The Bench and the Bull Pen

Baseball introduced some terms into the language that have broader applications to life in general, and in particular, to the ministerial organization.  These two terms, bench and bull pen are well known to baseball fans.  The MLB roster refers to twenty-five active players, and fifteen more players that are either on the 10-day injured reserve list or players who can be called up from the minor leagues at any time. Teams have nine starters for any game, but sixteen players sit on the bench, ready to go into the game if the manager gives them the nod.  The list also includes reserve pitchers who are out in the bull pen, ready to warm up and come into the game to replace the starting pitcher.  Every player on the 25-man roster is required to attend the game, even if he never gets any playing action.  Of course, the pros get paid to do this, but this rule also holds true for every level of play, little league, high school, college, or sandlot teams.  Either show up or you’re off the team.

Playing the Bench:  The Hardest Position on Any Team

 (Dr. Alan Goldberg, www.competitiveadvantage.com)

“You make all of the practices regardless of how crappy you’re feeling. They, on the other hand, don’t show up if they have a hangnail! Most days you’re the first one at training and the last one to leave. They often come late and leave early. You never dog it or cut corners. Ask any of the coaches and they’ll tell you that they can always count on you giving everything 100%. They frequently slow down when the coach isn’t looking and look for ways to avoid the hard work. You maintain a positive attitude regardless of how brutal a practice is and they whine and moan that the practice is too hard. You consistently outwork many of your other teammates while they seem to just go through the motions.  

So, answer a few questions for me. Why is it that the coaches consistently start these guys in front of me? How unfair is that? Why is it that when they make mistakes in games, the coaches leave them in and the instant that I even mess up a little, I get yanked?!!!!

Are the coaches that blind that they don’t see my work ethic in relation to these other guys? Doesn’t my commitment and attitude mean anything to them? Sure these guys may be a just a little bit better than me, (sometimes not even!), but all things considered, don’t I deserve more of a shot than I’m being given?

Whether rightly deserved or not, “playing” the bench is the hardest role on a team to manage. As a result, very few athletes handle it well. A “role player” has to work just as hard as everyone else, has to sacrifice just as much, yet he/she never seems to get any of the playing time “goodies.”  It’s a discouraging and de-motivating position to be in and therefore, quite easy to fall into the negativity trap. i.e. “This stinks and what’s the point in trying?” This is just like a class where you have to bust your you know what in a tough subject and no matter how hard you work you only pull C’s, while the bright kid who never does a lick of homework or any of the readings, pulls A’s!  

So, what to do? You may not like your role on the team. You may not think it’s fair. It may NOT be fair! However, your job is to try to conduct yourself as a champion. Continue to work your keister off! Continue to do everything in your power to get as good as possible! Continue to maintain a positive, “team first” attitude! Try to play your “support” role to the very best of your ability. You may not get a chance this season to make a difference. You may even have to wait until you play for another coach. However, don’t let the coach’s not playing you, get to you. Just because the coach seemingly doesn’t believe in you enough to give you more PT, doesn’t mean that you should buy into his/her assessment of you. Keep on keeping on. Keep on working hard. Keep focused on your dream.

MOST IMPORTANT, stay focused on WHAT YOU CAN CONTROL. As an athlete, you do NOT have direct control over your playing time. You can work hard, have a good attitude, etc. and that will increase the chances that you’ll improve and get more PT. However, it doesn’t guarantee it! You also don’t have any control over the behaviors of the kids starting in front of you. They may be sloths, goof-offs or “team dividers.” You can’t control what they do or who they are. Instead, keep your focus on YOU and what YOU can control in the situation that you find yourself in. Stay positive! Be a good team player and play your role like a champion!”

So, how does this relate to a ministerial organization?  There is a widespread feeling that if you are not in charge or if you don’t have any official duties, then you don’t have to go to the game and sit on the bench.  There is also a common attitude that your presence is not necessary to the life of the organization.  “They can carry on without me!”  Moreover, slightly antagonistic feelings can emerge, like “Minister’s meetings are interruptions to my work; all that happens is people sit around and talk about idiotic things that have nothing to do with nothing; they basically want me there to get offerings or get me to work at the campground; I can’t see spending money on gas, motel rooms and meals when I know it’s worthless to me personally.”

There are several truths about sitting on the ministers’ bench that need to be understood:

• If you are on the team, you need to show up to the game.
• If you’re not at the game, you won’t know what’s happening.
• The less you know what’s happening, the less you care about the team.
• When you continue to be a no-show, you isolate yourself from the other ministers.
• You foster cohesiveness to the team when others see you as a good example.
• Just your presence is seen by others as a positive and affirming input to the team.
• When you show up, you can have a positive influence on other ministers. “Iron sharpens iron.”
• You never know when your input may become necessary to the welfare of the team. 

