Posted in Ministry

Planning an ordination

Posted on by William Douthwaite

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My son just graduated from the seminary and received his first call into the pastoral ministry. Just a few days ago I received permission from his district president to do his ordination at our church. Sweet.

Now I’ve only been to two ordinations in my life. The first was my own, in June of 1986 at Prince of Peace Lutheran Church in Coventry, CT, my first parish. That seems like a long, long time ago. The second was for one of our vicars when he graduated. Now that I am planning a service and preparing a sermon, I wish I had been paying closer attention.

On the one hand, it’s not too hard. The Order of Vespers with the Rite of Ordination before the Collects. With a hymnal and an Agenda, a piece of cake. Worship folder? Plenty of templates to work from. Cover? That’s a little tougher. I thought I could find one to buy, but church publishing houses print stock very few. I can make my own, right? I found a picture to go with one of the texts he picked. Should work.

Now, a sermon. An ordination sermon. For my son. Hmm. Over the last twenty-seven years, I’ve preached somewhere around 1,000 times. But never for an occasion like this. I like all the texts he picked: Isaiah 6:1-8, 2 Timothy 1:8-14 and Matthew 9:35-38. I’m going to go with the harvest, prayer, laborers text of Matthew’s gospel. It’s time to get to work. I didn’t baptize him (I wasn’t yet a pastor when he was born), but I did confirm him and marry him and his wife. Now I get to ordain him! Like I said, sweet.

He doesn’t remember it, but he attended my ordination. Now I get to go to his. This is definitely one of the perks and blessings of being a pastor. And maybe a good way to begin an ordination sermon.

Posted in Life

Getting His hands dirty

Posted on by William Douthwaite

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This morning I began another cover-to-cover reading of the Bible. I choose a different translation to read through each time and this time, I’m reading the Common English Bible copyright 2011. The subtitle is “a fresh translation to touch the heart and mind.” I’m certainly not an expert on Bible translations, and I’m sure that this one, like all, has its shortcomings. Like many contemporary translations, I believe it strives to find a balance between word-for-word and thought-for-thought approaches to translation. I work with the English Standard Version each week for sermon preparation and worship, so we’ll see how it goes.

The verses that caught my attention early this morning were Genesis 2:7-8, “the Lord God formed the human from the topsoil of the fertile land and blew life’s breath into his nostrils. The human came to life. The Lord God planted a garden in Eden in the east and put there the human he had formed.” A long time ago in a place far away, God was getting his hands dirty, creating the first man and planting the first garden.

I checked the Hebrew word and indeed, the is plant, which means God and I have something in common. I have planted gardens. In fact, I really enjoy gardening. I suppose I got that from my father, who until recently had all kinds of gardens and grew some amazing roses. Now I find myself wondering if my heavenly Father enjoys gardening. Just imagine the Almighty, Eternal God, the Creator Himself, on his knees, digging a hole, mixing in some fertilizer, and adding a plant to His garden.

As I’ve written about in a previous post, there is something very relaxing about working in the garden. Now I know it’s really a spiritual experience!

Posted in Life

A few (more) days with Dad (part 2, I guess)

Posted on by William Douthwaite

The good thing about Dad sleeping in late each morning is that I get a chance to get some work done. Read, journaled, worked on my sermon, reserved a van for the youth gathering trip. Later in the morning I did a bunch of weeding in the yard, trimming around the lawn and cleaned up. I went in search of a blower to clear the driveway and found one serious source of wind power. It took long to wind up the cord than blow everything clean!

We had to do a little more shopping, but Dad forgot his list and we missed a few things. That's the challenge. Forgetfulness. In fact, when He got up this morning, he saw me and said, “Oh, you're still here?” “Yah, Dad, I told you I was leaving Thursday afternoon.” Later, when I was offering to help him catch up on his bills, he resisted, saying, “As soon as you all get out of here, I'll get back into my routine and take care of it.” He still likes his space, knows we're keeping an eye one things, and holds on to what he can. His comments don't bother me. I know he won't remember our conversation. But I also know my sister will have to make him pay the bills when she visits next week.

