League championship. Red Sox went on to win the championship series and the World Series. There are no hopeless causes in life.]

For The Hungry,

Every Day

Is A Stormy Day

It’s another winter day, another snow storm is forecast and there’s another run on bread and milk at the supermarket. The sight of consumers scooping up bread and milk in anticipation of the ‘big’ storm used to be a Rhode Island phenomenon. No more. It’s happening from the Carolinas to Maine.

Do we really like a sandwich and a glass of milk that much that we can’t do without them for a day or two? My family has fallen into the habit too. It wasn’t always that way. Growing up in Upstate New York, near Buffalo, we took storms in stride. I don’t recall the panic buying, the supermarket check-out lines down the aisles, and the search for an empty, unused shopping cart. I have a feeling much of it is due to the fact, we hear more about the approaching storm than we did years ago. Constant weather updates on TV and radio remind us that we might not be able to get to the store and we start to think, gee, I might not have that sandwich tomorrow.

It occurs to me that for the hungry -- I mean the truly hungry -- every day must be a stormy day. The difference, of course, is the family that cannot afford to put enough food on the table doesn’t have the luxury of competing for the disappearing bread and milk at the supermarket. When you’re unemployed and can’t work for one reason or another, or if you find it difficult to stretch that paycheck for the essentials of life, you, no doubt, face a storm every day.

I was unemployed for three months once and, believe me, that’s as close as I ever want to get to wondering where the next paycheck will come from. It’s been said most of us are only a few paychecks away from being hungry or homeless so we all really should care more and do more for those who are already there.

Now that Christmas is a memory, fewer of us will think about the Food Pantry and the food kitchens. Fewer of us will realize that feeding the hungry is a year round job. Historically, donations drop off significantly after the spirit of the holidays has faded. I know I’m guilty of forgetting and I should do more than I do.

Let’s pledge together that we’ll do more to make life less stormy for others. The next time we’re in the supermarket -- whether there’s a storm coming or not -- let’s pick up a few extras, a few non-perishable items, but instead of storing them in a cupboard, let’s drop them off at the Food Pantry in the church on a Sunday morning. Whether it’s winter or summer, there’s always another storm bearing down on a family somewhere in our community. And for that member of God’s family, a loaf of bread or gallon of milk really is important.

We All Have

Skills -- Making Music

Not One of Mine

The highlight of the Christmas service for me is enjoying our choir, the children's choir and the instrumental choir. I marvel at Kathy’s skill at the piano and organ. They're all so good and they're so animated when they're performing. For me part of the joy of every Sunday service is music.

Music wasn't always that important to me. I remember throughout school not having an appreciation of music. I think it came from my natural inability to sing or even understand a note. When the souls lined up to get the gift of music from the good Lord, I must have been last in line. Although he never criticized me, my dad had a saying for people like me, "...can't carry a tune in a bushel basket."

By the time I went to college, I enjoyed rock 'n' roll like most kids my age, but I never had an appreciation for music. I became convinced I was tone deaf and knew I couldn't "carry that tune in a bushel basket." But I was skilled at other things so it didn't bother me.

As I grew older, I started to enjoy all types of music---New Orleans jazz, Mozart, Motown, Gospel, the Beatles, show tunes and religious hymns. I can't appreciate rap or much of today's heavy rock and my daughter and I fight over control of the car radio ( I usually let her win). But I think as you mature, your appreciation for all types of music grows. As that acceptance grew for me, I began to wish I had musical talent.

Entertaining people with the ability to make music is a real gift. I wish I could play the piano and sing, but I can't and I never will be able to do that. Believe me, Laurel, it's true. I once bought a banjo, hoping to learn how to play it, but as my wife will tell you, it just never worked out.

That's okay. I've accepted it because I know we're all different and God has given us all different talents. That's why this world is so interesting. We should discover what we can do well and put it to work to make life better for everyone.

That's why I listen to the choir rather than sing. But there's someone out there in our congregation who has that musical ability or knows how to organize a project, or has the skill to teach children. If you have a skill, you should put it to work for the glory of God and your faith. We all have some kind of skill. Don't waste yours. Get involved and be a blessing.

I still sing the hymns during service, but my wife once gave me some loving advice which I try to follow: "Larry, when you're the liturgist and it's time to sing the hymns, remember to turn your microphone OFF!"