“But now hath God set the members every one of them in the body, as it hath pleased him. And if they were all one member, where were the body? But now are they many members, yet but one body. And the eye cannot say unto the hand, I have no need of thee: nor again the head to the feet, I have no need of you. Nay, much more those members of the body, which seem to be more feeble, are necessary: And those members of the body, which we think to be less honourable, upon these we bestow more abundant honour; and our uncomely parts have more abundant comeliness. For our comely parts have no need: but God hath tempered the body together, having given more abundant honour to that part which lacked: That there should be no schism in the body; but that the members should have the same care one for another. And whether one member suffer, all the members suffer with it; or one member be honoured, all the members rejoice with it.” 1 Corinthians 12:18-26 (KJV)

The Cathedral and the Church

I get it.

Notre Dame’s tragic fire gutted more than an iconic edifice.  For 850 years, the ornate lady, with her steeples and spire, her transept portals, her flying buttresses and embellished sculptures, stood elegantly along the Seine.  Upwards of twelve million visitors descended upon its revered island, and billions of pictures recorded its elaborate architecture.

I get that the Roman Catholic Church looked to the Notre Dame cathedral as epicenter of religious tradition in France.  I get that even secular-minded historians and connoisseurs of medieval culture regarded the structure as a priceless treasure.

I get that Parisians whose lives were intimately involved with the church were devastated by the loss, and thousands of adherents around the world felt violated when the flames engulfed the historic building. 

In twelve short hours, centuries of history were reduced to ashes.  I get that.

What I don’t get is the sense of infinite sadness.

The heaviness of heart that prevailed among the mourners was palpable.  Grief-stricken parishioners trudged slowly through the streets or stood holding lighted candles and singing funereal hymns.  It appeared as if their faith had suffered a mortal wound, and they were spiraling downward to eternal perdition. 

What I’m about to say is not to disdain the glory of the past.  I bear no disrespect or disregard to the vaunted character of the beloved Notre Dame Cathedral. 

Having said that, can somebody please rise up and proclaim that no fire can damage the true church of the Lord Jesus Christ?  Can we all be reminded that Christ’s church occupies a place untouched by fire or flood?

Yes, wood burns.  Buildings collapse.  Disaster destroys old and new structures alike.  Beautiful pieces of artwork fall prey to the savage elements.  But, the church is not a building!  Jesus did not say, “Upon this rock I will rebuild my church.”  Notre Dame cathedral—in all its grandeur, with all its pomp and ceremony, with all its storied tradition—was never the church. 

The true church is the people.  What many call a church is not a church at all.  It is only the building where the church meets to worship God.  Unfortunately, far too many people have confused brick and mortar, wooden rafters and metal spires, carpeted aisles and padded pews with the body of Christ.    

“What? know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own? For ye are bought with a price: therefore glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God’s.” 1 Corinthians 6:19-20 (KJV)

These teams must change their names:

Duke Blue Devils, or all other teams with the word “devil” in their names.  It is highly offensive to me to honor the symbol of evil.

Pittsburg Pirates, Tampa Bay Buccaneers.  These names celebrate criminal activity, mutiny and sedition.

San Francisco 49ers.  These people in history ravaged, plundered and destroyed natural resources.

Washington Capitals.  Why would anyone shed glory on elite money barons? 

Tennessee Titans.  Exalting Grecian mythological gods who ruled the earth is preposterous.

Chicago White Sox, Boston Red Sox, Cincinnati Reds.  Everyone sees the racist overtones in these names.

Dallas Cowboys.  Research says that “cowboy” was a pejorative name for black male slaves.

Green Bay Packers.  “Packers” refers to meat packers in the shameful animal slaughtering industry.

Oakland Raiders.  Does this even need an explanation? 

Providence Friars.  Given the troubles of the church today, we shouldn’t refer to the clergy.

Wake Forest Demon Deacons.  Repulsive, insulting, offensive.  All deacons should be outraged.

Kansas City Royals.  Americans do not pay homage to royalty.

New England Patriots.  “Patriots” were colonists who stole land from native americans.

Minnesota Vikings.  Horned-helmeted, violent, marauders who wreaked havoc everywhere they went.

Cleveland Indians, Washington Redskins.  Racist, vulgar terms for the noble original Americans.

Columbus Blue Jackets.  Blue Jacket was a fraud.

Buffalo Sabres. Instruments of assault and death.

Philadelphia 76ers.  The founding fathers trafficked in slavery and were disloyal to the Crown.

Cleveland Cavaliers.  Elitist, pretentious people totally over-the-top fashion conscious. 

Of course, I realize that these changes will never happen (although I’m not sure about that), but I suggested them anyway to show how crazy our politically correct society has become.  It only shows that everything is offensive to someone. 

Have you heard of the word implacable? It means “impossible to placate or please.”  That’s today’s world alright.  Take the issue of the Electoral College, for example.  If the leftists succeed in getting rid of it, watch out!  They’re only doing this to increase their chances to win elections, not because they’re interested in fairness.  And, if they still don’t win elections, they will demand some other kind of change.  Implacable!  

