pastor

What Alzheimer’s Cannot Do – Part 6

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Alzheimer’s cannot destroy faith.Praying_Hands

During a Thanksgiving weekend several years ago, I visited Mom at the assisted living facility. It was Sunday and per her usual practice, she wanted to go to church.

So she dressed up, picked up her Bible and we walked down the hall toward the dining room. A visiting pastor had volunteered to preach a brief sermon and lead these elderly saints in worship.

The room was filled with Alzheimer’s and dementia residents in various stages of the disease – beautiful shades of white and gray hair, curly perms and a few shining bald heads of the rare men in the crowd.

The pastor kept his words brief, then we sang some of the favorite hymns: “What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” “Amazing Grace,” “When We All Get to Heaven.”

Most of the residents hummed along, some fell asleep, a few still knew some of the words. I sang lustily, my mezzo soprano blending with the bass of the pastor. My mother remembered some of the lyrics and hummed through the rest.

Then the pastor said, “Please join me as we all recite Psalm 23.”

I thought, You must be kidding, buddy. These people can’t recite a passage of Scripture. They can barely remember their names.

But they surprised me.

I watched them and listened as around the room – every single resident recited word for word the precious Shepherd’s Psalm.

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.”

The King James version, with none of them missing a beat.

“He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul.”

How many of them prayed that God would restore their lives, do a miracle in their bodies and release them from this disease, this long and tragic goodbye?

“He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.”

A righteous life includes reading the word of God and hiding those words in their hearts so that when the end of life comes, when those final years flip over onto the calendar, these residents would hang on to what really matters.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”

These saints understood the Psalm better than I because they live within that valley. I could see it in their eyes, in the faces accessorized with wisdom-carrying wrinkles. They knew this valley and only God could help them walk through it unafraid. And they believed he would comfort them along the way and never leave them alone.

“Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.”

Food no longer provided comfort because the appetite was gone, the taste buds had forgotten a favorite flavor or the joy of family meals. Yet smiles surfaced around the group – maybe a dim remembrance of God’s anointing on a life, the cup of joy that once ran over and now waited for its fulfillment.

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

My mother, her voice clear, her eyes bright – solid in her faith and waiting for her timeline to end.

Each one of them in the room, recited what they believed. I could not speak. Tears choked me as I realized there’s a place deep within us, a sanctuary of the soul that cannot be stolen by whatever is happening in the brain.

Alzheimer’s cannot and will never destroy faith.

Amen and amen.

©2015 RJ Thesman – Author of the Reverend G books http://amzn.to/1rXlCyh

Worship Visited

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On the last day of our Sabbatical weekend in Yoder, Kansas, we rise to worship and spend a few hours with the local body of believers.

Amish horse and buggyWe are invited to the Journey Mennonite Church – a group of Christ-followers who share some of the Amish beliefs and ancestral beginnings. Simple values. The Bible as its guidebook. Friendly folks who shake our hands and treat us like family.

The church is an old structure, repurposed for more contemporary worship. We wear our blue jeans and T-shirts, comfy shoes and no one cares. So different from the traditions of my past. I like it. I know that even Reverend G would feel welcome here.

This modern group of believers includes many young families, and they keep the children with them in worship. I love that. The children learn how to pray and how to serve. The young ones are in charge of passing red buckets for the offering.

This is a sad day for this body as they say good-bye to a pastor. He is leaving to tend to family dynamics in another state. A brave man, committed to God’s will. A valiant church, willing to send him away.

God will fill the gap, send another to minister to these sheep, to ease their grieving hearts.

God also fills the gap in me as we worship together. First, we sing the contemporary praises with guitar and voice, then we move into a couple of hymns. My soul gasps as the words of one of my favorite hymns project onto the wall.

“When peace like a river attendeth my soul. When sorrows like sea billows roll. Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, it is well. It is well with my soul.”

As the chorus builds, the guitar is silenced and we sing in the six-part harmony of my youth. Worship comes easy within such beauty. The blending voices of young couples, us graying folks and the next generation – all together in one spirit praise God that all is well.

I raise my hands even as my throat fills with tears. The Alpha and Omega of my soul is in this place.  Worship swells in abundance as the chords build a crescendo within this aging building.

And I know that wherever I am, whether on sabbatical in the small town of Yoder or on ministry duty in the busy-ness of Kansas City – it is indeed well with my soul.

Reverend G’s Faith – Part 2

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We are answering a reader’s question, “When did Reverend G’s relationship with God begin and how did she grow so close to Him?” This post is the continuation of the back story.

When Gertie returned home, she tried to explain to her parents about her decision to become a Christian. But all they wanted to hear about were the camp activities she participated in – archery, crafts and rock collecting. They did, however, surprise their daughter with a new idea.

“While you were away,” Gertie’s mother said, “we met a lovely woman who just moved across the street. She needs a young person to come over once a week and help her clean house. She’ll pay you two dollars a week. It will be your first job.”

So the next Saturday, Gertie knocked on the door of a white Cape Cod-style house and met the owner, Shirley. As Gertie looked around the house, she thought the house looked clean enough already, but if Shirley was willing to pay her to clean an already immaculate house, so be it.

crossShirley also owned lots of crosses which she displayed on the walls or on bookshelves. She even owned a pair of salt and pepper shaker crosses in the kitchen.

Shirley handed Gertie a broom and asked, “Do you like to sweep or vacuum or dust? What is your specialty?”

