Weekly Devotional for November 23, 2015

Scripture Reading: 1 Thessalonians 5:12-22 (Appointed for November 27, 2015)

I hope all have had a blessed Thanksgiving holiday.

The perennial question asked around this time of year is “What are you thankful for?” Reflecting further on the things that I preached about this past Sunday, I can say with confidence that I am thankful this year (and most every year) for those people in my life who have taught me the faith, who have encouraged that faith, who have taught me that I matter.

A comment was made on this blog this past week about the question of the Syrian Refugees, reminding me that our purpose as Christians is not just to “welcome the stranger,” but also to spread the Good News of Jesus Christ. I could not agree more, but I would point out that there are few things that I can imagine that can spread that Gospel more potently than to offer kindness to people in desperate need. After all, that is what Christ himself did when he reached down to heal the sick and the suffering.

Those simple acts of kindness are what fuels our evangelism, far more so than all the Bible verses we might quote or theological arguments we might make. If you want to make Christ real to people, be like him, in as much as you are able.

My Thanksgiving this year was somewhat bittersweet. As many pastors do, I linger somewhat on the fringes of my previous congregations and previous communities, seeking not to interfere with my successors, but ever curious about the people for whom I cared for many years. Wednesday was a bad day for the Davis, WV community and for the congregation of St. John’s Lutheran in particular. One member (a good personal friend of mine) set himself on fire at his hunting camp and had to be helicoptered to Pittsburgh hospital’s burn unit. A long time member of the Davis community (and another good personal friend) revealed that she had uterine cancer. And one of the most beloved and loyal members of the St. John’s congregation joined the Church Triumphant. All in one day.

It is the third person that I would like to talk about and as good an example of the point I’m trying to make in this blog post as I could find. Don Gnegy was everything a pastor could want in a congregation member: loyal, intelligent, and compassionate. He will be greatly missed.

Don, some years ago, during a church renovation project.

Eleven years ago now, I was in a very rough spot. It all started on Friday. My beloved grandfather was in his last months of life and teetering as those who are dying do between life and death. Every day, there was that question. Is this it? I got the call from my mother. He’s not doing well. You probably want to come down.

I had adopted a beautiful little Finnish Spitz mix named Binksy from a couple moving overseas about a year before, but on this particular weekend, she’d taken ill. I had to board her anyway because I was leaving to see my grandfather, and where I boarded her was the local veterinary office. So they promised to look after her and see what they could do about her illness.

Binksy in her prime

I also had a doctor’s appointment. I had been suffering some severe pain in my abdomen and groin for several weeks and I needed to be checked out. Turns out, I had some rather large hernias that required pretty immediate surgery.

Anyway, I drive to Charleston, my hometown, and visit with my grandfather. He’s not doing well, but this proves a false alarm. But while I’m there, I get the call that Binksy had died.

I returned to Davis in time for services on Sunday. That morning, I did as some pastors do: I asked that my congregation minister to me. I dumped on them everything that had happened in the past three days; the need for surgery, my ailing grandfather, and the loss of my beloved pet.

After services, Don Gnegy pulled me aside. “I can’t do anything about your grandfather and the surgery, but I might be able to help you with a dog. Let me check.” Don’s daughter, Donna, breeds border collies, so I was curious as to what he had in mind.

Skip ahead a week, and Don grabs me before worship. “There’s a dog available and she’ll cost you about $150.”

I’m thinking, “$150 for a pure-bred border collie from a breeder. That’s a steal!” I agree to his terms immediately.

Skip ahead another week. Don again pulls me aside. “The dog’s on her way and she’ll be free.” But there was a complication. This was the week of my surgery. I couldn’t take a new dog, particular one as active as a border collie, while I was recovering from that.

Don waved it off. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep her until you are ready.”

The dog is my beloved Pammy-girl. She’s twelve years old now and still going strong. She’s in the care of my parents, since I was unable to take her with me to York. But I love her still and she’s been the best dog I ever had.

Pammy-girl, resting comfortably at my parent's home.

Don went out of his way to show kindness to me when I was in dire straits. He didn’t have to do that. There was nothing demanding that kindness of him except his faith and his compassion towards me. In that moment, Don showed me that I mattered. He evangelized me in a time of doubt and darkness, building me up, lifting me up out of the haze. This story is one of my favorites to tell people because what he did still means the world to me.

This is what Christianity is about. This is evangelion, “telling good news.” When Paul calls on the church in Thessalonica with his final exhortations in his letter, this is what he’s talking about. Do good to one another. You never know what even the most basic kindnesses can do for others. Amen.