“Without understanding, covenantbreakers, without natural affection, implacable, unmerciful: Who knowing the judgment of God, that they which commit such things are worthy of death, not only do the same, but have pleasure in them that do them.  Romans 1:31-32 (KJV) 

Don’t buy into the philosophies of the world.  Their siren songs sound aluring, but they offer no real satisfaction.  “Eat thou not the bread of him that hath an evil eye, neither desire thou his dainty meats: For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he: Eat and drink, saith he to thee; but his heart is not with thee. The morsel which thou hast eaten shalt thou vomit up, and lose thy sweet words.” Proverbs 23:6-8 (KJV) 

Hey! You Talkin’ to ME?

“If you have faith as a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there.’”

Matthew 17:20 (NKJV)

Who’s doing the talking in your life?  You, or the mountain?  Like scratching fingernails on a chalkboard, the irritating voices of negativity screech out their scariness to all who will listen.  Cancer growls.  Heart disease rumbles.  Mental instability stutters.  Broken relationships fume.  Conflict argues.  All these and more keep an incessant stream of fear and woe propaganda to batter and beat us into the ground.  We plug our ears, whistle in the dark and murmur our way through life in an attempt to counter their voices—to no avail.  Along with this cacophony of naysayers, dubious friends and unbelieving family members pile on with doubt-filled talk like “Never, can’t, forget it, stop, run, cave and quit.”  If they succeed, they will drown out voices of faith and hope and leave you with an impending sense of catastrophe.  

If this describes you, you’re letting your mountain do the talking!  But the mountain has nothing good to say.  It threatens you with destruction, confuses you with disinformation, and mocks your faith.  The mountain’s big voice and imposing presence always makes it appear invincible.  Joseph’s mountain of slavery, entrapment and abandonment looked impossible to overcome.  Esther’s mountain of confronting the king looked like execution.  Daniel’s mountain of persecution and a den of hungry lions looked like certain death.  Simon Peter’s jail cell and probable decapitation looked like untimely martyrdom.  Satan, the maestro of exaggeration, can take the smallest molehill and swell it up to an obstacle the size of a mountain. 

The mountain may be nothing but an empty threat, or it may be a splinter of truth spun into a federal case.  But even if your mountain represents a legitimate threat or if it is a genuine dragon that breathes fire and smoke, its voice will always be overmatched by our glorious God!  Never, ever forget who’s in charge here!  If Satan can take the shadow of a lie and turn it into a mountain, you can take faith the size of a tiny mustard seed and bulldoze his mountain into a flat plain.  The mountain that threatens you may even become the river the blesses you!  God turned Joseph’s mountain into a majestic ruler.  He turned Esther’s confrontation into deliverance for the Jews.  He converted Daniel’s lion’s den into credentials for a palace position.  He flipped Simon Peter’s predicament into the beginnings of a mighty revival.  It all happened because men and women of faith refused to let their mountain do the talking!    

Instead of the mountain speaking to you, you need to speak to the mountain!  No matter how big the mountain may appear, you have the upper hand.  Here are three keys to help you stand up to your obstacles: 

The Word of God.  “Again, the devil took Him up on an exceedingly high mountain, and showed Him all the kingdoms of the world and their glory. And he said to Him, “All these things I will give You if You will fall down and worship me.” Then Jesus said to him, “Away with you, Satan! For it is written, ‘You shall worship the LORD your God, and Him only you shall serve.’ “  Then the devil left Him, and behold, angels came and ministered to Him.” Matthew 4:8-11. 

Faith.  “But without faith it is impossible to please Him, for he who comes to God must believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him.” Hebrews 11:6

Determination.  “I have set the LORD always before me: because he is at my right hand, I shall not be moved. Therefore, my heart is glad, and my glory rejoiceth: my flesh also shall rest in hope.  For thou wilt not leave my soul in hell; neither wilt thou suffer thine Holy One to see corruption. Thou wilt shew me the path of life: in thy presence is fulness of joy; at thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore.  Psalm 16:8-11. 

One more thing.  God didn’t promise to make the mountain disappear.  He only said it would move.  It may move just enough for you to get around it.  The point to remember is that your mountain will not prevent you from achieving your goal or getting to your destination.  Just make sure you are heading in the right direction.  God will take care of any mountain that stands in the way of His will in your life!

Fredrick Scott Teets

“There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. The same came for a witness, to bear witness of the Light, that all men through him might believe.  He was not that Light, but was sent to bear witness of that Light.  That was the true Light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world.  He was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not.  He came unto his own, and his own received him not.  But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name.” John 1:6-112

I have a difficult assignment today.

I am asked to preach about a prince of preachers.  My impossible mission is to unravel the heart of a missionary; to trace the profile of a prophet; to describe with words a minister whose ministry transcended words; to shine a light on a life who outshined us all; to capture the essence of a mortal who trafficked in immortality.  And as lofty as these sentences seem to be, I promise you that they fall far short of the reality of the man who lies in state before us here today.

