Tuesday, December 19, 2023

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?”

Psalm 22:1

In November of 1996, my family and I left the comfort of my parish experience in Stewartstown, Pennsylvania to move to a new ministry experience in Corpus Christi, Texas. I loved my years of service in Stewartstown, and I was not eager to move. But, for a number of reasons, the timing seemed right. I had been offered a call to serve a two-point parish in my home synod in Corpus Christi, Texas. Christ Lutheran Church and Abiding Savior Lutheran Church were each going through some tough transitional realities, and they decided to work together to maintain their own buildings and specific ministries, but also share the cost of a pastor to allow someone to have a full-time position between the two part-time calls.

During the first year, things were going relatively well with this new experience. Then, on the evening of Halloween in 1997, I was awakened by the local police department in the early morning of November 1, asking if I was the pastor at Abiding Savior Lutheran Church located on McArdle Road. I answered that I was. And I was told that a fire had taken place in one of our buildings, and the police department needed me to come to the church as quickly as possible. The building that was damaged was the former sanctuary that had been converted into a Fellowship Hall. The damage had been caused by three young people in their mid-20s, and our church was one of two that had received damage that night by this group. The other church was McArdle Road Baptist Church.

I spent the next year plus trying to deal with this damage that had been inflicted upon us by people who were not even connected with our congregation in any way – and I don’t just mean the physical damage. There was a lot of emotional and spiritual damage that came as a result of this senseless act of violence as well. But the emotional and spiritual side of things turned out to be easier parts. We had each other, and we had the Gospel, and we were working through those challenges with one another and with God’s help. The physical damage presented a whole other set of issues that I was totally unprepared for even with a seminary education and several years of pastoral experience. There are no classes that were offered at my seminary that helped one learn how to deal with insurance companies.

During the next year and a half, I worked with the insurance company to get the money we needed to repair our Fellowship Hall. It was not forthcoming. I had professional individuals who were members of the church, including a former Chief of Police, who did what they could to no avail. I begged the synod to help us in our time of need. I think that they did what they could, but they had no more luck than I did. This was a process – and a very slow one at that. I am generally known for my patience in most situations. After more than a year of dealing with the problems and consequences of this tragedy that had been inflicted upon us, I forgot what it felt like to be patient.

It was in the midst of these challenges that I felt it might have been possible that I had been forsaken by God. For the first time in my life and ministry, I could relate to the familiar words of the Psalm writer (and later the familiar word of Jesus from the cross). I truly did not know what else to do and how to help move the process more quickly so that we could have our Fellowship Hall back and operational. I felt alone and forsaken.

In the midst of this time of frustration, I received a phone call from a member of a call committee for a church in San Antonio, Texas, looking for a pastor to serve as a Pastor for Youth and Children’s Ministries. I remember thinking, “Who are you and why are you calling me?” I told the person, “Thanks, but no thanks. I was happy to continue serving where I was.” Then, about three weeks later, I got another call, this time from a Senior Pastor at a church in Albuquerque, New Mexico, asking me if I might be interested in serving as a Pastor for Youth and Children’s Ministries. I remember thinking, “Who are you and why are you calling me?” But this time, instead of dismissing the invitation for a conversation about the opportunity to serve in this new role, I thought, “Maybe God is trying to tell you something.” I completed the paperwork, went through the call process, and left Corpus Christi for service in Albuquerque.

I think it turned out that God was trying to tell me something. The move was what I needed, what my family needed, and what the church needed. It was a difficult decision. But it was a decision that I needed to make to allow me to move forward in life and ministry. Psalm 22 starts on a tough, painful note. But it ends with the bold proclamation that the descendants of the those who serve the Lord “shall proclaim God’s deliverance to a people yet unborn, saying to them, ‘The Lord has acted.’”

God had not abandoned me. That is clear. And God does not abandon any of us. God has acted in the event of the cross, God acts in our lives and ministries now, and God will continue to act in ways that we don’t always understand or appreciate at the time. The charred remains of the Fellowship Hall at Abiding Savior Lutheran Church on McArdle Road continue to remind me that we have a God who acts – just maybe not in the ways we expect or demand.