Hmmmmm.

What's Number One?

--Crises Often Reveal Life's Bottom Line

Item: There's a scene in the movie City Slickers when Billy Crystal, playing the role of a man going through a mid-life crisis, seeks advice from Jack Palance, playing the role of a grizzled cowboy, about the meaning of life. Palance simply holds up one finger and tells him to find out "What's number one?" It takes Crystal the rest of the move, and a brush with death, to discover the answer. For him, number one is "loving his family and friends."

Item: Professional golfer Paul Azinger discovered in 1993 he had cancer. Now with his cancer in remission, he talks about how golf is not the most important thing in his life, how important life and his family have become to him.

Item: Professional football quarterback Jay Schroeder and his wife learn their 6-year old son has a brain tumor. Doctors tell them the condition will require an operation which has only a 50 percent chance of success. They pray to God before the operation. In their prayer, the couple ask God to save their son, but they also implore that if it is in God's plan for their son to be taken from them now, please let him go peacefully and without pain. The child survives and has made a miraculous recovery. The couple now talks about how the crisis has put their life in perspective.

How many times do we see that life and death situations -- crises -- lead us to a better understanding of what should be important in our lives? A loss of a loved one or a good friend quickly puts everything else in the proper perspective. How often have you heard: "It makes you think about what's really important."

As we go through life, we get caught up in daily details that seem important at the time, but really aren't. The crises we face make us realize there are but a few really important things in life -- love for family, friends, neighbors, and love for our God who will be there for us. Jesus taught us this years ago when he talked of the most important commandments: "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength. The second most important commandment is this: 'Love your neighbor as you love yourself.' There is no other commandment more important than these two." It's part of our human condition that often it is only in times of crisis we truly realize life's bottom line; it's God's strength that delivers us from the crisis to the true understanding of What is number one?

What's number one in our lives? And in the new year, Who should be number one in our lives?

When Grief Changes To Good Memories

(First printed in 1995 in church newsletter)

I think losing a loved one is the hardest thing we face in life. As Christians, we believe the person who died has gone to a better place -- God's kingdom in heaven. And while we take comfort in knowing that, we miss the loved one and we grieve the loss. I think grieving is a natural and necessary process we must go through to heal our broken heart and spirit.

Last summer, my older sister lost her husband -- my brother-in-law, Bob – who died of leukemia. Bev is a very strong person. As a teenager I lost my mother to cancer, and I remember Bev caring for her throughout her sickness, especially in those last difficult months. She has spent her whole life caring for family -- and holding down a job until retirement. I think of Bev -- like her mother -- as a 'Saint on earth,' but despite her strength, I know life has changed for Bev. She is grieving and this is a very difficult time for her.

Although the emptiness of Bob's loss will never be fully filled in her heart, I do believe that, in time, God transforms grief to pleasant memories of the good times shared together.

It has changed for me when I think of my mother now, and my father. Dad died a few months after our daughter was born in 1978. I've always wished my children could have known their paternal grandparents, but I take joy in knowing my father got to hold his granddaughter, see her and love her before he left this world.

I saw my brother-in-law in late summer of 1993 and he told me he had leukemia and it had been in remission. He looked his usually good-natured self. Bob was the kind of person liked by everyone who met him. He was, in many ways, more like a father to me than a brother-in-law. Some of my happiest memories growing up are images of playing and debating sports with him in his yard, the family picnics. Although older, he was always a kid at heart with a child-like ability to reach his sons, nephews and nieces and his own beautiful grandchildren at their level.

He went into the hospital in April of last year and died too young and too soon, in the summer. When we went to the funeral, we were reminded of the friendships and love he had accumulated over the years as family, friends, and co-workers paid their final respects.

As my grieving changes to those good memories, my only regret is that in all the years we enjoyed together, I never told him face to face how much I loved him.

After the burial, as my three brothers, sisters-in-law and I were about to part our separate ways, we hugged my sister and each other and I told each of them how much I loved them.

I'll never again miss an opportunity to say, "I love you." When grief changes to good memories that bring a smile to your face, I'm convinced the memories are even sweeter if you've taken the time to say, "I love you." I know my brother-in-law knew I loved him just as surely as God loves us. I also know that God does transform grief to good memories.