On the positive side, he's got plenty of resources to cover a variety of living options. He's amazingly healthy, just slowing down. It's tough to see him most of his day in PJs, only really dressing to go to the store or church or putter in the yard because I'm out there. But it's nice to sit with him in the backyard, watch the birds and talk about family. I learn something new about him and his life every time I visit. This time I learned that his Uncle Arthur took him to his first professional baseball game sometime around 1936. They took the bus and trolley up to Shibe Park to watch his boyhood hero Jimmie Foxx play for the A's. he's got an old pic of Foxx on the wall in his office along with lots of old – really old – family photos.

On another wall were pictures of my Mom in nursing school and then as a nurse, wearing her double frill from Philadelphia General Hospital. I sent them to my daughter Olivia who is beginning her nursing education this fall. She replied, “I didn't know Grandma was a nurse!” Yup, it runs in the family!

Now I'm waiting at the airport in Philadelphia, wondering if we'll really fly to Jacksonville tonight, where Tropical Storm Andrea has set up shop. If so, it should be an interesting ride.

 

Posted in Life

A few days with Dad (part 1)

Posted on by William Douthwaite

Today I realized I haven’t been up here (Ridley Park) to see my dad in eighteen months! Far too long. He’s not a traveler, so I’m the one who makes the journey.

I flew up from Florida early in the morning, got a much nicer rental car than I expected, and stepped back in time, into a hometown that in some ways hasn’t changed all that much in decades. After a cup of coffee with dad, I wanted to help him with some yard work in the cooler hours of a beautiful spring day. The lawn hadn’t yet been cut this year, and after some generous spring rains, was two feet tall in some places on the hill. Yikes. A great hill for sledding in the winter, but a feat to mow under normal conditions. I set the mower up as high as it could go, and it powerfully threshed the yard on the first pass, and manicured the lawn on the second, normal setting. Not to be outdone, dad trimmed.

As I mowed, I noticed what looked like little strawberries all over the bottom part of the yard. I had never seen them before. Sure enough, after a little research, I learned that they are a wild strawberry weed that is very common in this area, and tough to get rid of. No wildlife seems to want them, so I guess they are destined to be a part of the yard. I vividly remember playing hours and hours of run the bases, pitcher/catcher and infield practice when we were growing up. Our own little stadium.

After a quick sandwich for lunch, I accompanied my dad to his afternoon doctor’s appointment, where I learned that he is still in very good health at eighty-nine. A little forgetful and not as ambitious as he used to be, he’s doing OK. The doctor’s encouragement when I mentioned we were thinking about dad moving in with or near my brother was welcome support as we take the initial steps towards that transition.

Since there really wasn’t too much food in the house other than frozen meals and expired hamburger, we picked up a few things at the grocery store so I could cook a few meals. Salmon, salad and roasted potatoes last night, un-expired hamburger, etc. for tonight. He doesn’t have a grill. I grill everything at home. I guess I’ll get by with a frying pan.

We watched some of the Phillies game after supper, but I didn’t last very long since I had gotten up at 3:30 am to get to the airport.

Coming to visit my dad is a cross between stepping into a time capsule and a museum. Same dining room table and chairs as when I was growing up. Lots of pictures of my mom on the walls, some from her 20’s and some from her 60’s. Same pots and pans in the kitchen. An archive of our growing-up years in photos and mementoes.

Going down into my day’s basement workshop is like going to a hardware store. He’s got just about every power tool, nail and wrench you can imagine. He’s still got his dad’s tools and tool box, no doubt antiques by now.

From now till when I leave, I need to make sure he stays on top of his bills (he hasn’t). But I need to do so in a way that doesn’t make him feel like I’m getting into his business, even though we are. Walking a tightrope, indeed.