Preacher, evangelist, missionary, pastor, apostle, prophet, teacher, prayer warrior, official, mentor, sage, husband, father, grandfather, friend, benefactor, church planter, student of the Bible, relentless witness, marriage counselor, comedian, clown, mimic, prize fighter, tour guide, shoe polisher, painter, horticulturalist, lapidarian (jeweler), golfer and gofer, brickie, Yankee’s fan, chess player, inventor of words, composer of strange songs, linguist (of sorts), dubber of nicknames; aficionado of wristwatches; fully alive and enthralled with life; lover of everybody and everything … and (I have to stop somewhere) in short, there was a man sent from God whose name was Scotty Teets.

There was a PREACHER sent from God.  Scotty Teets was first and foremost a preacher.  He saw sermons where others saw monotonous paragraphs.  He could preach about kings and queens in one breath, and rats and mangy dogs in the next. He could take one scripture out of an obscure chapter and make the entire Bible revolve around it.  He clarified the ambiguous, set whole congregations on fire, revived the spiritually dead and scared the living daylights out of hypocrites.  He preached hell hot, eternity long, the Bible true, miracles real, Jesus Christ king, the new birth mandatory, and loving God the be all and end all of life.  Scotty made you laugh before he made you cry, he could make you mad on the way to making you glad, and he could take you apart in one instant and then quickly build you back up so thoroughly that you wouldn’t even recognize yourself.

Scotty preached with uncommon anointing.  His signature fiery delivery woke you up, his impassioned pleas drew you out of your seat, and the sincerity of his raspy voice birthed faith anew in your heart.  To call Scotty Teets a mere preacher is to call Mother Theresa a nice lady, or Michael Jordan a pretty good athlete.  Set it in bold, capital letters and flashing neon lights, Scotty Teets was a PREACHER! 

There was a PROPHET sent from God.  Scotty Teets possessed the ministry of a prophet.  The prophets were God’s blowtorches of the Old Testament, Jehovah’s remembrancers.  Rough, fearless, sometimes uncouth, they shouted the divine displeasure with Israel from the mountaintops.  They spared nobody—kings, queens, princes, priests—and left no stone unturned in their quest for righteousness.  

The prophets rained on the effete parades.  They were the bulls in the privileged classes’ china closets, the worms in the polished apples, the cockroaches crawling into the laps of luxury.  They crashed parties, tore down altars to false gods and pointed their fingers in the faces of Israel’s evil leaders.  They angered, affronted, cajoled and rebuked.  They were rarely invited, often snubbed, mostly persecuted and sometimes slain.  They took their orders from God alone.  They were the screaming headlines of heaven’s daily news.  

Yet, with the advent of the New Testament, this vital ministry did not vanish.  With the passing of the Old Covenant and the introduction of the New, God made sure that the role of the prophet was not lost.  “Which in other ages was not made known unto the sons of men, as it is now revealed unto his holy apostles and prophets by the Spirit.”   Ephesians 3:5. “And he gave some, apostles; and some, prophets; and some, evangelists; and some, pastors and teachers.”  Ephesians 4:11. Now, we are more likely to call prophets preachers, and they have different roles, but the ministry of prophet to disturb and stir the waters is a part of preaching.  

Scotty Teets was:

• an Isaiah, the Messianic Prophet
• a Jeremiah, the weeping prophet
• an Ezekiel, the fearless prophet
• a Daniel, the discerning prophet
• an Hosea, the prophet who condemned sin
• a Joel, the prophet of Pentecost
• an Amos, the fiery prophet
• an Obadiah, the warning prophet
• a Jonah, the judgment prophet
• a Micah, the merciful prophet
• a Nahum, the furious prophet
• a Habakkuk, the revival prophet
• a Zephaniah, the rebuking prophet
• a Haggai, the reasoning prophet
• a Zechariah, the caring prophet
• a Malachi, the loving prophet 

We can never censor the voices of the prophets among us.  When we grow comfortable in our insular world, when we blunt the edge of our spiritual and moral conscience, when we distance ourselves from the presence of God, when we lapse into tolerance of evil, we must always expect the voice of a prophet to jar our collective senses.  Never resent it.  It is the voice that saves us from ourselves. 

There was a PASTOR sent from God.  Most of us knew Scotty Teets the preacher and the prophet, the voice from the pulpit, but there are many of you who knew him as Pastor in one-on-one situations.  You knew his kindness, you knew that this pastor who hated sin without compromise loved the sinner unconditionally.  He may have paid your bus fare, your electric bill, bought you a new suit or a new Bible.  He jived with the brothers, joked in Creole with Caribbean natives, kibitzed with the Jews, yelled yallah with the Saudis, and laced up in proper English with the Jamaicans.  Scotty was white, black, brown, yellow, red, rich, poor, young, old, and a mixture of all of these—whatever he had to be to identify with you.  He was comfortable with the professionals of the Upper East Side, the blue-collar workers of Queens and Brooklyn, or the impoverished in the Bronx.  