Gertie smiled at Shirley and watched her pop some fresh chocolate chip cookie dough into the oven. “I don’t mind doing any of it, but I do have a question. Why do you have so many crosses in your house?”

Shirley offered a kitchen chair to Gertie, then sat down next to her. She opened a large Bible with red printing on some of the words, and she began to explain the Gospel of John. Gertie listened carefully and even took notes on the scrap paper Shirley gave her.

Every Saturday from the time Gertie was 13 until she graduated from high school at 18, she helped Shirley clean her house. Then they sat down together and studied a book of the Bible. They went through John twice, then 1 John, then Matthew and Mark and Luke. Later, it was Hebrews and Romans. Shirley taught Gertie how to pray and how to keep a prayer journal. Each week, they prayed for Gertie’s parents to also become Christians and by the time Gertie earned her high school diploma, Shirley had fully discipled her young neighbor.

Gertie told her parents several times about the momentous decision she made to believe that God loved her and invited Jesus into her life. But her parents just pooh-poohed it as a teenage peer group idea. They let her go to church, but they never joined her. She learned to keep her faith strong by continued discipleship with Shirley and activities with the church youth group.

Shortly after Gertie enrolled in college, her parents decided to come visit her. But during the drive, one of the front tires on their Rambler station wagon blew out, and her father lost control of the car. Both of Gertie’s parents died that day, and Gertie entered into the grieving process.

Christian friends at college helped her through it, including a nice young man named Chris and his girlfriend, Polly. But Gertie also discovered the book of Psalms and practically memorized most of King David’s songs.

God Himself became her Abba Father as He stood beside Gertie to comfort her through the funerals, through the sale of the house and through the rest of that long, sad year. Gertie learned about the Holy Spirit and how to listen as He whispered guidance to her. She became a leader on campus as other struggling kids sought her advice. No one was too surprised when Gertie decided to major in social work and counseling, but then the Holy Spirit planted another dream in her heart.

Half-way through her junior year of college, Gertie remembered a passage that she studied with Shirley. Gertie still received letters from Shirley, page after page of encouragement and hope. So it was Shirley who heard the news first when Gertie typed a letter to her aging mentor.

“Thanks for the pretty card you sent, Shirley. You’re always so thoughtful, and I hope to be that way too someday. You’re my hero, you know.

“God has been so close to me lately, and I believe I know now what he wants me to do with my life. John 15:16 says that God has chosen me to go and be an example, to develop godly character and witness to others. In the King James version, it even says that God has ordained me.

“I’ve talked to my advisor, and we’ve been searching for just the right school – after I finish my bachelor’s in social work.

“I’m going to seminary, dear friend, to be a pastor. I know it’s kind of weird for a woman to be headed in that direction, but I can’t forget John 15:16 and I think with social work and counseling majors, I’ll be able to serve God and others in a pastoral capacity.

“Thanks for teaching me and sharing your heart with me all those years, Shirley. I never could have made it through college and the death of my parents without the faith that you modeled for me. God has been so good to me, and I’m excited to see what He has for my future. I love you so much.”

So that is how Gertie Davis became Reverend G. She finished her bachelor’s in social work, earned a master’s in counseling, then went on to earn a Masters of Divinity in seminary. Through all the years of growing up and growing inward, God never failed Gertie. So when she became Reverend G, her faith was strong and she was able to share it with others…even when her life began to unravel.

But then…that’s another story.Rev_G_Cover

The Blessing of Clarity

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We sit together in church, my mother holds her Bible – because that is what we do in church. She no longer is able to find her favorite passages nor can she comprehend the Table of Contents that would help her locate, “The Lord is my Shepherd.”

Yet she is present, because this is a Sunday and this is what we do every Sunday – no matter what.

The horrid disease of Alzheimer’s cannot take away from us our Sunday traditions – at least…not yet. We will worship, then return home to prepare the family dinner. We will eat together – my siblings and I, the grandchildren and my mother – the matriarch who raised us to appreciate this day. We will talk about the past week and the coming week. Then we will take holy naps and praise the God who gives us work on the other six days.

Yet while we sit in church, I thank God that on this particular day, my mother still comprehends some of what is said and occasionally joins in the songs, especially the old hymns with familiar melodies and safe theology.

I watch her from the corner of my eye. This is the woman who made sure I learned my Sunday school verses. She is the one who drove me to the Good News Club where I fell in love with Jesus. She was the first person I told about my salvation moment, and she rejoiced with me.

I wonder how long she prayed for that moment to become a reality. Did she begin praying on the day she recognized her pregnancy? Or did she wait until I slithered from her womb and screamed my entrance into the world?

How do I reciprocate those prayers now? I pray for God’s mercy and ask for just a bit of clarity, for the dark shadows of Alzheimer;s to leave her alone so that she can worship on this day, one more Sunday.

The pastor asks for introductions of visitors. He knows my mother struggles with memory yet he asks her, forces her to remember. “And who is sitting next to you?” he asks.

Every muscle in my body tenses. What will she say? Will she need to think about it for heart-gripping moments while everyone waits? Will she feel obligated to make up a name for me, the person who looks like a younger version of herself?

Ah, no. She rapidly and clearly answers, “Why, this is my daughter…Rebecca.”

Everyone smiles. My heart leaps with joy, for on this particular Sunday, on this heat-encrusted August day in Oklahoma…my mother still knows who I am.