Plates, we've got Plates

This is my plate wall. Its the north wall of my office, just over my desk.  Once upon a time every self respecting pastor had a plate wall.  Many still do. Each plate was made as a fund raiser by a church that they, or in this wall's case, I, served in a lay or clergy capacity over the years. You don't see younger pastors with plate walls anymore.  Decorative plates aren't the fashion collectible they once were for the Christian elite.

I'm still not sure what I'll do with mine when we retire to our 400 square foot rolling condo. They have memories for me that I believe will fade if the plates leave my domain.  But then, what good will  memorable plates do me stacked in a cardboard box in someone's dark basement while Mona and I travel North America?  So, I'm thinking about what to do.

The lowest picture on my wall is not a plate at all.  It is a digital photo of Hope Church in Douglassville.  My current charge (a UMC word meaning the church I am annually charged with administering) until June of this year. Hope is one of our Eastern Pennsylvania Conferences newest and youngest congregations.  So no interest in having a church plate has ever been mentioned here, except once, I believe, by me. But I think I only whispered that request.

The plate to the right is West Fairview Methodist in the mid 1950's, now UMC. It was my dad's church as he grew up in this river and railroad town and the only lay service I ever offered there was to take my dirty dishes off the Easter Dawn Breakfast table to the kitchen after gorging my little body with pancakes, eggs and sausage.  We met at DAWN on the banks of the Susquehanna each Easter and watched the sun rise behind the state capital dome In Harrisburg. Breakfast always seemed a necessary reward for 30 minutes of freezing cold and a sermon to a little kid.

The framed print in the middle is also not a plate.  Why did I call this my plate wall if its got non-plates on it?  I don't know, but in four months who will care anyway?  This was one of my Grandfather J Fred Andreas' first three churches. It's in Union County outside of the village of Laurelton, PA.  Lincoln Chapel stands, though it's attendance has waned a bit over time. It's named for the Lincoln family, cousins of President Abraham, who gave the land for it to be built upon.  I'm glad we don't name churches for dead people so much anymore, regardless of what they give toward the building fund. I preached as a Christ Servant Minister here several times in the pulpit my relative spoke from in 1910.

The top right plate is my home church.  Twentyninth Street Evangelical United Brethren became United Methodist in the merger of the two denominations in 1968.  We lived one door away from the office door of the church on Twentyninth street hill in Harrisburg, Pa. It was here that I first heard a call to full time ministry at 18 years old, and denied it when I learned I'd have to go to secondary education for 7 more years.  I hated school in the 60's.  Then I spent the rest of my life in adult continuing ed because I wanted to. Go figure.

The top center plate is of Lititz UMC in Lancaster, Pa. Our family worshiped here for about 20 years.  It was here that I was reborn to Christ as an adult.  It was here that I learned about the Licensed Pastor program for late bloomers like me.  It was here that I was mentored by Rev. Larry Leister into small group development and new ways to lead worship.  It was here that God called us from to move to Douglassville in 1997.

The church on the top left is Oregon UMC.  A tiny, still active church on an old section of Lancaster County's Oregon Road, mostly replaced now by state road 272. It sits along the old two lane right in the center of all 10 buildings of the village of Oregon. We came back from a job transfer to Fitchburg, Mass in 1972 and enjoyed the small congregation we worshiped with up there so much we decided to try a little congregation here. They had a fully stocked and well cared for nursery for our new baby Jenny to play in.  But Jenny was the ONLY player in that basement nursery so after a while we just had to find a larger faith community. Lititz was God's answer to our quest.

The last plate is at the lower left. Townsend, Massachusetts UMC. We worshiped here after falling in love with this 200 year old house of God on the common in the village the church is named for.  And the pastor and congregation took us in like we were long lost family.  I was transferred up here to help open a couple K-Marts in 1971, a time when they were the Walmart of the retail world.  Jenny was baptized here.

There are two plates I don't have, and won't.  Marysville Methodist was my first four year's experience in Sunday School but we never had a plate and it burned several decades ago.  And Hempfield, UMC. The church we joined in Lancaster County just after marrying.  It was already a growing concern and beyond the mundane raising of cash by plate manufacture by then.

I don't know what I'll do with these plates, and pictures. But I know it will be hard to part with them. Mementos of memories are always hard to part with.  Mona just entered my office for a minute with damp eyes to tell me she's having a hard time with a few things she believes she must leave behind.