Confirming Our Faith

In the days following the Easter celebration, I thought about the birth of the Christian Church. What a harrowing time it must have been for the few founders of a faith that would eventually spread around the world. Facing persecution and even death, those who began spreading the Good News of Christ must have wrestled with their faith many times -- wondering whether they should take the easy path and renounce the difficult task of openly and boldly preaching in a world where they were often scorned and ridiculed.

Despite the plots against them, the rejection, the arduous travel of those times, they persevered. How difficult it was to be a Christian. They must have confirmed their faith each day in a different way.

Today, we enjoy religious freedom and may gather with family and friends to worship as we wish. We don't have to find secret places to worship. We don't have to fear physical abuse or the threat of death to honor God. It's still not easy to be a Christian and, in some parts of the world, it is still not safe to worship, but it's nothing like it must have been in those early days following the death of Jesus Christ.

Our pastor raised an intriguing question to the parents of a group of teenagers who are about to embark on the confirmation process leading to their acceptance of Christ's teachings in our church. He asked, "What do you want your children to get out of this confirmation process?" It's a simple question with a thousand possible answers and it made me focus on what I want for my son who is starting the confirmation process.

We all love our children and know them to be good kids. They all have different talents and abilities and we hope that they will succeed in life and be happy, but what I really want is that the confirmation experience will open my son's heart to know Christ and what He and His early followers stood for -- love, tolerance, a deeper spiritual feeling, a closeness to God.

I hope what he learns now will stay with him, that it will grow and blossom into more than just a doctrine that some adult feels he should follow. I want him to learn about God and Jesus and take away convictions that in time become his own passion.

It's not easy being a teenager who follows Christ. Peer pressure too often turns a young person away from those fundamental teachings and he or she may drift away. But my hope is that exposure to the teachings of Christ at an early age is the foundation that may bring a person back to the Christian faith. It may not happen until he has the responsibility of his own family some day, but it will, I hope, smolder as a spirit deep inside him and slowly rekindle into a passion.

For among the many things I wish for my son, true happiness tops the list. I just happen to believe that true happiness comes from a love born of a deep spiritual belief.

If he drifts away for a time, it won't change the unconditional love I feel for him. My hope is that through Christ's teachings and his parents' example and love, he'll try to help others, be tolerant, kind, love all God's people and learn to listen to that voice inside him that will tell him right from wrong and always be calling him to Christ.

GIVING THANKS --A PRAYER FROM MAINE

[1994]

It's autumn and I'm driving to the northern reaches of Maine on business. It's a glorious day. It's early and the sun has just come up. It's a bright golden color and as its rays strike the tall pine trees on the eastern side of the highway, long slender shadows are cast across the turnpike, blanketing the road with a Venetian blind cover.

The sky is a bright blue with only a scattering of puffy clouds dotting the horizon ahead. The road winds on ahead into the distance until it disappears into a small spot of infinity.

As I cross the Penobscot near Millenocket, there's a light fog rising off the water as the cool morning starts to warm.

The radio is playing a Beatles tune, but in my head, I'm hearing Louis Armstrong singing, What a Wonderful World, as only he could do it.

Lord, I can't help but feel your presence. What other power could create such a wonderful world.

Lord, I know the world is troubled and there are many who cannot feel as I do on this day. I ask that you give them your comfort and your peace--the peace I am feeling now.

Only You know where you will lead us next, but I thank you for where you have delivered me now.

I accept life's setbacks as well as its happiness for I believe you can't know the joy of the greatest summit without experiencing the depths of the lowest valley.

Thank you for the family you have given to me and all that you have given to my family---and for the beauty of this day which you have created.

I've got many more miles to go this day and as each milepost passes, I'll be counting a blessing and giving You thanks.

Amen.

Life Can Change In An Instant

[Following 9/11]

The graphic pictures of the terrible events of this week are forever seared into our memories. We will be forever changed. In an instant our lives have changed. Can we ever feel safe again? Our feelings are disbelief, extreme sadness and shock, and anger. And those feelings will remain in our psyche as the events of Pearl Harbor have for an older generation of Americans. These attacks have been profoundly etched in our minds and the minds of our children by television pictures – countless video replays and live transmissions. As Christians we are taught not to seek vengeances, but as human beings and Americans the lesson may seem incomprehensible given the magnitude of our grief. We want to strike out against those who committed these unspeakable crimes. We feel helpless in the aftermath of the visions of the death and destruction, the loss of innocent lives. What can we do?