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Posted in Life

Sounds like home

Posted on by William Douthwaite

 

I am visiting my dad for a few days in Ridley Park, a suburb just south of Philadelphia. Tonight, I'm lying in bed, listening to a whole catalogue of sounds I rarely hear in Florida.

In just the last few seconds, I've heard car and truck traffic on Chester Pike, a commuter train passing by the Crum Lynne Station on the Chester-Wilmington Line and a jet taking off from Philadelphia International Airport. Add to that a horn blaring off in the distance, the sound of the Philles-Marlins game from the downstairs TV, and my dad foraging for a late-night snack.

I haven't lived here for 35 years, and yet it sounds like home.

 

Posted in Grace, Ministry

See all the people

Posted on by William Douthwaite

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I did a funeral service today for the brother of a dear member. I had visited, talked and prayed with him a number of times over the past six months as his cancer progressed and his family took care of him. During one visit, he asked me to do his funeral service, and I was glad to say yes.

After the worship service at the church, I chose to drive myself to the cemetery, following the hearse on a slow but steady eight mile ride through town. During that ride, I found myself marveling at all the people involved in making this day happen. I believe I was initially impressed with the six citizen patrol cars that escorted us through the various intersection of town. Zooming ahead, then lagging behind, we didn’t have to brake once.

“We” included the funeral director and staff. They arrived two hours early, set up the viewing in the chapel, arranged the flowers, welcomed and directed guests, and paid special attention to the family. They reverently moved the casket in and out, covering and uncovering it with the pall, drove the cars, and had the cemetery ready just when we arrived. Each one was professional, compassionate, efficient and a pleasure to talk and work with.

Meanwhile, back at the church, the organist had prepared music for the service, a dozen or more members prepared and set up a meal, the custodian had everything in order, elders were on duty, and even the office manager stepped in to sit with the family.

I had met with the family, helped them choose some hymns and scripture readings, put the service together and preached. I did my part, but it was only a slice of the day’s agenda.

What a difference a community of faith makes on a day like today! I suppose all of this could have taken place in non-faith context. But would it? Would we put that much effort into this event without the love of Christ and the hope of resurrection? Would people who didn’t know the deceased come just to be with someone in the family? (We had two dozen from our church, none of whom had met the man who died.) Perhaps. But I don’t believe it would be the same. As dearly loved children of God and brothers and sisters of Jesus Christ, our family is much bigger than we realize.

Until we get together to mourn or celebrate, to cry or laugh, to welcome or say goodbye, to both live and die. And how good it is to be able to do it together.

Posted in Life, Ministry

A new chapter for the men’s bible class

Posted on by William Douthwaite

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As soon as I arrived in Palm Coast to begin serving as pastor at Shepherd of the Coast seventeen years ago, I was informed I’d get to lead the men’s bible study that met on Thursday mornings. At the time, we met at a little diner-like place at the Flagler County airport called “Wings,” where the standard breakfast fare was a “hockey puck” (Fried egg on an English muffin with your choice of bacon or sausage patty). One bite and you know how it got it’s name. That and coffee cost you $1.99 plus tax.

After a few years, though, the restaurant closed and we moved our study up to Perkins restaurant, where we had a back room to ourselves and a larger choice of breakfast specials, including muffins and pie. I generally passed on the coffee, which I suspect was also used to clean the grill. But some of the heartier souls were able to down cup after cup. This past Sunday I heard the rumor and got the official news on Monday that Perkins had closed. Just like that. Our Waitress of many years, Jennie, left a note for me at the church. An era had ended.

But a new one begins tomorrow, at Bob Evans. I stopped by to see if they had a spot for us on Thursday mornings, and was blessed to know the manager there, the daughter of a woman I had visited many years ago in the nursing home. She hooked us up and we are ready to go.

I believe this group has been meeting for over twenty years. Numbering anywhere from twelve to twenty men, I believe we have studied nearly every book of the Bible, watched a number of Bible videos, and in animated conversation, solved most of the world’s problems. We have said farewell to a few who have gone on ahead of us to glory, but new faces have soon filled out our group.

