Following in the Footsteps

No, this time I'm not talking about Jesus.  I'm talking about family.

When my wife hears stories about all of my family members in previous generations who became clergy, she jokingly says, "The Force runs strong in your family."

It's always good for a few chuckles, but she is right.  My family tree is littered with pastor types from Baptist to Lutheran.  My only living grandfather celebrates over sixty years as a pastor, and I have found it quite the honor to follow in his footsteps.

I will forever remember the day of my ordination when Grandpa stood in the midst of the congregation and placed the stole (the colored piece of cloth draped over a pastor's shoulders that hangs over his or her robe) around my neck.  It was a proverbial "passing of the torch", at least I see it that way.  Grandpa even topped it off by giving me his set of stoles.  Whenever I am feeling a bit traditional, I break one of them out and wear it proudly--especially since they have a history behind them.  Grandpa also left me his home communion kit.  Talk about a keepsake!  It has a chalice that screws together so someone can partake of the wine!  Today's stuff has plastic cups which are discarded.  It was a different time.

But onto something that remains the same.  Perhaps it is in my family's DNA...at least when it comes to service in the church.

I am a country pastor.  I'm not sure I could enjoy working in the city or suburbs.  I could probably be pretty effective in what I do, but I'm not sure I would have a sense of fulfillment in my call.  I like the peace and quiet of few cars and few neighbors.  I like looking up and seeking sky instead of skyscrapers.  At night, I see stars instead of street lights.  There is peace.  There is room to move around.  I don't feel crowded by myriads of others scurrying from place to place.  The pace is slower--even if the pace in my congregation has quickened considerably in the last seven years.

And I need a place to garden and grow things.  It's my therapy.  I told the folks of my congregation that I needed a spot to garden or they would have to pay for counseling.  One of those options was much cheaper, so they found a place for me to put in a crop.  It's a little strange that I would do such a thing since most of my childhood I griped and complained about picking green beans, silting corn, and chopping weeds.  But I do no such thing now.  I work to grow those same crops along with squash, cucumbers, grapes, strawberries, jalapenos, bell peppers, tomatoes, watermelon, and in the near future blackberries.  There is nothing better than eating your own vegetables, canning them to eat throughout the year, and making your own home made jellies. 

I'm not as big a gardener as my dad or my grandfather, but perhaps one day I will get there.  Particularly if I continue to walk in their footsteps.

For you see, my father and my grandfather not only provided for their families through their gardens, but they gave more than a few vegetables away.  I understand why.  I am trying to do the same thing.

Yesterday, I loaded up several grocery bags with fresh corn, and I visited four widows in my congregation.  I came bearing those gifts. 

There are more than a few passages of scripture which tell us to care for the widow and the orphan, and while most widows around here have plenty of family members to look after them, it doesn't hurt the pastor of the church to put such things into practice as well. 

Now, I don't quite produce enough to give everyone a sack of corn or green beans or squash at this time, perhaps one day my garden will be big enough to do just that.  It's what neighbors should do for one another.  It's what my dad did.  And my grandfather.  And now me, as I follow in their footsteps.