There are positive actions we can take as human beings, as Christians, as members of all faiths, as Americans, as citizens of all nations.

First we need to pray for the victims, their families and our nation. We must ask God for deliverance and seek His healing, love and comfort for those suffering.

We must remain calm in the face of extreme anxiety and not rush to judgment. Seek justice, not vengeances. Let not our anger result in intolerance toward any group of people. We need to recognize that evil is part of all peoples and we should not hate particular ethnic groups or religions because of the actions of a few consumed by hate and evil. The wrongs inflicted upon Japanese-Americans during World War II must not be revisited upon Arab-Americans.

We can take tangible actions – donate blood and volunteer our help and our money where needed. Comfort others. Reassure our children that bad things are part of life, but not the way of life. Teach them to love where there is hate. To do good where there is evil. To offer hope where there is despair. Do your part, however small it may seem, to heal and transform this tragedy into a coming together of the human spirit regardless of your race or religion or political belief. And hold those you love closer to you than ever before.

The lesson for us all is that life is so precious and it can change in an instant. Fathers who went off to work in the morning on Tuesday, never returned home that night. Mothers and brothers and sisters who boarded airplanes left this earthly world in a fiery instant of time. Others narrowly escaped death and now know the preciousness of God-given life. Love your family and friends and hold them close to you. Our time together on this earth is finite. Life can change in an instant. One fleeting instant. Let us remind ourselves what is priority one – to love one another. God grants us an amazing grace and resiliency of the spirit. Together, with His help, we can survive all things, conquer all despair and make the world better despite the seemingly insurmountable sadness of this week. We have heard countless stories---and many more yet to be told---stories of heroism, strangers helping strangers in the face of death. Evil is born from the worst of people, but the best of people is born from the worst of tragedies.

There is a new spirit emerging in the world, galvanized by the unselfish heroics of ordinary people--firefighters, police, medical service workers, volunteers--brought together by extraordinary circumstances. From the dusty ashes and wet tears of our painful week, our spirit will heal and soar because we will heal together, bound by faith and God’s love and the simple goodness of humankind.

American Spirit Down But Not Grounded

At 31,000 feet, Manhattan is an island illuminated by thousands of brightly dotted lights shining through the night time sky below. I’m on a flight back home from Baltimore after three days in Washington. I’ve made this trip countless times. I never thought much about the New York skyline passing below. That was before September 11, 2001.

My job has required airline travel nearly every week, but this is my first airplane trip since terrorists attacked the World Trade Center. As the pilot points out New York City below on the left side of the plane, I take a long look out the window. The bright lights take on significance this time and I think of each light as a marker for thousands who died and hundreds more, heroes, who died trying to save them.

I didn’t know how I would react to getting back in an airplane after the events of that Tuesday. As I headed for the airport on a Monday, I surprisingly found myself apprehensive. I felt it was important to get back to flying and put the first flight behind me if I intended to fly again on a regular basis.

I was not surprised to see that flying had changed. Police officers were visible in many locations. Many fewer people were in the departure airport. The long lines at the check-in counter were gone. Only two customers were ahead of me. I checked in, answered the security questions which now seem silly. Have your bags been in your possession at all times? Has anyone asked you to carry any items for them? Would someone bent on destruction actually tell the truth to those questions?

I headed for the security clearance. The lines were short, but security was obviously tighter. One of my bags was opened and searched. I didn’t mind. Glad they were exercising more security. I had removed the scissors I usually carry in my bag for obvious reasons. I had left extra early to allow for the screening process, but because there were so few passengers, I found I had extra time on my hands. I stopped for some lunch at the airport. When the meal came, I asked for silverware. The waitress brought a fork and calmly said, "We no longer offer knives." I wondered what one would do if you had to cut a piece of meat?

I went to the departure gate and began reading a newspaper. Suddenly, it dawned on me the clerk at the airline counter had not given me back my driver’s license used for photo ID. I thought this could be a problem if I get on this flight and try to return without my license. I headed back through security and approached the clerk. She recognized me immediately and said I sent your license down to the gate. I went back through security. Bags searched again. Found an attendant at the gate and she located my driver’s license. The flight departed and was uneventful. The plane was less than half full. I thought about how the airlines were struggling and wondered if the flight attendants on this flight would be among the many marked for unemployment in the announced layoffs by the airlines struggling to fill seats.