I appreciate this faithful group of men, whose faces I see each Sunday in worship and at breakfast on Thursday mornings. If you’ve ever needed prayer, chances are we’ve prayed for you. Our list is formidable, but we’re undaunted, for we hold to the promise that the prayers of righteous men are effective.

If you are ever in Palm Coast on a Thursday morning, stop in and see us from 8-9 am, now at Bob Evans (next to Home Depot).

Posted in Ministry

Open Arms Preschool Graduation

Posted on by William Douthwaite

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Last Thursday night I attended our Open Arms preschool’s twentieth graduation. A couple dozen pre-K students were sent along to kindergarten with our blessing and thanksgiving for the time we had with them. Dressed blue cap and gown, each received their diploma and we announced what they wanted to be when they grew up. There was the usual assortment of public servants I(firefighters and police), doctors and dentists, but my favorite was an aspiring mermaid!

I was privileged to lead them in prayer to open the night, and then sing some songs with them that we had learned though the course of the year. I get to read from the bible, sing and pray with them each Wednesday during the school year and summer program. It is a unique way of reaching into the families of our community, sending these students home to encourage their parents in prayer, worship and mercy.

We had no commencement speaker, nor was there a valedictorian, but a great time was had by all. My youngest daughter, who is now graduating high school, graduated from Open Arms thirteen years ago. She ran the sound board for last week’s graduation all by herself. Another grad, Tabitha, is now a teacher at our school. But the anchor of our program have to be Shari and Sarina, who have taught there all twenty years that the school has been a part of our church. In a business where staff comes and goes, it’s rare and a blessing to have that kind of consistency and commitment.

That’s graduation number two. Number three in just a few days!

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Posted in Life

Baccalaureate

Posted on by William Douthwaite

high_school_cap_gown_tassel_royal_blue_Last night, I attended the baccalaureate service for the graduating seniors of Matanzas High School and Flagler Palm Coast High School, both in Flagler County. In a month chock full of graduations, award ceremonies, concerts and trips, it was just what I needed: another event to attend.

I arrived very early with my daughter Olivia who, as senior class president at Matanzas High School, was one of the speakers. As I sat and waited and listened speakers and musicians warm up, I wondered, “Who thought up this idea? Where does this tradition come from?” And I wondered, “How come I never wondered about this before?” I’ve attended some in the past. In fact, I vaguely remember attending one before my own high school graduation in 1975. Vaguely.

From Wikipedia I learned that “The baccalaureate service derives from the medieval European custom of presenting the candidates for the degree of Bachelor (bacca) with laurels (lauri) of sermonic oration. The Baccalaureate ceremony is a service of worship in celebration of and thanksgiving for lives dedicated to learning and wisdom. The baccalaureate service is believed to have originated at the University of Oxford in 1432 when each bachelor was required to deliver a sermon in Latin as part of his academic requirements.”

Last night’s service omitted the Latin sermonic oration. Hosted by one of the local Roman Catholic churches, it consisted of a few prayers, musical pieces, scripture readings and brief reflections on those readings. The service was fairly well attended, with I would guess about 25% of the graduating class from each high school.

After the service was over and we snacked on cookies outside, I realized why this event was important to the students who attended. Though the gathering was faith related, I think the students were most excited about wearing their graduation caps and gowns for the first time and feeling like seniors, celebrating with their friends and family the end of high school. The tests were taken the grades were in and now, finally, it was time for celebration to begin, with the actual graduation still a week away. There were lots of smiles and pictures and hugs for all, a very relaxed atmosphere compared to the big event of commencement.

As I struggled to remember going to my own baccalaureate, I do remember than some of my friends talked me into singing with the choir for that service. I’m pretty sure we sang the traditional Irish blessing, and I think that may have been the first time I ever actually sang in a choir. How about that?