It is my assessment that the greatest characteristic of Scotty Teets, the one feature that towered above all others was his complete lack of prejudice.  One of his favorite go-to passages was: Acts 17:24-26 (KJV) 

“God that made the world and all things therein, seeing that he is Lord of heaven and earth, dwelleth not in temples made with hands; Neither is worshipped with men’s hands, as though he needed anything, seeing he giveth to all life, and breath, and all things; And hath made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth…”  

For me, my brother-in-law, Scotty and I were as close as brothers.  My uncle, Paul Jordan, was his pastor, and my father, Victor Jordan, was his father-in-law.  Scotty was my mentor, role model, resource of Scriptural knowledge, confidante, fellow-laborer and encourager.  He opened many doors for me as I started my ministry, especially in Ohio.  Anywhere I went in UPCI circles, all I had to do was mention that he was my brother-in-law and I was in.  

Jonathan, your father loved and respected you. He was so proud of your successes in the world of computers.  He didn’t understand much of what you do, but he knew enough to be extremely proud of your intellect, your drive to continually improve yourself, and your advanced status.  

Anthony, your academic achievements were a source of great pride for your Dad.  But beyond that, you inherited so much of him—your looks, your personality, your wit, your penchant for the language arts, your fascination with culture, and the way you love and value other people.  Oh yes, and your love for food! 

Jennifer, take all of your Dad’s compassion, love, sensitivity, spirituality, integrity and loyalty, distill it and pour it out, and we would find the very definition of who you are—except maybe slightly sweeter.  You shared his passion for the ministry and the mission field, and the shadow of his devotion to and love for his God fell on you.

Julie—or should I say, “Julie Boolie,”—you were the perfect completion of Scotty Teets offspring.  You came along when he might have thought you were born out of due season, but you became exactly what he needed.  You made him laugh.  You understood and often reflected his craziness, his unpredictability, his tossed salad of word usage, and his heart swelled with pride when he heard you sing.  

Henry and David, you were much more than sons-in-law.  Thank you for taking care of him when he needed a helping hand.  You know Pops loved you enough to give his daughters’ hand to you in marriage—although he did threaten to do physical harm to you if you ever hurt them. 

Jenny, I remember that dark-haired, broad-smiling, fiery-preaching young man who came to Jackson fifty-six years ago.  He always told me that the first time he walked into the kitchen and saw you, he told himself, “I’m going to marry that girl!”  And he did.  You shared the ups and downs of his ministry in Iron Mountain, Adrian, Mt. Vernon, Uruguay, Jackson, and New York City, and stints of evangelism in between.  His trust in you, his reliance on you, and his confidence in you was surpassed only by his love for you.  You complemented him in his ministry, and no one knew that better than he.  He was your biggest fan, greatest admirer, and his only true love for his entire life. 

Andrés, Mark, Michael, Phoebe, Angelica, Gwendolyn, Victor, you brought great joy to your Papa’s life.  He held you, danced with you, sang to you, laughed with you and told you stories, many of which were actually true!  Oh, what a grandfather you had!  He will be a legend to many, but he was your Papa!  

And, to all of you who looked to Scotty Teets as Pastor, Bishop, or “Pops,” he instilled something in you that will never die.  Nurture that love for souls, love for truth and love for God that you gleaned from this great man.  When you experience difficult times, reach back into that arsenal and retrieve those weapons crafted and carefully placed in your heart by the man you were privileged to call pastor. 

Last Sunday afternoon was the final roll call down here for Bishop Teets.  It marked the end of a journey that took several years.  It was as though there was too much of him to take him all at once.  So, we saw him leave a little bit at a time.  There was less of him for us to savor, but we got to enjoy his uniqueness right up until the final hours.  

For I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand.  I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith:  Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, shall give me at that day: and not to me only, but unto all them also that love his appearing.” 2 Timothy 4:6-8 (KJV) 

And now, the scene before you today, a casket with the earthly remains of your Bishop, flowers and a sanctuary of mourners is not what he sees.  He’s among the sanctified millions at the roll call of believers.  I take you to Revelation 5:9-12,
And they sung a new song, saying, Thou art worthy to take the book, and to open the seals thereof: for thou wast slain, and hast redeemed us to God by thy blood out of every kindred, and tongue, and people, and nation;  And hast made us unto our God kings and priests: and we shall reign on the earth.  And I beheld, and I heard the voice of many angels round about the throne and the beasts and the elders: and the number of them was ten thousand times ten thousand, and thousands of thousands; Saying with a loud voice, Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and glory, and blessing.” 

Farewell, Bishop Scotty Teets.  You were a great servant of the Lord.  You were loved.  You’ve given us all one more reason to go to heaven.  

Scotty, I will meet you in the morning! 

Let us pray.

The Mantle

All my life, I had heard about the falling of the mantle.  The story goes back to Elijah and Elisha. 