In Washington at my company’s offices, there were reminders of September 11, 2001. All employees now wore company issued photo IDs around their necks or hanging from their belts. I had to take time to have one made for me. Washrooms on each floor were now locked and required a key to enter. New hours in the parking garage below the building. New scanner cards accounted for each employee to gain access to floors and doors. More concern on the faces of employees, less humor in the corridors.

Changes were everywhere at the Baltimore airport. The closing of Reagan National in DC has forced many more people to fly out of Baltimore or the Dulles Airport in Northern Virginia. At Baltimore, the line waiting to clear security was long, longer than I have ever seen it. Only passengers with tickets and photo ID allowed past the screening. Bags searched. No one complained but you could see the concern on faces. On the flight back, you could see the concern especially on the faces of the frequent business travelers, easily recognized and separated from the tourist/leisure traveler by the computer bag each business traveler carried. The ‘road warriors’ as they have become known looked more tired as if they were trying to reconcile with themselves that they must travel and the concerns and the new obstacles in security would be with them for a long time to come. The tourist could choose when the fly. They could not. It was part of their job.

While in Washington, I learned our company is curtailing ‘nonessential’ travel because of the costs the company, a news gathering organization, has had to incur in its operations since September 11. More money needed to be diverted from the sales effort to the editorial side of the business to cover the news and the war that we all expect to follow.

A logical and necessary business decision, but I had mixed emotions about it. On one hand, I welcomed less travel. More time with family and a respite from the concern of flying. But on the other hand, I thought about what it would do to the airlines and our way of life. If other companies cut back in their travel, and the newspapers indicate that is happening, which airlines won’t be around in a few months or weeks? USA Today headlined a story that more companies are considering teleconferencing and fewer in person sales calls. I think we all lose something if face to face business is replaced by technology. The airlines have depended on the business traveler, allowing them to keep fares low for the person traveling to Grandma’s house or Disney World on vacation. That all seems to be changing. American life as we knew it before September 11 is changing in many ways. And it is sad. Oh, how we have taken our lives for granted.

The lights dotting Manhattan are fading now, but I feel hopeful. I know they are still there, back in the distance as we move forward. And they will shine brightly on this night and all the nights to come because they represent the American spirit which will never die with God’s help and our faith. One flight and one step forward as we resume our lives.

Digital Photos Preserve Our History

Church members Sam and Vivian Flade recently bought a digital camera. Viv was kind enough to take some of the photos from our recent Harvest Stew celebration at the church. I’m always pleased to see people enter the world of digital photography. I’ve been taking digital pictures for several years now. The technology has come a long way. It’s easy, fast and wonderful not to have to wait for the photos to come back from the drug store developer. You can easily save the good ones on your computer and discard the bad shots. You can print your own pictures and most importantly preserve the photos in digital format. The digital photos should be preserved long after the prints have faded enabling you to re-print.

Here’s why that’s important. One of my hobbies has been researching the genealogy of my family—my roots on my father and mother’s side of the family and my wife’s roots on her father and mother’s side of her family. In most cases, I have been able to research back to the 1600’s. I’ve found it gives me a greater sense of my connection to the family that has gone before me and a sense of place in the world. We’re all connected if you go far enough back.

I was fortunate enough to receive some photos of family ancestors. I have a photo of my great grandfather Sylvester Price and great grandmother Aurilla Mead Price. Sylvester was born in 1841 and the photo shows a relatively young man. Another one of my grandfather and grandmother and family dates back to Christmas 1899—four years before my father was even born. I also have a photo of my father’s high school graduation class from 1921. By transferring them to digital format, the photos, even in their current faded condition, can now be preserved for future generations. I think that’s important.

Through the photos we generate for this website, we are also preserving the history of this church. We’re trying to save most of them, and carefully backing them up, preserving our history for those who follow us. Having been a journalist most of my life, I have a great appreciation of history. I also have come to realize that the really important events of our lives are not the daily news events, but the personal memories that families generate---marriages, births, baptisms, graduations, good times shared together, and the passing of loving family members and friends.

Those memories never fade, but it’s nice to have photos of those loved ones to freshen the memories and remind us we’re all connected in God’s family. We live in the present and live for the future, but it’s special to know how we got here.