The disciples were upset when Jesus kept telling them He would have to leave them. Some, like Peter, promised to guard Him from harm to the death.  Jesus just looked at him wistfully and said, "No you won't."  Change is hard, for followers of Christ no less than atheists.  I think that's why I like to old song about the friends we leave behind and the ones we meet today being silver and gold.  All are precious, so we must never cease making relationships every day.

After all, all those old pics and plates on my wall mean nothing if they only represent walls and a roof. The memories they house are not architectural, but relational.  All those loving people we have known... and now, all the loving people we will get to know.

Some are silver, and the others gold.

-Pastor Ken

Who ARE these people??

We were sitting at close tables in the petite Ne Ne's Restaurant on Marco Island last evening.  The four of them had been talking animatedly when we arrived and continued to do so as we ordered and received our delicious meal. They were finished but still talking away as we paid our check when I heard a comment I wanted to respond to.  Mona does not speak to strangers.  She is more polite than I.  I, on the other hand, can't restrain myself when God gives me something to say.  Though in many cases it appears my speaking, after the fact, is less likely God's desire than simply my own.  In this case, Mona and I, and the four of them, concluded it was, as we say in the Holy Trade, and appointment of God.

We began talking together about dozens of things!  And much of it was religious, because one couple was devout Roman Catholic (they had to get up early for mass the next morning) and the other devout Jew. I had to tell them I was a United Methodist pastor. Otherwise some of my burning questions might have seemed truly impertinent. They were thrilled.  I don't think they'd ever met a Methodist they didn't like.  Actually, I think I was their first Methodist and they seemed to like me all right.

Then the waitress came over to tell us she was so sorry but we had to leave to make room for others to sit.  It was a VERY small, and very popular restaurant.  Fair, even low, prices.  Everything REALLY home cooked and fresh.  When you visit Marco Island don't miss it.  It's the way REAL American diner food used to be when diners had REALLY good chefs, and owners!

But we weren't ready to part yet, so after some discussion I followed their car to a shopping area they recommended called The Esplanade and we sat outside at Starbucks from about 7:30 to 10:00 pm.  And what did these six new friends talk about? More religion! And true faith. And history, biblical and otherwise. Abortion, Gay rights, Islam and De Caprio's new film Wolf of Wall Street. "De Caprio makes one wall Street movie and suddenly he's on talk shows telling others how to invest?  Bah!"

We told old jokes, old war stories (One had been with the Army honor guard out of Fort Myers, Va. which serves at Arlington Cemetery) and the Holocaust of Germany, Rwanda, and where it might happen next.  I was asked more biblical questions than at any Hope Church Bible Study I've ever been in and the Jewish couple were amazed and very interested to know that one of our active members at Hope was Jewish, and had been baptized into Christianity only a couple of years ago.

We spoke of popes, rabbis, Jesus and Dan Brown.  We told Bill Cosby, Bob Newhart and Mel Brooks (2,000 year old man) jokes from the sixties. The time flew, and then, we all really did have to take our happy but weary selves back to our respective homes. I shared my business cards, they promised to email me. We parted with much hugging and more laughing, "But did you hear the one about the priest, the pastor and the rabbi..."

Mona and I woke up the next morning to discover an awful fact. We had forgotten their names! We had no way to reach them. And even though they each had my card all four of them professed either ignorance of or disdain for the use of computers.  Oh how we hope one of them emails me, at least so I can send them the picture above!

But the point of this contemplation is not only the hope of our re-connection.  It's not even the prayer that we might meet to talk again as we did last evening sometime. It is that if Jewish, Catholic, and Protestant couples can sit down beside each other in a random restaurant and in about 2-3 hours become dear friends (whatever their names are!) then why can't more of us from different cultures, backgrounds, faiths, non-faith, even political parties, do the same.

The six of us did not agree on all we spoke of.  Indeed, we differed alot on some issues.  But we had respect for each other's opinions and the sense of humor to let our humor make sense.

Jesus led His disciples into many such discussions; meeting people they had never met before; many, in fact, they never thought they would ever meet.  Lawyers spoke honestly with fishermen. A tax collector got to speak to another about how Jesus changed his life.  Even a former zealot (Jewish terrorist against the Romans) found himself learning to love even the hated Roman.

Our evening was a God made appointment. Now if we can only find out who these people were!!

-Ken