Personal Reflections

11 Questions I’m Asking Myself About the Contemporary Church

/ pastorlynnmalone / 1 Comment

Examining the Church We Have and the Church Jesus Intended

I have spent most of my adult life serving the institutional church and I’ve spent much of the past week sitting in institutional meetings. The week was encouraging and uplifting, but it also prompted me to reflect on the “institutional” church as it exists today.

Here is what I’ve been thinking about all week…

For more than thirty-five years, I have preached sermons, led worship services, administered programs, attended meetings, developed budgets, supervised staff, and participated in denominational structures. I have served as a senior pastor. I have served as a district superintendent. I have not only participated in the denominational system; for a season, I worked for the denomination. Even now, I remain an ordained elder serving as the pastor of a local church.

I say all that because I don’t want anyone to misunderstand what follows. I am not standing outside the institutional church throwing rocks at it. I am standing firmly inside it. I have given most of my life to it. I love the church, and I continue to believe the local church can be one of the most beautiful expressions of the body of Christ in the world. But I also know that I have been complicit in fostering some of the very issues I am beginning to question.

I have helped create worship services in which most people watched while a few people participated. I have stood behind the pulpit as the central personality in the room. I have encouraged people to invite their friends to “come hear the preacher.” I have supported budgets that devoted significant resources to staff, buildings, programs, and institutional maintenance. I have participated in denominational systems that sometimes appeared more concerned with preserving the institution than advancing the mission.

I have measured attendance, counted giving, promoted programs, celebrated growth, and worried when the numbers went in the wrong direction. I have sometimes treated a full room as evidence of spiritual success without asking whether the people in that room were actually being formed into the image of Christ.

I am not confessing that everything I have done was wrong. Much of it was done prayerfully, faithfully, and with good intentions. Some of those practices have borne genuine fruit. But good intentions do not place our practices beyond examination.

Neither does the fact that a particular practice is not found explicitly in the Bible make it inherently wrong. The New Testament does not give us a complete operations manual for the twenty-first-century church. It does not tell us what time to gather, how many songs to sing, whether to use a pulpit, how to organize the church office, or what kind of building to occupy. We have freedom to develop structures and practices suited to our time and place.

The question is whether those structures still serve the purposes of the church—or whether the church has gradually begun serving the structures.

A practice does not become biblical simply because churches have done it for a long time. Neither is it necessarily faithful because it attracts a crowd, produces measurable results, or appears successful. Every practice must be examined in light of the character of Jesus Christ, the teaching of Scripture, and the mission Jesus entrusted to His church. That examination has led me to begin asking some uncomfortable questions.

1. Is the senior pastor a truly biblical role?

The New Testament speaks of apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors, teachers, elders, overseers, and deacons. It certainly recognizes spiritual leadership and entrusts some people with particular responsibilities. But do we find anything resembling the modern senior pastor—the primary preacher, chief executive, public face, institutional leader, and often central personality of the congregation?

The role may not be inherently wrong, but what happens when so much authority, visibility, and responsibility become concentrated in one person?

2. Is the church supposed to be a gathering of non-participants?

Paul describes the church as a body in which every member has a function. He also pictures gatherings in which different members contribute to the life of the community.

How, then, did church become a gathering in which a relatively small number of people perform while everyone else watches? Have we unintentionally taught people that attending church is the same as participating in the body of Christ?

3. Are multisite campuses about growing God’s Kingdom—or the senior pastor’s kingdom?

I know this question sounds pointed, and I do not presume to judge the motives of every pastor or congregation using a multisite model. Heck, I even tried it myself once (to no avail). Multisite churches may reach people who would otherwise remain disconnected from Christian community.

Still, we should be willing to ask why one pastor’s preaching must be broadcast into multiple locations. Are we multiplying churches and leaders, or extending the reach of a particular personality and brand?

4. How biblical is it for more than half of a church’s giving to support buildings, maintenance, upkeep, and staff?

Buildings and staff can serve the mission of the church. Pastors who devote themselves to ministry may rightly receive financial support, and congregations need places in which to gather.

