My father crossed over on Labor Day. After what seemed like
a prolonged goodbye with more of him on the other side than in this world, he
slipped away peacefully—surrounded by family members praying and singing, along
with two dogs more than confused about what was happening.
As I’ve reflected on his life, I’m struck by its simplicity,
and yet the remarkable fruitfulness. He served in the Navy during the Korean
conflict but never participated in any major military advance. During his
military service, his peers called him “Deke”—a nickname for “Deacon” since
they considered him to be a pious sort of guy. Although he would hang with them
in ports of call, apparently, he never got smashed or slept around, hence the
Deacon bit.
After his time in the Navy, he got married, did a short
stint in college, then started moving around the States with my uncle, his
brother-in-law, who planted and pastored churches in several states. I can
testify to this because I moved at least six times before the age of 7. We finally
settled down in northwest Louisiana in a small rural community and Dad worked
as a comptroller for a paper company twenty miles south. Life was simple with
farm animals, vegetable gardens, deer hunting and fishing. Although I never
went deer hunting, I spent many hours in the middle of a fishing boat while he
and his buddy, Tom, fished for bass in a muddy, cypress-filled lake.
Life revolved around church life. We would attend a minimum
of four times per week, counting prayer meeting and mid-week Bible study. We
had few devotions in the home, but there was always a sense that God was
present with a high regard for prayer and scripture.
When I left for Bible college in California at the ripe age
of 17, shortly after, Dad took a pastorate in upstate New York. The church had
dwindled to less than 12 people. They needed a pastor and Dad said yes. So they
moved all they had with another three boys at the time to the strange land of
the northeast. Their southern accent and my parent’s southern ways seemed
strange in a city with a high per capita of graduate degrees and PHD’s. Despite
no formal Bible training and immersed in a left-leaning culture, they stayed at
it for 30 years. People were saved, discipled and many moved on which is common
in a college town.
I suppose if the church growth gurus would judge his life
and ministry, some would say he was unsuccessful. Although there were growth
spurts, the church rarely maintained an average above 100. He didn’t function
like the top tier leader so many of us aspire to be. He pastored like a country
parson rather than the team ministry that is common today. He did most of the
counseling and discipleship alongside my mother. He rarely refused a call for
assistance with a roof, a water heater, or a car. Somehow, he would get
whatever it was running, although it wouldn’t be pretty, his go-to tools being a
roll of duct tape and baling wire. Not that his work was shoddy. It’s just
that he was always conscious of frugality and people who never seemed to have
enough.
Despite this, I contend that in God’s eyes my Dad was a
raging success. He never cheated on his wife or treated women as sexual
objects. He received little money from the church and made the most of every
dime. And today, all five sons love Jesus and serve the local church.
The modern church has a lot to learn from guys like him. He
probably never listened to one sermon of John Piper or Tim Keller. His
exposition was more common sense with some commentary thrown in. But he oozed Piper’s mantra for pastors: “Brothers, we are not professionals.” And for that I am
grateful and I believe His Lord welcomed Him in with a hearty, “Well done, good
and faithful servant.”
May his tribe increase.