A ‘Ministry of Presence’ Serves Families of Rhode Island Fire Victims

By Larry Price

(Following West Warwick, RI Fire that killed nearly 100 people in February 2003)

The choir members were already settled in their seats as Pastor Beverly Stenmark made her way down the corridor toward the sanctuary at her United Methodist Church in North Kingstown, Rhode Island. She had already missed her usual Sunday morning prayer with the choir prior to the start of worship. And the hymn sing that precedes worship was already underway, led by another. She was running late and although she tried not to show it, she was tired and emotionally drained. On this Sunday there was good reason for the tardiness in her usually prompt schedule.

She had just spent time sitting with a member of the congregation who needed her. The woman, with tears in her eyes and heartfelt emotions, had told the pastor that her three children had been at a West Warwick, Rhode Island nightclub on that Thursday night in February when it became engulfed in flames, killing nearly 100 people and sending to local hospitals many others clinging to life. The mother was experiencing thankful anguish. Thankfully, all of her children had made it out safely and she would thank God this day.

For Pastor Beverly it was another extreme moment in what had been an already emotionally exhausting two days of sadness, prayer and reflection. The Rev. Beverly Stenmark was one of several local clergy members called upon to counsel the grieving families who lost loved ones in the tragic Rhode Island fire on Thursday, February 20^that a place called The Station. On Friday and again on Saturday, she was at the hotel where the grieving families were gathered, doing what United Methodist ministers and other members of the clergy do on a regular basis, offering a ‘ministry of presence’---consoling, supporting through prayer and some times just listening. But this time it was different.

The magnitude of the tragedy was overwhelming. For this state, it was as if the events of 9/11 were unfolding all over again. When tragedy strikes Rhode Island --- a small spot of geography in New England, the tiniest of America’s fifty --- one family’s mourning can be the grief of many. A single name on a list of dead or injured, or the names of three who escaped death, can touch someone you know in a state where you can run into the Governor in a supermarket or sit next to a state representative in your church pew. Yes, in the smallest of the small, where a short trip to nearby Boston can be considered an overnight stay and the news broadcasts of the local television stations cover the entire state, closeness matters.

That is not to say everyone knows everyone. For Pastor Beverly and other clergy it was their mission to approach all --- a father, a mother, a wife, a husband --- all suffering greatly. Approach a complete stranger, not knowing his or her background of faith, knowing they are in unbearable pain. What do you say to ease their burden? How will they receive you in this their greatest time of need?

Pastor Beverly would later say that to a person, they all were open --- wanting to talk about their son, their daughter, a husband or a wife. They wanted to share their stories, the lives they had led, how much they were loved. How much more they will be missed.

There were the parents of Derek, 22, from Massachusetts and his pregnant fiancée who had decided at the last minute not to go with him to the club. The parents, brother and friends of Stacie, 29. There were prayers for Winnie, just 20, who had come home from college in Florida. Thoughts of Jim, 37. His wife had planned to be there with him, but didn’t go. Could she be experiencing ‘survivor guilt,’ common among survivors who lost friends in a tragedy?

There were prayers for Bonnie, 27, who told friends she was going to leave before the band played, but never came out. Listening to a man who waited for news of his brother, Eric, 31, who had just moved to Rhode Island from Florida. Each meeting told a story of a life that had been changed in a moment of time.

In a special message emailed to the congregation as she completed her first day of service following the tragedy, Pastor Beverly wrote “the outpouring of support from the community has been wonderful and greatly appreciated by these families. They are living in an unbelievable nightmare. With almost all of those admitted to hospitals having been identified, the reality is hitting that their sons, daughters, husbands, sisters, brothers, mother or father have been killed in the fire and they now await the identification of the bodies. I seek prayers for the families who are going through such an unimaginable horror.” With the permission of families, she shared some first names of the missing people to put a face to the tragedy and asked that her congregation pray for them and reminded her flock that there are countless others who also have families who are suffering and “need your prayers.” She said in “the face of such a tragedy, we hold fast to our faith, to the assurance that it is God’s strength which will sustain the families and those who care for them in so many ways.”

She offered John 14 and Christ’s message: “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places … and if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also.”