But when much of the church’s financial life is devoted to sustaining its own operations, we should at least ask what remains for mission, mercy, generosity, and ministry beyond ourselves. At what point does maintaining the institution become the institution’s primary mission?

5. When did church gatherings become sermon-centered?

I am a preacher, and I believe preaching matters. The proclamation and teaching of God’s Word have always been central to the church’s life. I’ve often told my congregations that they pay me to be their pastor. I preach for free!

But is a thirty-minute sermon delivered by one person supposed to become the defining feature of Christian worship? How did the sermon come to dominate the gathering while prayer, testimony, conversation, shared discernment, and the Lord’s Supper moved toward the margins?

6. When did the church lose its weekly commitment to the Lord’s Supper?

The earliest Christians appear to have gathered regularly around the table. The breaking of bread was not an occasional addition to worship. It was central to their life together.

How did many Protestant churches move from the Table every week to once a month, once a quarter, or even less frequently? What did we lose when the sermon became weekly but the Meal became optional?

7. Is denominational hierarchy a biblical concept?

Denominations can provide accountability, connection, shared resources, theological identity, and a means of accomplishing ministry that no single congregation could undertake alone. I have benefited from those structures and have worked within them.

But how closely do our layers of boards, agencies, executives, superintendents, bishops, conferences, and administrative offices resemble the leadership structures of the New Testament? When does connection become control? When does accountability become bureaucracy? When does the institution begin protecting itself?

8. Is professionalized ministry the biblical model?

Scripture recognizes that those who preach the gospel may receive their living from the gospel. There is nothing inherently unbiblical about paying pastors or other ministry leaders.

But have we created a system in which the work of ministry is largely outsourced to professionals? Have pastors become religious service providers while church members become their clients? Has professional ministry equipped the saints for ministry—or relieved the saints of ministry?

9. How did we develop such a consumer mentality concerning church?

People shop for churches based on music, preaching, children’s ministries, facilities, style, convenience, and personal preference. Churches respond by marketing programs and attempting to provide increasingly attractive religious experiences.

How did following Jesus become another consumer choice? And how much has the church itself contributed to that mentality by treating people as customers whose preferences must be satisfied?

10. Were early church gatherings limited to one hour?

There is nothing inherently spiritual about a longer gathering. A three-hour service can be every bit as lifeless as a one-hour service.

Still, why has an hour become the accepted limit for worship in so many churches? Why do we become anxious when the service runs long? What does that reveal about the place worship occupies in our lives—and about the kind of experience our gatherings have become?

11. Why is the modern church so afraid of church discipline?

Jesus and the New Testament writers took sin, accountability, restoration, and the holiness of the Christian community seriously. Church discipline was not intended to be cruel, controlling, or punitive. Its goal was truth, repentance, reconciliation, and restoration.

Yet many churches avoid it almost entirely. Are we afraid people will leave? Are we afraid of conflict? Have abuses of authority made us unwilling to exercise any authority? Or have we become so consumer-oriented that we no longer believe the church has the right—or responsibility—to call its members to a life of holiness?

I’m Asking, Not Accusing

I do not have settled answers to all these questions. If I had the answers, I probably would not be writing this series. Or, more likely, I would have already written a book and gone on the speaking circuit.

I am also aware that it is much easier to identify problems than to propose faithful alternatives. Institutional structures developed for reasons. Many of them solved real problems, supported valuable ministries, and helped the church carry the gospel across generations and cultures. Tearing down structures without understanding what they hold together is neither wise nor faithful.

Nor do I believe the solution is simply to reproduce the first-century church. The early church existed in a particular historical and cultural setting. It had problems of its own—many of which are preserved for us in the New Testament. My goal is not to romanticize the past. My goal is to examine the present.

I want to consider what Scripture establishes, what freedom Scripture allows, what benefits our contemporary practices provide, and what unintended distortions they may have produced. I want to distinguish between what is biblically commanded, what is biblically permissible, and what we have simply come to assume.

Most of all, I want to ask whether the church we have built is forming people into the image of Jesus for the sake of others.

I love the church too much not to ask. And because I am part of the church I am questioning, these are not questions I am asking about “them.”