“And Elisha saw it, and he cried out, ‘My father, my father, the chariot of Israel and its horsemen!’ So, he saw him no more. And he took hold of his own clothes and tore them into two pieces. He also took up the mantle of Elijah that had fallen from him and went back and stood by the bank of the Jordan. Then he took the mantle of Elijah that had fallen from him, and struck the water, and said, ‘Where is the LORD God of Elijah?’ And when he also had struck the water, it was divided this way and that; and Elisha crossed over. Now when the sons of the prophets who were from Jericho saw him, they said, ‘The spirit of Elijah rests on Elisha.’ And they came to meet him and bowed to the ground before him.” 2 Kings 2:12-15 

My impression had always been that the mantle conferred spiritual power and authority on the recipient.  Once the mantle had been taken up, the bearer would do exploits, work miracles and exert great influence over the lives of people.  What I found was that the twenty-first century mantle meant greater pressure, more responsibility and made one a target for all the demons in hell!  This is not to express cynicism about God’s power, but rather to discover the flip side of a spiritual office.  We often visualize Elijah calling down fire from Mt. Carmel; we forget that the same Elijah hid out in a cave because of fear and intimidation.  Yes, a fresh anointing and confidence accompanies the mantle—and I did sense that new dimension in my ministry—but the knowledge that “the buck stops here” alerted me to the terror of the top spot.  I was now calling the shots, and if things went wrong, there was no one else to blame. 

The difference between the second man and the top spot boils down to who gets to say what’s what.  The second man knows the ropes; the leader makes the ropes.  The second man adheres to the procedures; the leader establishes the procedures.  The second man follows the protocols; the leader sets the protocols.  The leader then takes the flak, explains the reasons and defends his decisions.  That is a totally different ballgame than he played on the way up.   

In addition to these processes, unforeseen intangibles emerge from the leader’s biosphere, the most shocking of which is the church takes on the personality of the leader.  I became aware that my outlook on life, my demeanor, my values, my affections, my fears, my inadequacies, my dreams, my limitations—everything about me as a man—somehow wove their influence into the attitude of the church.  Fred Kinzie’s church slowly morphed into J. Mark Jordan’s church.  Of course, the church ultimately belongs to Jesus Christ, but the leadership He sets in place determines the tone for the depth and direction of the local assembly.  It is abundantly clear from the accounts of the churches profiled in the book of Revelation that the leadership shaped the philosophy of the particular churches of Asia Minor.  My father-in-law often reminded me that “everything starts at the top.”  Whatever style of leadership the shepherd displayed would translate into the behavior of the sheep.  Crudely put, the pastor creates a host of miniature clones running around following his orders. Scary.

I view these intangibles as enigmatic because a leader does not always understand the impact and repercussions to his or her personality.  I am more likely to explain my fear as reasonable precaution.  I may excuse my negativity as only being realistic.  But, the church is an echo chamber that bounces back whatever sounds it hears from the pastor.  It is a living mirror that reflects the image of the pastor.  The pastor who makes no effort to peel back the layers of his or her own personality will forever blame others for problems that manifest themselves in the church.  Even though I had an intellectual grasp of these principles, it took me years to see them and define them as they really were.  In the words of the cartoon character, Pogo, “We have met the enemy and he is us!”

Bishop Rodney E. Clark

“Then the king said to his servants, “Do you not know that a prince and a great man has fallen this day in Israel?” 2 Samuel 3:38 (NKJV)

It still seems unbelievable.  Vibrant, animated, laughing and loving Rodney Clark loomed larger than life to us all, especially to his grandchildren.  The whirlwind has taken our breath away—and given us a feeling (though not a reality) that our foundation has crumbled—leaving us with our impressions, musings, analyses—tempted to doubt, but taught to trust—we can do nothing else but rise up slowly and walk on numbly.  Today’s mission, at the very least, is clear: remembering the past, reluctantly acquiescing to the present, and reaching for faith in a God-ordained, and God-enlightened future.  

Bishop Rodney Clark was an anomaly.  From Port Arthur, Texas, an oilfields and refineries town on the Gulf, just south of the Piney Woods region of East Texas, home of sweltering humid heat in the summer and cold, wet winters, somehow he ended up in the snowbelt of America, southwest Michigan, where you have to shovel snow on the average of three times per snowfall just to get out of your driveway.  Many Texans stick one big toe into Kalamazoo winters and head south just as fast as their bowlegs can carry them. 

But Bishop Clark was different—extremely so.  You would not expect him to be so intimately acquainted with Macbeth or Julius Caesar in the writings of Shakespeare.  It seemed strange for someone with his background to quote the Canterbury Tales—in Middle English!  He could talk for hours about the intricacies of gourmet food and how it should be prepared.  And then, he could switch on a dime and talk about cutting, milling and shaping steel, or obscure word usage, or planting trees, or describing vintage automobiles, or Elvis Presley songs, or deep theological conundrums, or the antics of his grandchildren, or paving parking lots, or the amazing victories or agonizing defeats of the Michigan Wolverines, or how to correct a slice.  He had an expansive repertoire of myriad subjects, and a voracious appetite for news and politics—which he didn’t mind sharing if you would just ask him. 

