During a summer rerun series titled Church Characters, I’m recalling some memorable people from decades of ministry.

This week’s blog culminates my series on church characters. Each person played a role in shaping my soul and informing my ministry. I decided to conclude the series by focusing on the biggest church character of all: ME!

I graduated seminary in May 1982. A month later the bishop appointed me as pastor-in-charge of Mount Carmel and Emory Chapel United Methodist Churches. The congregations outside Newnan, Georgia formed a two-point circuit in order to support a full-time minister.

I preached at Emory Chapel, the smaller of the two congregations, at 9:45 a.m. I sped to Mount Carmel for the 11:00 a.m. service. The larger church also held Sunday night services, which meant preparing two sermons weekly—and sometimes weakly.

The Mount Carmel members built a parsonage next door to the church. The 3/2 home served the needs of a single pastor. The congregation considered central heat and air extravagant luxuries. A wood heater warmed the front part of the house. An attic fan sucked air down the hall during the summer.

I moved to town with all of my worldly possessions in the back of a friend’s pickup truck and my Honda Civic. A 19-inch TV with rabbit ears provided 3 channels of static-filled entertainment. I bought a microwave my first Christmas and felt like royalty.

Four suits composed my entire ensemble, and I wore one per Sunday on a monthly basis. I possessed two pairs of dress shoes and various colors of dress shirts. I owned an iron but no ironing board.

I wince at my inexperience and callowness during those early years of ministry; but the two congregations adopted me as their own. They treasured their role in raising boy preachers to maturity. The members assured me that I would serve great churches in the future. I assured them that I already served great churches in the present.   

I am who I am today because of the people who mentored me in the past. Thanks be to God for church characters. Amen.

During a summer rerun series titled Church Characters, I’m recalling some memorable people from decades of ministry.

The bishop appointed me to First United Methodist Church of Summerville in June 1991. We arrived on Moving Day to discover my predecessor still in the process of moving. Tracy and I walked to the church next door to wait on the moving van.

We met a man in his 70s trimming the shrubs. Sweat-stained and red-faced, he looked like a prime candidate for a myocardial infarction. He switched off the hedge trimmer and extended a sopping-wet palm for a handshake.

The man declared in a loud voice of the hearing impaired, You must be the new preacher. My name is Samuel T. Hell-buck. Every church needs a hell-buck, and I’m yours!

The brother did not lie; well, except for his name. I later discovered he ironically possessed the last name of Bible; but the man lived up to his self-proclaimed title.

After four decades of pastoral ministry, Sam ranks number one among orneriest church members I have encountered. He made my life a living hell, constantly criticizing and complaining. He verbally assaulted me during an Administrative Board, cussing me out because I did not visit his wife in a Chattanooga hospital. The fact that he did not inform anyone about her hospitalization did not matter—I should have known!

Preachers’ stories typically resolve conflicts with happy endings. I would love to describe how Sam and I settled our differences as brothers in Christ; but this never occurred. We chose not to exchange Christmas cards after I moved.

Most pastors aspire to please people and avoid conflict. I learned in Summerville that I cannot please everyone and sometimes conflict is unavoidable.

Samuel T. Hell-buck taught me these valuable lessons.

And by the way, every church does NOT need one.

During a summer rerun series titled Church Characters, I’m recalling some memorable people from decades of ministry.

I visited homebound members on a monthly basis at my first country churches. I regularly saw Annette who lived in a single-wide trailer with her daughter and cats.

Note that I wrote cats plural.

Annette suffered from progressive dementia. She possessed a sunny disposition but comprehended only the simplest conversations. She loved daytime TV and her cats.

Note that I wrote cats plural.

I never tabulated an accurate census of the feline population that milled around in perpetual motion. It totaled over 25 but under 50. After sitting on the sofa, I appeared to be wearing a fur coat while scratching at imaginary fleas.

The olfactory experience of summer visits in the single-wide trailer without air conditioning exceeds my descriptive powers. The heat, humidity, and malodor produced asthma-like symptoms. I welcomed the dog-day heat outside after enduring the cat-stay smell inside.

Annette’s daughter impressed me throughout my tenure at the church. Lou Ellen cared for her mother without complaint, accepting the living conditions with equanimity. Whenever I inquired about her personal wellbeing, she talked about a devotion to her mother who had cared for her.  

People typically assume that the Fifth Commandment instructs young children to respect their parents. Annette’s life testified that honoring our fathers and mothers encompasses a lifetime; and sometimes it includes cats.

Note that I wrote cats plural.

During a summer rerun series titled Church Characters, I’m recalling some memorable people from decades of ministry.

Tommy attended Mount Carmel United Methodist Church, and his wife played the piano for worship. The devoted family faithfully fulfilled their vows to support the church with their prayers, presence, gifts, service, and witness.

Tommy was the kinda guy who would do anything FOR you and anything TO you. In the latter category, he loved harmless, practical jokes.

A shrub died in front of the parsonage. Tommy served on the Trustees. Rather than replace the plant, he spray-painted the brown branches a bright green.

The United Methodist Men took a mission trip to Louisiana. One evening we went to New Orleans for dinner before strolling through the French Quarter. Tommy delighted in pointing out every clothing optional establishment to his young pastor.

Tracy and I married in May 1986. While away on our honeymoon, Tommy sowed the parsonage lawn with fescue and rye before applying a liberal amount of fertilizer. I cut the grass every 3 days that summer. The churchman explained that he was concerned I might have nothing else to do as a newlywed.

Tommy was the type of guy who would do anything FOR you and anything TO you. In the former catalog, he supported his pastor with love and compassion.

The country church introduced me to deer hunting. Tommy showed me how to field dress and butcher my first deer.

A wood heater warmed the parsonage. I purchased a chainsaw, and Tommy taught me how to cut firewood. I attribute my current possession of ten digits to his past instruction.

Most of all, Tommy offered wise counsel to a pastor fresh out of seminary. He helped me understand how to minister to the congregation and community. I remain grateful for his friendship and support during my first five years of ministry.

May all of us be the kinda person who will do anything for others.