They are questions I am asking about us.

They are questions I am asking about me.

So, I invite you, over the next two weeks, to reflect on these eleven questions with me. In addition to my regular Tuesday posts, I will add two Friday posts to unpack these questions a little more deeply.

I would love your feedback, too. Comment below with any questions these questions raise for you, or feel free to dispute my assumptions. I certainly could be wrong and I invite your correction. Let me hear from you.

Please join me on the journey.

Until next time, keep looking up…

We Bought a Beach House—and Learned What We Really Needed

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Last night, a friend was watching television when a couple of familiar faces appeared on the screen—ours. 

She took a few pictures of the television, posted them on Facebook, and tagged us. There we were, a decade younger, walking around Dauphin Island, Alabama, looking for a beach house on an episode of Island Life.

We bought the house in 2016, but the episode still turns up occasionally. Every few years, somebody will be watching television, recognize us, and send us a picture. It is a little strange to have a decision from your past preserved in reruns.

Seeing those pictures again brought back a flood of memories. It also reminded me of something I learned during that season—something Richard Foster expressed far better than I ever could: “It’s possible to enjoy the beach without owning a piece of it.”

It took buying a beach house for me to discover that.

Let me clear up one misconception before we go any further: Vanessa and I are not wealthy people. We were not wealthy in 2016, either. Owning a beach house is not necessarily proof that someone has a lot of money. Sometimes it simply means they have a good credit score and a complicit banker. We had both.

We loved Dauphin Island. It was quiet, unhurried, and far removed from the pace of ordinary life. We could imagine ourselves escaping there, sitting near the water, watching the sun go down, and enjoying time with family. Somewhere along the way, however, enjoying the island turned into wanting to own a piece of it. Once that desire took hold, we began finding ways to make it happen.

That is one of the things I have learned about desire: once we decide what we want, we can become remarkably creative in justifying it. We run the numbers. We imagine the possibilities. We focus on everything that might go right and minimize everything that could go wrong. If the door opens—even if the door is opened with borrowed money—we take that as confirmation that we are supposed to walk through it.

We found the house. The bank found the money. And television found us. The producers of Island Life told the story of a couple searching for the perfect place on Dauphin Island. We toured houses, talked about what we liked and didn’t like, and eventually chose the one that would become ours. It made for a nice episode of television. But, there is nothing real about reality television.

The story had already been decided before the cameras arrived. Scenes were staged and conversations repeated. We walked through houses we had no intention of buying and acted as though the decision still hung in the balance. Hours of recording were edited into a neat little story about a dream coming true.

That is what television does. It removes the complications, compresses the timeline, adds some music, and gives everything a satisfying ending. Real life is rarely that tidy.

The episode showed the excitement of buying a beach house. It did not show the mortgage payments, insurance, upkeep, repairs, worry, or responsibility that came with it. It did not show what happens when the place you visit to escape becomes one more thing demanding your attention.

Owning a beach house changes the experience of going to the beach. You no longer simply arrive and enjoy it. You notice what needs repairing. You wonder what the weather has done while you were away. You think about what the house is costing when you are not there and what needs to be done while you are. The place that was supposed to provide rest can become another source of work.

There was another complication, too—one that is harder for me to admit. At the time, I was pastoring a church. Not everyone in the congregation celebrated our new adventure. Some assumed that buying a house on Dauphin Island meant we were preparing to leave. Others wondered whether my attention was where it needed to be.

I thought those concerns were unfair. We were not planning to leave, and I was still doing my job. From my perspective, owning a beach house had nothing to do with my commitment to the church. Looking back, however, I wonder whether they saw something I did not. Perhaps my body was still present while some part of my imagination had already moved to the island.

That does not mean pastors should never own beach houses. Nor does it mean the house itself was sinful. The deeper issue was not the property. The deeper issue was desire—and the amount of attention, energy, and imagination I was willing to give it.

I wanted something, and because we could find a way to acquire it, I assumed we should. I confused the ability to purchase something with the wisdom to pursue it.