The Pastor was now coming down the hallway for the start of Sunday Worship and the sadness of the last two days was telling on her face. The liturgist hugged her offering a small token of some support and there was a brief moment of tears. She had helped carry the sadness of many, had made at least one death notification and there was a sermon still to be delivered --- some of the words of which had been rewritten by the horrible events of the last two days, but some of the scheduled scripture still spoke to the tragedy. The faith of friends had led Jesus to heal a paralyzed man in Mark’s Gospel. Pastor Beverly had thought about that scripture and its message while she listened and talked with family members.

During worship, she offered more prayers for the families and the fire victims and some in the congregation still did not know what she had been through, unaware of her personal involvement in the very personal ministry she with others had offered to grieving families.

Just before the pastor’s sermon, the liturgist was moved to tell the congregation how the pastor had served and offered a short prayer for her and other clergy members because “we need to be reminded that those who support also need to be supported”:

“Dear Lord, as we continue to ask for your love and comfort for the families who are grieving and suffering, we also pray you continue to support and sustain Pastor Beverly and the other clergy members and workers who have journeyed to the very emotional center of this tragedy to sit, listen and offer words of comfort to those in need … We ask on this day – in these difficult times – that you replenish their energy, their dedication; that you renew every fiber of their spiritual being, that they know how much they are appreciated and loved for serving Your call. They are truly the beacons of our faith that lead us through the darkness in a troubled world by explaining Your unconditional love, comfort and gift of salvation. We thank you for their caring and loving dedication to our faith. All this we ask in the name of Your Son, our beloved Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.”

The prayer touched her, and for a brief moment, it may have made the task of delivering the sermon even more difficult, but her voice and words, although tinged by horrible hours of sadness, were as strong as they are every week. She preached “If by Christian ministry we mean doing what Christ would do, sharing his compassion and love, then, “yes” it was Christian ministry. We call it a ministry of presence – and it is a ministry to which each of us is called. There are times when we do not know the words to say – and sometimes that is good. Sometimes the best thing we can do is to be quiet and present. A ministry of presence takes place anytime you sit with someone in a doctor’s office or hospital waiting room, anytime you write a note to let someone know you are thinking about them and praying for them, anytime you leave a phone message or send an email, anytime you smile or lift another in prayer. Whenever we do any of these things, we are helping to carry the other person into the presence of Christ.”

Surely, we felt Christ’s presence on that day and on the days that followed in ecumenical memorial services across the state. And you have to ask: how would any of us ever get through an ordeal like this without God and those He calls?

Pastor Beverly Stenmark’s role in helping and serving is just one of many stories of dedicated clergy that could be told every day throughout our community of churches. For her part, she no doubt would rather remain anonymous. As she herself has said, “Being a friend of Jesus’ means being a friend of those for whom Jesus cares and doing so with that being our only motivation - not with thoughts of an acknowledgment or appreciation or anything else. It is a ministry of being present in whatever way is called for at the time, and helping to carry another into the presence of Christ.”

She is just one of many who serve---often at personal sacrifice---and we should appreciate more what they all give us daily in our spiritual lives, and especially what they offer to those who struggle in tragedy searching for God’s healing touch and love.

PUTTING A FACE ON WAR: WHY GRIEVING FAMILIES TALK TO THE NEWS MEDIA

March 22, 2003, Following first casualties of the War in Iraq

The war in Iraq was personalized for Americans this week when the United States suffered its first casualties. The surreal pictures of live television coverage of the war now had faces, names, grieving families back home.

Each name, each face meant loved ones back home received the first personal visits of the war from military officers. Casualty Notification Officers, CNOs in military jargon, dressed in Class A uniform, carrying out difficult duties – delivering sad news they never want to tell to families who never want to hear it. Since Viet Nam, the tragic news has always been delivered in person. In World War II, it was often a heart-halting telegram triggering tears.

As the news broke of the first American deaths in the Iraq conflict, the sad task of notifying the next of kin – the NOKs in military terms – and expressing the regrets of a grateful nation was performed in Maine and Maryland, in the heartland of America, in the deep South, in Texas and California.

