from The Barrel

Sunday June 11, 2000

Key Scripture—1 Corinthians 3: 1-3



Where do I begin? Should I start with a young insecure boy who found approval and acceptance in a loving grandmother, aunt and parents? Or maybe a young teenager in a deeply spiritual mode, yet burdened with guilt? Or a young boy who heard a call to ministry in the voice of his father speaking to someone else? Where do I start?

Let’s begin in the year 1957. I had already completed two years of theological education. Three others and I would be leaving for Canada in September for studies leading to ordination. That year I had organized and led a mission of young people to the island of Grenada. We had conducted services, met with young people there and organized Christian Endeavor Societies. And somewhere along the way I had picked up a bug that developed into what the doctor diagnosed as serious case of infectious hepatitis on my return to Trinidad. I had excruciating headaches, very high temperatures, and serious diarrhea.

It was during that illness that my fevered brain had a delirious dream. I dreamt that I had already been ordained and I was serving a church in Trinidad. People came from all over to hear me preach, and they were falling over converted all over the place. I was soon called to a larger church and before long I was sent to North America with the same spectacular results. My preaching resulted in mass conversions wherever I went. I was sent on a mission to Russia and in Moscow the Russian communists were coming to Christ in droves in response to my preaching.

In 1961 I had completed my studies and at the age of 23 returned to Trinidad to be ordained. I was appointed to a Pastoral Charge with eight churches. In the main congregation they were planning to build a new church building but the congregation had been split into so many factions that most people did not talk with each other, and more stayed away than came to church. I was too young to know any better, so I went about the business of healing the broken body. I preached as I hard as I could but I witnessed no conversions as a result of my preaching. In a couple of years I was called to another Charge. They, too, had had severe conflicts and splits, and I began again the work of healing.

In 1965 I accepted an appointment to the island of Grenada, where Ruth came and joined me, and we were married. We had planned on a quiet wedding, but the congregation would have none of it. They arranged the reception and even secured a beautiful completely private hideaway by the sea for our honeymoon, where we had total privacy. We roamed around like Adam and Eve, although my blushing bride insisted on us wearing more than fig leaf aprons.

It was during this period, in this idyllic setting, that my disillusionment with ministry began and grew to critical portions. Even though people were responding positively to my ministry, my preaching was not having the desired effect. As far as I knew no one was being saved. Admitting failure as a preacher I began to search for alternate forms of ministry. Since I had always been told I had a gift for writing I thought that developing that gift by training in religious journalism would enable me to reach and touch people in the way my preaching did seem to be doing.

So on October 2, 1968 my young wife and I, with our two little girls, Nadia and Natasha left, Trinidad for Wisconsin. We were too young and foolish to realize the enormity of the journey we had undertaken. With a few dollars we had raised from selling everything we had we bought tickets, and with $1,000 (US) on loan from one of my brothers, we came to Wisconsin. Bishop Alton appointed us to Avoca and Gotham. A grand salary of $4,000 managed to keep us going, and pay my out-of-state tuition at the University. But more than that the wonderful people of Avoca and Gotham, and later Wyoming Valley, received us with such warmth and generosity of spirit. I have recounted this at another time and won’t go into it now.

Slowly my call to pastoral ministry returned during this period, and I began to realize that I had been disillusioned because I had set unrealistic expectations for myself. I had misunderstood the nature and function of preaching. But I continued to be on a crusade. In 1973 we accepted our first full time appointment in Bristol and Wesley Chapel. Things were hopping in this charge. They responded to our ministry with enthusiasm and we were very busy and active people. Shortly after we went to Bristol one of our girls fell seriously ill. We almost lost her. The people of the churches surrounded us with their love, they held us up with their prayers. They did everything that needed to be done so that we could give ourselves to our daughter. When our daughter recovered as if by a miracle we had no doubt in our minds that it was the power of love and of prayer that brought healing.

