A Gathering of the Elders, part 1

On October 15-17 my Dad, my youngest brother, Bruce, my son Jonathan and I gathered in the mountains of west North Carolina for "guy time." My middle brother was unable to attend because of work but also because he was trying to give birth to stones. Unfortunately, it was more than a passing fancy for him! His son, Chris, was in school, as was Bruce's two sons, Adam and Jake. So it was just the four of us.

The purpose of our "guy time" was to hang out, do some hiking and kayaking. Being that we no longer all live within an hours drive of each other (I being close to 7 hours away), we wanted to just strengthen the bonds that remain. So we rented a cabin near the Nantahala river, between Waynesville and Murphy, NC, which is about 4 hours from Huntsville and Charlotte.

The place we stayed was, at best, in poor condition. We should have moved out the moment we walked in but, having emptied everything from our cars and having our eyes finally adjust to the darkness within the house (poor lighting), it was too late. The area where the cabin was located was beautiful and our first day was filled with sunlight and fall warmth. But the cabin was disappointing.


We had arrived a little before lunch time so we went to check out the whitewater place that we were renting from (Paddle Inn - highly recommend - very reasonable prices and great service).
We were originally going to do a raft together but ended up deciding we were going to do individual duckies (inflatable kayaks - I had my own boat and was eager to show off my skill). My biggest worry was my Dad, who, though has done a lot of canoing up until several years ago, had never done "kayaking." The lady who walked us through everything, Mama Wilson (I believe that is her last name) was one of a kind, a jewel of a lady and a devout Christian. My dad, jokingly, I think, mentioned having pains in his chest, to which she instantly placed her hands on his chest, rebuked the pains and asked for God's healing and protection. There was power in her words, folks.

We headed from there to do some hiking, albeit nothing long or strenuous. We did hike the Appalachian Trail (well, we walked 5 feet on a bridge and then back). We saw one of the waterfalls that is right after the whitewater run we would be taking on Tuesday. "This is one run you don't want to take. It's a class five with lots of sharp rocks," they said. When we saw it from a distance, it didn't look so bad.

However, when we saw it up close, we decided to heed their warning!









We then ckecked out the last rapid on the route, a class 3. We stood around and watched kayak's, rafts and duckies go through for about 30 minutes. It looked ... interesting, fun, exhilarating and wet. What we didn't realize then but would find out quickly the next day was just how cold 47 degree water really is! (That's not us on the right.)


When we could watch no longer, we headed home but took a detour and headed up one of the mountains by car. The leaves were beautiful, even if they still had a couple of more weeks to turn colors. We stopped and enjoyed several falls along the way and just talked. I think already we knew we were going to have a good time just hanging together, telling stories, insulting one another and just sharing.

We finally headed back down the mountain and headed back to our cabin. Supper time was upon us and we were hungry. We ate like kings and then sat around the table and played Rook for several hours. As the late hours closed in on us, and victory had been snatched from the jaws of defeat in a heated game (Dad and I against Bruce and Jonathan), we opened the Sacred Scroll and closed the night with offering thanks to the Sure Right Hand. For the One who blessed us that first day together was about to give us one wild day the next!

Death

This has been a tough last several days. I still have another one to go. I have had two deaths in my church in the last few days. One was an older woman who had been a member of my church for over 50 years. Her health had deteriorated over the last several months and she was unhappy with her life as a result. She had been a Christian for all of her adult life, as far as I know. Her funeral was last Thursday.

The other was a man of 40 who, in essence, had drunk so much that it had finally taken its toll and over the last month or so his health took a turn for the worse. However, I can say with all confidence that this man had, in the last couple of weeks, just before the bottom dropped out on his health, had come to accept Christ into his life, knowing that he could no longer control his life and that he needed Christ to find emotional and soul healing. His funeral if tomorrow.

Of all the duties that I have as a pastor, helping families deal with death is the hardest and the most uncomfortable for me. I feel as if I am walking on pins and needles. I worry about what to say, or not to say. I worry about how involved I should be with the family, what kind of service is appropriate, if I might mess up during the service, of doing anything that would add additional discomfort to an already unbearable situation to family and friends. One hour spent in ministering in this situation is the most exhausting to me. And yet I realize it is nothing compared to what the family is going through.

I know all the things that I should do when serving in this very important role. Above all I know that it's not about me. It's about connecting Christ with those who are grieving and hurting. I know that Christ has an amazing way of revealing himself in the midst of our grief and sadness. I serve simply as a vessel, a servant of his to his people who are hurting.

Still, I feel so much out of my element. But those families are so gracious, so appreciative, even so caring. There has been such a Christ-likeness in them towards me, even in the midst of their own struggles. I have left those families more blessed that I did going in. I feel so much out of my element, but I feel so much in Christ's.