Killed in combat: 2^nd Lt. Therrel Childers, 30, Harrison, Mississippi, assigned to the 5^th Regiment of the 1^st Marine Division, based at Camp Pendleton, California; Lance Cpl Jose Gutierrez, 22, of Los Angeles, 1^st Regiment of the 1^st Marine Division, also based at Camp Pendleton. And four Marines killed in the crash of their Sea Knight helicopter: Capt. Ryan Anthony Beaupre, 30, Bloomington, Illinois; Major Jay Thomas Aubin, 36, Waterville, Maine; Cpl Brian Matthew Kennedy, 25, Houston, Texas; Staff Sgt Kendall Damon Watersbey, 29, of Baltimore, Maryland.

Not long after the notifications, many of the families came forward to talk to the news media. We’ve all heard people wonder why the media approaches families in sad situations such as these. And why do the families agree to the interviews? I know the former and have some thoughts on the latter.

For the media it is part of the story, the very heart of the story that is the personalization of the soldier, the Marine whose life has ended. As someone who has been in the news business for many years, I can tell you some journalists handle it better than others and for all it is an assignment they would rather not have.

What may seem remarkable is that many of the families, stricken with grief in tragedies, actually choose to face the cameras. It is remarkable that they can brave the circumstances to talk, but it is understandable as to why they do it. I really think talking in a public way about a husband, a son, a daughter who gave a life is in some way an affirmation of that life. It’s an opportunity to tell others that the person mattered, he or she was more than a name, and above all, he or she was loved.

When I was a young television reporter in Syracuse, New York in the early 1970s, I was assigned to cover a funeral for a New York State Trooper who had been killed in the line of duty. It was the most difficult story I had been assigned up to that time. The parents of the young trooper were suffering immense grief and we were told by the understandably protective State Police not to approach them for interviews. As I recall we were not allowed inside the church. I also recall that someone in the crowd, not a trooper, expressed his displeasure that I was there.

When a trooper, or any police officer, is killed in the line of duty, his brother and sister officers turn out in large numbers for the funeral. State troopers from across the state were there. Outside the church we filmed the long procession of officers in gray uniforms filing into the church. We had the scene of the flag-draped casket being carried to the church by fellow officers. We knew how he died and a few details of his life, but not much else. In my heart of hearts I felt the story would barely scratch the surface of his life. What kind of person was he?

As I stood outside the church and the funeral unfolded inside, I debated with myself what to do. I noticed a trooper standing by the door and approached him.

“Did you know Trooper Dillon?”

“Yes. We were in the police academy together.”

“My deepest sympathy.”

“Thank you.”

“May I ask you about him?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Would you mind if I turned on this audio tape recorder?”

He started to talk. “Matt was a good trooper …” He told how “Matt” was a nickname they had given Trooper Dillon from Marshall Dillon in the TV show Gunsmoke. He went on to speak eloquently of Matt’s time on the force and gave a full measure of his life, how much he was loved, how much he would be missed.

I put the pieces of the story together. My narration over film scenes of the gathering at the church, his photo detailed his dedication and bravery. And over the film of the “long gray line” of troopers filing in, I ran the sound of the interview – this fellow officer in a calm, but clearly emotional tone affirming his friend’s life.

As I put the words and pictures together, I had tears in my eyes. The story led the 6 PM newscast. And others in the newsroom who watched the images flicker on the screen also were moved. I ended my day and drove home.

When I got home, the phone rang. It was the news director at the TV station.

“I got a phone call from someone who wants to talk to you. Can you please call him back? Here’s the number.”

I dialed the number. A man answered and I introduced myself and said I’m returning your call.

He introduced himself as the trooper’s uncle and said he wanted in behalf of the family to thank me for the story. He said the family had been gathered together and had seen the story and was moved by it. He spoke of his nephew’s life, how much he had meant to all of his family, how much he was loved. He said the story captured what they were feeling about him. And he indicated that perhaps they should have spoken with the media. I simply said, “I understand. I know the family has had a difficult day.” I thanked him for calling and asked that he please express my deepest sympathy to the family.

As soon as I set the phone down, all the bad feelings I had been experiencing after the man in the crowd had criticized my being at the funeral went away. I felt I had in some small way had an impact in celebrating that trooper’s life.

Interviews with grief-stricken families are common on television now. As the war continues, there will, no doubt, be more. That’s the tragedy of war; but if a family wants to talk publicly about that brave young person they loved so much, that’s not necessarily a bad idea. Somehow, I believe, it often helps a family to share its grief even if it is with an entire world through the unblinking eye of a television camera.

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