In 1978 we accepted an appointment to Markesan. I remember coming home from a meeting where I had met with District Superintendent Lloyd Foster. I told Ruth that he had asked us to go to Markesan. My wife broke down and started to cry. “What’s the matter?” I asked her, completely befuddled. “At least they could send us to some placed I’ve heard of!” she said. “Where in the world is Markesan?” became home for six wonderful years. And in 1984 we accepted an appointment to La Crosse: St. Luke’s. After only two years we were appointed to Mayville and Horicon where we were told that our gifts and graces were needed. After six years in Mayville and Horicon they were ready to have separate appointments and we accepted an appointment to University Church in Madison. After three years there we came kicking and screaming to Waterloo.

So here we are today after 39 years of ordained ministry. What have I learned? I have learned that ministry is not about converting people. This may come as a disappointment to some, but I sincerely believe that that is not the job of preaching. I had been disillusioned in ministry because I had mistaken expectations. My fevered dream had set up expectations that were completely unrealistic and untrue and had left me frustrated and feeling a failure. It had robbed me of the peace and fulfillment of the heart of ministry. It had caused me to miss all the wonderful things that were happening in my ministry.

I have learned that ministry is not about changing the world. Certainly there are problems everywhere. Certainly there is poverty and oppression, there is hunger and disease and death. There are problems that frighten even the bravest. I have tried, but I have not changed the world. It is not because I have failed at it, but I have come to understand better. It is not that I don’t continue to challenge injustice, but I see it in a larger context. If I cannot change the world, I have sought to change myself, to become a more understanding and caring person. Love changes more people than any other power that I know.

I have learned that ministry is not about theology. As much as I love theological thought, discussion and debate, it is not what ministry is about. It is not about persuading people to accept my particular theology. Indeed, my theology has changed so much over time that I myself no longer accept theologies that I held not so long ago. Ministry is not about pushing any particular theology. Indeed, I have learned that theology is highly overrated. I would not say that it is not important at all, but it is much less important the I had thought. I believe I can say that in every congregation I have served that my theology was more liberal that the majority of the members of the congregation. But that did not keep me from developing deep relationships and spiritual bonding with people of all theological shades.

I have learned that ministry is not about raising the budget. It is not about financial solvency. It is not about paying apportionments in full. It is not about statistical reports, or Charge Conferences. It is not about bishops and district superintendents. It is not about any of the things I have been told it is over the years. What is ministry about? It’s about people. It’s not about converting people. It’s not about manipulating them to believe what I think they should believe. It is about loving people. That’s simple enough, isn’t it? Perhaps you knew it all along. For me it has taken a journey of thirty-nine years to come to this understanding.

It’s about the people in Dummer and Parry, two small hamlets in Southern Saskatchewan, who loved a little brown man who came to serve them as a student minister. It’s about people in Couva, Balmain, Calcutta Settlement, Indian Trail, Carolina, McBean, Esperanza, California, people in Fyzabad, Rousillac, Siparia Road, people in Grenada, in St. George’s, Samaritan, Gouyave, and Conference, people in St. James, and in Guaico. It’s about people in Avoca, Gotham, and Wyoming Valley, people in Bristol and Wesley Chapel, people in Markesan, people in La Crosse, people in Mayville and Horicon, people in Madison, people in Waterloo. It’s about my own wonderful wife, and my four loving daughters, who together have been a ministry team with me over the years.

Ministry is about people. Jesus knew that, of course. To him it was about a Samaritan woman looking frantically for love. It was about a demented maniac who lived among the tombs. It was about an old rabbi who was searching for meaning beyond the theologies he had learned. It was about little children who recognized in him a friend. “You are the light of the world,” he said. “You are the salt of the earth.” I could name names, but that is dangerous business, because I could never name them all. Yet today I do want to say that I wish our friend Vera were with us. Vera was Auntie Vera to our girls. She welcomed us into her family. She was my mentor, my sister, and my friend. I miss her terribly today. But who knows, maybe she is celebrating this day with us.

I love you all. And I thank you for the wonderful love that you have shared with us over the years. You are the church. You are the seed. You have helped me to understand and to experience what ministry is about. You are what my ministry has been about, and you have been worth every minute of the more than thirty-nine years of my life devoted to this vocation.

With all my heart I thank you, and the hundred of others who have been a part of this wonderful journey with us. May God bless you all, always!

(I preached this sermon at my retirement service)