He was at least 75 years old.
But that was only a guess.
I was only nineteen then.
And young men are typically pretty horrible at estimating things like age.
The midwestern bible college I attended was largely donor-supported. That meant that the school’s four music groups were a part of the fundraising strategy (a reality I’ve only put together).
Our spring breaks were cut short, being sent out on the road in a 60-person tour bus as emissaries of our school. But I don’t remember feeling like I was missing anything. I loved the idea of touring the country and playing music for people. True, the tuxedo was a bit overstated and definitely got to smelling pretty bad, but I suppose that’s to be expected.
The trips were pretty straight forward: We’d travel a few hours to a church, set up by dinner time, inhale whatever potluck-type food was prepared, and play a concert. As you might imagine, things also got a little blurry after a while. It was hard to tell one trip from another.
Even today, I’ll walk into a church and think: “I feel like I’ve been here before,” recalling some odd memory from band tour – usually triggered by the familiar scent of church coffee.
And yes.
Church coffee smells different than coffee brewed anywhere else.
One particular trip through the Southeast stands out:
It was spring tour of my freshmen year, which meant that the humidity made my $99 polyester tuxedo feel even worse. We had been gone for over a week when we finally re-entered Illinois through the southern tip of the state. Our tour bus pulled into a small church in Cairo (pronounced “KAY-row”).
As we pulled into the church parking lot, the pastor came out to meet us. He wore light gray dress pants, a yellow dress shirt (tucked in), and a gray “Members Only” jacket.
He smiled as he walked across the parking lot. Despite his age, his posture was ramrod straight -like a kind, high-ranking military officer. He had a distinctive pair of glasses – the type that automatically darken when exposed to strong sunlight. I’ve always thought those lenses made people look like seedy used car salesmen from Las Vegas, but somehow he managed to pull them off without suspicion. It’s funny how an otherwise selfless demeanor can change your mind about things like that.
We unpacked, got into our tuxes, ate dinner, played the show, and packed everything back up again. From what I remember, the show went well, but it was the end of tour so my remember may not be worth very much.
As the last instrument was loaded, I looked around the church parking lot. And I saw the pastor. He was shaking hands and talking with our Director. From their posture, it looked like they had known each other for years.
It occurred to me that this pastor probably had the same effect on everyone he met. People clearly felt comfortable around him. He was deeply authentic. I liked that.
I decided to walk over.
Our conversation lasted about 20 seconds.
- “How long have you been a pastor?” I asked him.
- “Oh, a little over 50 years.”
- “Wow,” I said. “You have a wonderful church. Thanks so much for having us.”
- He bowed modestly and nodded.
- “Where else have you served?”
- “Just here.”
There was a long pause.
He looked at a weed in the cracked asphalt in between his shoes.
- “I came to Cairo when I was just twenty one.”
I did a little quick math and…whoa…he’s over seventy…and still loving what he does…and he’s done it all here.
- “…Yep,” he continued without any prompting from me, “I’ve married people, baptized their kids, seen those kids grow up, and have kids of their own. It’s pretty special.”
He smiled and squinted his eyes in a way that made me imagine a grandfatherly wink.
The idea of “influence” was instantly redefined for me – or at least my understanding was broadened. “Faithfulness” is usually near the heart of most pastors. And most of us would equate “faithfulness” with other common values like hard work, diligence, discipline, presence, or integrity. But “longevity” isn’t usually on the grid – at least not when we’re nineteen.
Young men tend to think about influence like jumping off the high-dive at a local swimming pool:
- How big is the splash?
- How did it look?
- Were the right people watching?
I think older men look at influence differently. Older men are concerned with stability, depth, and character:
- How can my life model Christ?
- How can I leave the best world for those who will follow me?
- How can I pass on Jesus to them?
When I was a kid, I used to wonder why pastors left churches. When they moved away, did they become another church’s pastor? In childlikeness, I never considered the reality of church politics, moral collapse, or family tensions; all of which contribute to a sizable number of pastoral shifts. In my 8-year-old mind, I thought pastors moved on because they simply ran out of sermons. (I mean, you can only preach a sermon on John 3:16 so many times before you start to sound like a broken record, right?) Sadly, not much changed from my 8-year-old mind to my 19-year-old mind.
Hearing this 70-some-year-old saint, I realized something deeply important that had previously eluded me:
- What if this whole idea of “pastor” has more to do with incarnation – somewhere to be – than it does with task – something to do?
It was a four-hour bus ride back to Chicago.
I couldn’t get him out of my head.
I still can’t.