That is a temptation most of us understand. We live in a culture that is remarkably skilled at turning wants into needs. We are told that fulfillment is always one purchase, one accomplishment, one experience, or one upgrade away. And when we finally get what we wanted, we often discover that it cannot give us what we were really seeking. The beach house was not just a financial decision. It revealed something about my heart.

I am in a different season of life and ministry now. These days, I find myself thinking less about success and more about faithfulness—less about what I can build or acquire and more about who I am becoming. As I reflect on my own discipleship, I am beginning to recognize how easily misplaced desires can shape a life.

Discipleship is not only learning to resist desires that are obviously sinful. Sometimes it means surrendering good desires that have taken an improper place in our hearts.

Rest is good. Time with family is good. Watching a sunset over the Gulf is good. Even owning a beach house can be good. But good things become dangerous when we ask them to give us something only God can provide—or when pursuing them begins to compete with the life to which God has called us.

We do not always abandon Jesus to chase what we want. Sometimes we simply ask Jesus to come along and bless the pursuit.

Richard Foster was right. We did not need to own a piece of the beach to enjoy it. We did not need a mortgage to appreciate the water, the sand, the sunsets, or time together. Those things were already available to us as gifts. We could receive them, enjoy them, and then return home without carrying the burden of ownership with us.

Perhaps that is what we really needed—not possession, but permission to enjoy the gift without having to own it.

The old episode will probably continue appearing on television from time to time. When it does, it will show two people pursuing a dream and finding the house they wanted.

What it cannot show is what took us years to learn: We bought a beach house. But what we really needed was to examine the desire that made us believe we needed one.

Until next time, keep looking up…

Stop Trying to be a Better Evangelist…

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Acts 2:42-47

A Problem

A few weeks ago, a Facebook post caught my eye. A church was offering a one-day discipleship class — 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. A full day dedicated to making disciples.

Before I say another word, let me be clear: I’m grateful for any church trying to make disciples. I’m not throwing stones at that particular congregation. If I’m honest, this word is for all of us. That post simply exposed something we’ve quietly come to accept.

We’ve begun to believe discipleship can be primarily taught in a classroom. That with enough curriculum, enough seminars, enough programs, and enough information, we’ll produce mature followers of Jesus.

But following Jesus has never been mastered in a classroom. It’s learned in kitchens and living rooms, hospital rooms and workplaces, neighborhoods and ordinary daily rhythms. It is learned over a lifetime through daily surrender, daily obedience, and the transforming work of the Holy Spirit.

Pentecost happened in a day. Spiritual formation happens over a lifetime.

Somewhere along the way, we’ve made the same mistake with evangelism. We’ve turned it into another skill to master, another class to attend, another program to organize, another technique to learn. We’ve made evangelism a “task” to be performed.

But when I read Acts 2, I don’t find an evangelism committee. I don’t find a strategic planning session or a “Director of Outreach.” I don’t find the apostles creating a twelve-week curriculum called “How to Win Your Neighbor in Five Easy Steps.”

What do I find? People worshiping. People praying. People eating together. People devoted to the apostles’ teaching. People giving generously. People living life together. And somehow — while doing all those ordinary things — “the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved.”Evangelism is not primarily a task to be performed. Evangelism is a life to be lived.

A Pattern

We’ve made evangelism the destination. But what if Acts 2 reveals that evangelism is actually the byproduct? The fruit, not the root?

Luke doesn’t say the early church devoted themselves to evangelism, outreach, church growth, or making converts. Instead, he writes:

“They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer.” (Acts 2:42)

The very things we often treat as secondary, Luke places first. Why? Because he understands a simple but profound truth: What fills us eventually flows from us.

The overflow of Acts 2 began on the streets of Jerusalem on Pentecost with 3,000 people believing and being baptized. If Luke were writing a modern church growth manual, he might have ended the chapter there. But he doesn’t. Pentecost wasn’t the finish line — it was the starting line.

The same Spirit who brought them to Christ now began the lifelong work of forming them into the likeness of Christ. Verses 42-47 describe what that looked like in practice: worship, prayer, generous sharing, and devotion to apostolic teaching. Nothing flashy. No celebrity speakers, no marketing campaigns, no social media strategy. Just ordinary people faithfully walking with Jesus in the ordinary rhythms of life.

