Tag: Sunday

Posted in Sunday

Sunday-ing on a cool, rainy morning

Posted on by William Douthwaite

The usual morning routine? Forget it. These two just went back to bed.

As usual, Willow’s singing greeted me as soon as I got out of bed at six-ish in the morning. She’s the three-and-a-half-old Great Dane, and I don’t completely trust her yet, so as soon as I open up her crate, I let her into the backyard, where she immediately takes care of business, both numbers one and two.

When we come back inside, we let Winston (the Westie) out of his crate. He would gladly sleep in another few hours, but he doesn’t want to miss anything, so he trots out to see what’s up. Both intently watch me as I get their food and set it out on opposite sides of the gate. I announce, “Okay,” and nothing else matters. In under a minute, the food is gone.

We then head out back so Winston can do his thing in the backyard. From there, the dogs usually wrestle around, chew on some pine cones, fight over stuffed animal toys, play some tug of war with an old rope, and drink water like they’ve just crossed the dessert.

But this morning was different. Fifty-degree temperatures and a light steady rain prompted a new agenda. After a quick breakfast and visit to the backyard, both dogs went back to sleep. Willow curled up in one of her favorite chairs while Winston chose the dog bed up on the patio table.

If you’re going to Sunday, you might as well do it right.

Posted in retirement

First Sunday off

Posted on by William Douthwaite

I found this in my drafts. I wrote it eighteen months ago, in July 2022, right after I retired.

Photo by Adi Goldstein on Unsplash

The first page of a new journal happened on the same day as my first Sunday of retirement, that is, my first Sunday off from preaching.

Sure, I’ve had Sundays off before. Vacations. A few guest preachers. But this was real. This was retirement. This was the first day of the rest of my <retired> life.

This was different. I didn’t have to worry about what was happening in my absence. I didn’t have to anticipate a text like, “How do you reset the AC?” or “Where is the key for the other building?” All of that was someone else’s concern. No one could add anything to my plate. I had nothing to worry about.

If you are just tuning in, this was the first Sunday after thirty-six years of pastoral ministry when Sunday was actually a “Sabbath” for me. For me and other pastors, Sunday is ground zero. Even though I had plenty to do the rest of the week, everything pointed towards Sunday. Sunday is “showtime,” that day when you touch the most lives in the smallest amount of time. Some in person. Some online. Some for the first time. Some for the hundredth time.

Do you know what my wife and I did on the first Sunday of my retirement? I want to say, “Nothing.” Nada. Zip. Zilch.

That’s not quite accurate. We did not go to church. At least not in person. We watched my son’s worship service on YouTube from Dallas, TX. We went for a long bike ride. I wrote a bunch of thank you notes for retirement gifts. I made some of my special ceviche. I took a nap.

I had a Sabbath.

I had a day to rest. A day to relax. A day to re-create. A day to listen and reflect on God’s Word. A day to be still and know that He is God.

Here are a few thoughts from my first day off in retirement:

  • On this day, God was exalted. Too often, I am praised on a Sunday morning for an inspiring message, an appropriate prayer, or an appropriate illustration. Even though the kingdom, the power, and the glory are His, pastors get too much of that. I did not have to worry about that on this Sunday.
  • On this day, I was just Bill. I know that doesn’t impress most of you. But it’s been thirty-six years since I was just “Bill.” I remember the day after the call service at the Fort Wayne seminary when I called the president of the congregation. With a thick Brooklyn accent, Jim said, “Oh, hi, Pastor.” From that moment on, people called me Pastor, Pastor Douthwaite, Pastor Bill, and PB. Over the years some would call me “Bill,” but they were few and far between. Suddenly, that’s who I was. Bill. I had to think back to my pre-seminary days to remember who that was.
  • On this day, Sunday happened without me. For so many years, I unlocked the doors, turned on the lights, straightened the chairs (old sanctuary), cleaned up (old worship folders from last Sunday, put out the worship folders for this Sunday, filled the baptismal font, put out the Sunday School snacks, and made sure we had an appropriate banner displayed in the sanctuary. Someone else does all that now.

I thankful for all the Sunday “on,” when I got to preach. And I am grateful for all these Sundays when I don’t.

Posted in Stories

Today’s attendance: zero

Posted on by William Douthwaite

The first two weeks were great. Five high schoolers came for week one when we tried to smash coconuts. The bible lesson was about Deborah, and Jael who drove a tent spike through the enemy general’s head in the book of Judges. It wasn’t so easy to drive a spike through a coconut, so we simply smashed it with a sladgehammer.