Rodney Clark, the man, was tall, strong, smart, athletic and handsome.  He could regale you with story after story of his teenage capers, brawls in the neighborhood and schoolyards, fast cars and fishing trips in the Gulf with his father.  He was ornery, as his father-in-law, my uncle Bill Oakleaf could tell you—like the times he would grab the steering wheel while riding with Bill, making it impossible to steer the car and almost running it off the road, laughing the whole time.  He often hid his talent behind shyness.  I mentioned Elvis, because it was uncanny how Rodney could sing like him, yet he hated to sing just to show off.  He retained some of his Texas drawl, and often complained mightily about the weather—I wish you could have seen his grin when he called home from the Caribbean and found out about a huge snow storm hammering Michigan—but his call and his heart was solidly planted here in the frozen north.  You cannot fully understand Bishop Clark without sensing the depth of his call.  I’ve thought about this: 

“God’s call is more than a common burning to succeed or the driving power of pure ambition.  Although romantic, these factors never enter into a genuine call to the ministry.   The true calling of God comes from something outside of you, not from within your own mind.  You may have been responsive to it, but you didn’t concoct it.  You are drawn, not driven.  It is as though God has tied an invisible leash to your heart (as gauche as that may sound) and pulls you along.  At the same time, you do not feel helpless, or powerless to resist.  You go willingly. The call takes you to places where you would not have chosen to go, but, having been taken there, you sense that it is precisely where you ought to be.” 

This place, this field, this harvest ground is precisely where Bishop Clark was supposed to be.  Here, he put down his roots, raised his family, worked his jobs, sowed the seeds of the Gospel—here is where he fully embraced his ministry.  You who knew him as pastor, knew his boundless passion, his unalterable convictions, his unwavering loyalty to his own heritage, his insistence on scriptural aplomb. 

To all those who prayed for healing and recovery, do not despair.  Your God did not let you down.  If you think He did, it’s understandable.  But we all speak, tethered to a finite, mortal mooring.  Know this: God’s omnipotence operates as a function of His omniscience.  He knows; therefore, He acts! When He acts, it is because He knows that’s the best action to take. When He doesn’t act, it is because He knows that the action is wrong or ineffective.  We don’t have access to that kind or that level of knowledge.  In fact, the more I understand God, the less I understand God.  Our problem is that we fail to come to grips with our limited and/or faulty understanding.  We lament, as did the sisters of Lazarus, why Jesus didn’t show up earlier, why He allowed someone to die, why He seemed to disregard the feelings and welfare of others, or why He didn’t follow our line of reasoning instead of His own.   

We often question God’s actions.  Instead, we must learn to accept and rejoice in what He does because He acts out of his omniscience.  We can’t take offense that God didn’t tell us why He acted a certain way.  We wouldn’t have understood anyway.  Take comfort in the idea that He knows what is best.  Remember, His omniscience and omnipotence, as well as all His attributes, exist in perfection.  If my life is in the hands of a perfect God who loves me, then my only recourse is trust!   

‘Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus,

Just to take Him at His Word;

Just to rest upon His promise; 

Just to know, “Thus saith the Lord!”

Now, I must say that not only is this Southwest Michigan the place he was called to be, I’m convinced that the place he occupies today is precisely the place where he is supposed to be.  He was a thoughtful, brilliant and perceptive man.  When he realized that his body would no longer work the way it was supposed to work, when he thought that his daily life would be a burden to others, he must have turned his eyes heavenward and said okay, it’s time. 

To re-phrase a Scripture: “And all the days of Bishop Clark were seventy and one years: And Bishop Clark walked with God: and he was not; for God took him.” Genesis 5:23-24. 

The Call

MY MOTHER HAD A LITTLE WOODEN SEWING BOX shaped like a pulpit.  I can’t remember doing this, but they tell me that I knelt behind it and pounded the top, mimicking my dad and all the preachers who came by our store-front church.  It was apparent to my mother—not so much my dad—that I was destined to be a preacher.  That may have been cute as a toddler, and even okay as an adolescent, but I disabused myself of the notion as I progressed into my high school years.  My sophisticated (self-diagnosed), somewhat cocky teenaged mind had little place for preaching.  What a droll, provincial idea that was!  I fancied myself suited for a much more refined role to play in the world.  My debate class experience, as I explained in the preceding chapter, slanted my thinking toward the legal profession.  I really liked making speeches, and I would like to think that I excelled at it.  I also enjoyed wrestling with broad social and geopolitical questions.  I know it may be weird, but I got an adrenalin rush from building a persuasive case for or against a resolution, digging up evidence and substantiating facts, and engaging in oral polemics.  I exuded confidence that my natural skill set equipped me to be a lawyer. 

After graduation, the debate class environment came to an end, and subsequently, my enthusiasm for the law dissipated.  I was no longer surrounded by future attorneys, and the influence of my coach ceased as well.  Church and summer camp activities once again claimed the lion’s share of my time.  At the same time, the pressure for deciding my future education began to build.  Would it be community college? State university?  Did I want to stay home and go to school or trek across the country to a distant location?  Would I take a year off and work to make some money?  I was truly one of the “multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision.”  (Joel 3:14) Finally, Bible college, a choice I had never seriously considered, floated across my mind.  But that possibility meant that I had to come to grips with something that terrified me.  Was God calling me to preach the gospel?  Surely not!  How embarrassing!  What would all my university-bound friends think?  What about all my teachers who had charted out a course for me that would have taken me to a law partnership, an academic profession or a political office?  What would they think?  It would be a let-down of the first order. 

