we preach because Christ is present.”1 It follows, then, that Christ is present with all of us on Sunday morning, not just the preacher. I hope that “it seems to me” invites listeners and readers to engage in their own process of interpretation. On Sunday morning, I want people to listen deeply to my words for assurance and for challenge. As I wrestle with Scripture, theology, and ethics, I invite you to find meaning for your life and draw your own conclusions.
Karl Barth once said that every person comes to church on Sunday morning with one question in mind: is it true? “Truth” in this sense is deeper than any personal opinion because this “it” is bigger than any one person. I pray that people are convinced of truth each time I preach, not because of the force of my words or the ingenuity of my argument, but by the power of the Holy Spirit. Jesus said, “When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth; for he will not speak on his own, but will speak whatever he hears, and he will declare to you the things that are to come.” (John 16:13). I pray that this is true for the reflections and sermons found in this book.
So take my hand! I invite you to join me through a year at a special church with very special people. From beginning to end, through frustrations and joys, with difficult questions and in tentative answers, I pray that you, dear reader, will honor the truest intention of this book: may you think about your faith. To God be the glory forever and ever.
Andrew Taylor-Troutman
New Dublin Presbyterian Church
Dublin, Virginia
September, 2011
1. Long, Witness of Preaching, 16.
1
The New and the Unexpected
DAILY COMMUTES
ONE OF THE BEST perks about my job is the “morning commute.” New Dublin Presbyterian Church sits at the end of a private road, elevated on a slight ridge. To get to my office from the manse, I simply walk about three hundred yards underneath ancient oak trees, past an iconic cemetery, and into a little white church with a green metal roof. Farmland stretches for miles all around and the green hills gently slope at the horizon. The landscape is beautiful and tranquil; it makes you want to take a deep breath and be at peace.
I try my best to maintain a welcoming office space at this picturesque church. I want the inside of the church to be just as open and inviting to visitors as the surrounding landscape. Despite this goal, I knew from my very first day on the job that much of my time should be spent out of the office. In the eyes of the folk at New Dublin, the work of a pastor is not confined to his or her study. As people come to church, I am expected to visit their homes. We are a throwback to the days when “preacher’s cookies” were whipped up on the spot because the preacher had dropped by unannounced for a friendly chat.
I have learned to appreciate these “afternoon commutes” to people’s homes just as much as my time in the office. Sometimes we must allow others to welcome us. A pastoral visit is like many social situations in that there is a great deal of importance placed upon food! In my first ten days of visiting alone, I ate ice cream, cookies, banana pudding, brownies, and strawberries, not to mention cup after cup of strong, black coffee. While I quickly learned that I could not keep track of all the edible gifts I received, I will admit that there have been several occasions when I have been grateful for the caffeine. The rules of etiquette for pastoral visitation include some tedious formalities. For instance, the summer forecast for southwestern Virginia inevitably includes some chance of thunderstorms, and most of my parishioners seem to enjoy speculating upon this ubiquitous topic. This can make me a little drowsy.
Do not assume, however, that I have been bored by my conversations. I am often amazed by the things people will share. During one visit, a woman described an evening when she looked out of her bedroom window and saw a vision of her brother-in-law dancing across the mountains in the distance. About two hours later, she received a phone call that he had died. Another parishioner is visited each night by a bright light that she believes is an angel. Such conversations are not held around a typical dinner table!
While a pastoral visit may include a discussion about the weather or a detailed chronicling of various aches and pains, I try to be patient and attentive because even the most mundane conversations can lead to a meaningful discussion of faith. Towards the end of the visit, I typically ask, “What have you been praying about lately?” I have seen this question act like a key that unlocks the real struggle inside. Quite unexpectedly, someone may give voice to what lies heavily on the heart.
One day I had an appointment to visit a family, but mistakenly presented myself at the wrong house. Though I was completely unexpected and unannounced, this church member graciously invited me inside. Even early in my ministry, I was beginning to understand the importance of hospitality in this culture. We sat at his kitchen table, drinking cold water from the well and chatting amicably. He and I do not have a great deal of experiences in common, and this fact became even more apparent as we talked. For instance, I do not include feeding the cows as part of my Sunday routine to get ready for church. While I enjoyed our time together, I knew that we both needed to get back to work. Just before I was about to leave for my scheduled appointment, I offered to pray for him and his family.
In response to my request for prayer concerns, tears fell freely down his sun-browned face. I couldn’t have been more surprised than if I saw a vision of my sister-in-law dancing across the distant mountains! This steady rock of the church whose clear blue eyes seemed forever set to the task at hand was crying. He shared the details of a sudden and tragic loss in the extended family, which had left him with questions about his faith. There in the kitchen, he added his voice to the great chorus of faithful people who have cried out in anguish, “Why God?”
I do not know how helpful I was to this parishioner on that day. I did not have much to say in response to his questions, much less any answers. I was still learning to find my way, literally around Dublin and figuratively as a pastor. But I was grateful for this unexpected visit and the chance to listen. Though I had visited the wrong house, sometimes we don’t know where we are going until we’ve already arrived.
This unexpected visit points to another lesson I learned quickly at New Dublin: some mistakes are actually gifts.
My first Sunday in the pulpit was Pentecost, which marks the church’s celebration of the gift of the Holy Spirit. According to the book of Acts, this spirit of fire came from heaven with a sound like a mighty rush of wind (Acts 2:2). How ironic that the very first sound out of my mouth was the mighty sound of microphone feedback! Though the sound system’s malfunction nearly busted everyone’s eardrums, this unexpected event did prove to be an unexpected blessing. As our ears rang, everyone shared a laugh, and I could see the anxiety melting away from their faces. I felt my own apprehension easing off my shoulders.
Perhaps others would have preferred a more somber or professional introduction. As I’ve reflected about this incident, I think it is a great illustration of the grace that my congregation affords me. I also believe that we could laugh together because we had started to trust each other. My reputation was growing as a “preacher who likes to visit.” Even before the first sermon, we were forming relationships that could stand the test of mishaps. This has continued to serve us well to this very day, no matter where life leads us on our daily commutes.
COWS ARE COOL!
While I do value pastoral visitation, I also spend a great deal of time in the church office. I love to study and I love to learn. I want to teach my academic knowledge by putting the wealth of biblical and theological scholarship into the language of the laity. Craig Barnes writes of the importance of “the fresh articulation of familiar old truths in a specific context.”1 The message