Seven middle and high schoolers came on week two for feats of strength and airing grievances. We talked about Samson and wise vs. foolish choices. The discussion kind of lagged until we talked about the Festivus custom of airing grievances. The room came to life. That they wanted to do. Just lay it all out.

I was stoked for week three. This was going way better than I imagined. I am trying to revive youth bible class at church, which has lay dormant for the past eighteen Covid months. Emails, texts, letters, postcards. And then, they showed up.It was worth the effort. This could be done.

Week three came and I was confident. This would be a great year. There was just one problem. No one showed up. Zip. Zero. Nada. An empty room. Not one student showed up.

OK. Time to stop and think about the current situation. Joint custody means many can only come every other week. Jobs mean some have to work on Sunday mornings. Covid means some will not be feeling well or will be quarantining. Weekends means some will be traveling. Some are spending the night with friends. Others are dancing competitively in far away places.

I believe the empty room was the perfect storm of all of the above. The attendance of one week is no predictor of the next. The fun of one week does not translate into the enthusiasm of the next. The classroom of today says nothing about the future.

The only thing you have is now.

If they are there, in the room, you have a moment to listen, question, teach and pray. If they are not there you have a moment to pray, listen, plan and trust. You are not the only influence in their lives. But by grace, you will be an influence.

So, week four comes. One youth is there. We wait. And we wait. OK, no one else is coming, you can go home. Ten minutes later the text comes, “Was I late, or did you cancel class?” Oh, me of little faith. If I had just waited a few more minutes!

I should know. On mission trips, I learned about island time. The clock is not so important. The people are. Their presence determines the time. It’s not the when, but the who that counts.

Lesson learned. Zero attendance doesn’t mean no one is coming. An empty room doesn’t mean class is cancelled. Wait just a few more moments.

Posted in Grace, Ministry

One of those Sundays

Posted on by William Douthwaite

It was one of those Sundays.

  • I lost my focus and then my place, stumbling over words I’ve spoken dozens of times introducing a baptism.
  • The organ got stuck on a note right in the middle of a hymn.
  • The microphones popped and rung throughout the service, with a little feedback tossed in.
  • Most of the kids wouldn’t come up for the children’s sermon.
  • My sermon, though well-prepared and practiced, just didn’t inspire. (I wasn’t even inspired.)

Yeah, it was one of those Sundays.

Of course, every other church gathered for a smooth, inspirational and flawless worship experience. They always do. At least, that’s what they (my heart and soul) tell me.

The reality?

  • A beautiful little girl was baptized and welcomed into the church.
  • A whole bunch of her non-churched family and friends clearly heard the gospel, some for the first time.
  • We all feasted on God’s grace at the Lord’s Supper.
  • We got to meet Zac, Emma and Sophia (Zac is my nephew, a second year seminarian at Concordia Theological Seminary, Ft. Wayne, IN who our church supports.)
  • There is another Sunday on the way. I’ll get another chance. I always get another chance.

That’s grace. And it’s free. So I think I’ll talk them (my heart and soul) into camping out there for a while.

Posted in Ministry

How to survive a lousy Sunday

Posted on by William Douthwaite
By a lousy Sunday, I mean a dramatic drop in attendance. This year we’ve been averaging about 275 in worship each Sunday, but this past week, only counted 175 in attendance. Worst turnout since June of 2006. As unsanctified as it sounds, pastors tend to obsess about such things. If we’re not careful, it becomes personal, as if the numbers were a direct reflection of our performance.

Reasons for the anomaly? Plenty to be sure. First of all, it is the middle of the summer. Even I was among those absent, having left town to take the high school youth group to the national youth gathering in New Orleans. There’s always someone sick or tired. Or entertaining guests. Cars that won’t start. Mental health days. Malfunctioning alarm clocks. Hangovers. Perhaps an information leak that the elders were leading the worship service and there wouldn’t be any communion that day.

I guess if I can embrace the ridiculously high attendance figures on Easter Sunday, I should accept the dips, too. An even better idea is to stop counting. Then it wouldn’t be an issue, would it? Until someone asks for an average attendance reports. Or wants to know how many worship folders to print.

Worst worship attendance ever: when all of Jesus’ disciples ran and left him alone. His passion was the highlight of his message and no one showed. But it was still effective. There’s a lesson in there somewhere.

From now on, when someone asks me how big our church is, or how many come to worship, I’m going to say, “I’m not sure; how many do you think there are?” I’ll just let someone else worry about it.