But I couldn’t shake the idea that I might be called to preach.  Finally, I did the only thing I knew to do.  I was—and am—a much too private person to spill my thoughts out for the world to hear, so I went to the church on an off night.  I had the empty sanctuary to myself.  Had anyone else been there, it would have ruined it for me.  That night, I started out kneeling at the altar, but the magnitude of the thought proved to be too great to pray a tidy, controlled, restrained prayer.  I soon fell over on the floor and lay prostrate groaning, weeping and driving my fist into the carpet for an hour.   The prayers that I pray today without compunction were much more fraught with meaning, much more difficult for my untried mind to capture with words in that hour.  To use a well-worn cliché, I was treading where angels feared to tread. 

Suddenly, for the first time ever, I seemed to be transported into a different dimension.  Looking up from my prone position on the floor toward the front of the sanctuary, I didn’t see the baptistry.  Instead, I saw the crucifixion of Jesus, the His blood running in rivulets from His brow, palms, side and feet, and dripping on the ground below.  It was on par with the scripture, “He was transfigured before them. His face shone like the sun, and His clothes became as white as the light.” Matthew 17:2 (NKJV) That vision shook me to the core.  I couldn’t get it out of my mind.  Now, there was no denying it.  The call was real.  I had to receive it. 

Strange thoughts can enter the mind of someone in the throes of an epic decision.  I was still too embarrassed and too overwhelmed to share this experience with anyone.   I remember thinking, “Well, if I’m going to do this, then I had better be a flaming evangelist who will set the world on fire!”  I prayed (more like shouted) into my pillow that night that I didn’t want to do this if I couldn’t be as effective as the Apostle Paul!  It was all or nothing.  Of course, in my more rational moments, I knew that such an expectation was ludicrous, but the sheer enormity of becoming a preacher blew my world apart.  I knew that I didn’t want to settle for mediocrity.  All I could do was give it my best shot.  The results had to be left up to God. 

The call of God differs from a burning to succeed, or the driving power of pure ambition.  The energy generated by a secular motivation comes from within, and it seems to be self-aggrandizing and fueled by a competitive spirit.  I’ve personally seen friends whose compulsion for a worldly position made them sell their souls for promotion, recognition or another zero added to their income.  Those who enter the ministry based on sheer ambition usually crash and burn in the process.  I’ve seen that happen too.  Sam Keene begins his book, “Fire in the Belly,” with this verse: “A man must go on a quest / to discover the sacred fire / in the sanctuary of his own belly / to ignite the flame in his heart / to fuel the blaze in the hearth / to rekindle his ardor for the earth.”   

Such carnal elements, as romantic as they may be, never factor into a call to the ministry.   The true calling of God comes, not from within your own soul, but from something outside of you.  You many have been responsive to it, but you didn’t concoct it.  You are not driven; you are drawn.  It is as though an invisible leash (as gauche as this may sound) is tied to your being and pulls you along.  At the same time, you do not feel helpless, or powerless to resist.  You go willingly. The call takes you to places that you would not have chosen, but, having been taken there, you sense that it is precisely where you ought to be.  Paul expressed it this way: “I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that you present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, which is your reasonable service. And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God.” Romans 12:1-2 (NKJV).  In writing to the Philippians, Paul equates his call to being “apprehended” by Christ. It connotes that he fully intended to go his own way, but God overtook him and pulled him in another direction.  

The call of God has taken me to out-of-the-way places.  It has landed me in small, fledging congregations of four or five people.  It has led me to troubled churches, to dysfunctional homes, to unresponsive memberships, to rowdy teenagers, to nursing homes where residents sat around in near-vegetative states, to uppity crowds who could barely tolerate my carryings-on, and to shallow groups who grooved to my music, but dismissed my preaching. Eventually, the call pulled me into receptive congregations who responded positively to my ministry.  Regardless of the setting, however, I have always felt that I was in the right place at the right time.   

The core calling into ministry must be the voice of God, but there are ancillary forces at work that vary with the individual.  Some depend on an emotional appeal; some rely on the force of their personality; some pursue excellence in administration or presentation; some devote the bulk of their time and energy to doctrinal orthodoxy or the craft of the sermon; some gravitate toward locations or demographics.  We are all different in some way, and I thank God for it!  We can discern this variety as we study the styles of those who wrote the Holy Scriptures.  Isaiah, Jeremiah and Ezekiel were all God-called and anointed, but they each had their own unique way of expressing the voice of God to us.  Matthew, Mark, Luke and John were night and day in their style and purpose.   

I would like to think that I possess a sliver of all of the above in my particular brand of ministry, but I’m probably too close to the forest to see the trees (or is it vice-versa?).  At my age, I should have it figured out, but I still consider myself a work in progress.  Because I’ve been around so long, many may look at me as a permanent fixture in the church—staid, well-defined and pretty much a block of granite.  Surely the Master Sculptor has a few more features to chisel in the finished product before He’s through.  It’s the call.  The relentless call.