Whatever is forming you is also filling you. And whatever is filling you will eventually flow from you.

A Promise

Luke gives us a quiet but powerful promise in the final sentence of the passage: “…And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved.”

Notice who the subject is: The Lord. Not the disciples. Not the apostles. Not the church’s clever strategies. The Lord added.

As I’ve been preaching through the Spirit-Formed Life series with my congregation, I’ve stumbled onto a beautiful surprise: The Spirit never asked the first disciples to carry the weight of building His Church. He asked them to devote themselves to Him — worship, prayer, fellowship, generosity, apostolic teaching. Faithfulness was their assignment. Fruitfulness was God’s responsibility.

The Spirit-formed life is one in which Jesus increasingly becomes the subject of every sentence in our story. Jesus is the subject of our worship, our fellowship, our generosity, our witness, our salvation. 

As Jesus becomes the main character, we become perfectly content to be supporting characters in His story. 

That is discipleship. That is maturity. That is holiness.

A Personal Confession

Before I close, I need to confess something. That one-day discipleship class in the Facebook post? Twenty years…no, really more like ten…okay, so seven years ago, that could easily have been me. I would have been the one developing the curriculum, standing in the front of the room, convinced that if I could just teach enough, organize enough, and equip enough, people would become disciples.

Those were the things that formed me as a pastor for a long time. But the Holy Spirit has been teaching me something I wish I had learned much earlier: Jesus doesn’t primarily form disciples in classrooms. He forms them in daily surrender, in worship, in prayer, around tables, in ordinary acts of obedience, and in the daily rhythms of a life yielded to the Holy Spirit.

And when Jesus forms a life, that life begins to overflow.

That’s why I’ve been asking my congregation a Question of the Month that I believe matters so much: What is forming me more than Jesus right now?

Overflow isn’t the goal.

Overflow is the result.

Christlikeness is the goal.

Overflow is the consequence.

So, I’ve decided that I’m not going to spend the rest of my life trying to become a better evangelist. I’m going to spend my life becoming more like Jesus. I’m going to trust Him with the results. Because what fills us eventually flows from us.

Friends, what is forming you more than Jesus right now?

I’d love to hear from you in the comments. And if this resonates, would you share it with someone who needs encouragement to return to the simple, ordinary, Spirit-formed rhythms of the early church?

Until next time, keep looking up…

The Dream Nobody Knew

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Back in the mid-to-late 1980s, I worked in my grandfather’s hardware store in Chatham, Louisiana.

Like most small-town hardware stores, it wasn’t exactly a center of corporate innovation. We sold nuts and bolts, plumbing fittings, paint, and whatever else folks needed to keep life moving. Most days, I sat on an old stool behind the counter waiting on customers and trying to decide what I wanted to do with my life.

Somewhere during those years I started reading Entrepreneur magazine. I don’t know why it captured my imagination, but it did.

Every month I would read stories about entrepreneurs building businesses from nothing. I wasn’t a businessman. I was just a young husband working in a hardware store. But those articles stirred something inside me. They made me dream.

In the back of the magazine there was an advertisement for a little oil change company out of Metairie, Louisiana called SpeeDee Oil Change.

Most people had never heard of it.

They were beginning to franchise locations, and every time I saw that advertisement I found myself imagining what it would be like to own one.

Not just anywhere. In Ruston. And not just somewhere in Ruston. On the North Service Road.

I can still see myself sitting on that stool, flipping through those pages, imagining a future that seemed completely out of reach. Life, however, had other plans.

I never opened a SpeeDee franchise. Instead, I became a deputy sheriff. Then God called me into ministry. The years passed. I pastored churches. Raised children. Attended committee meetings. Preached sermons. Buried saints. Married young couples. Watched grandchildren arrive.

Like most people, I eventually assumed some dreams belonged to younger versions of ourselves.

Every now and then I would see a lube shop and remember those old thoughts from the hardware store, but life had moved on. Or so I thought.

Then in 2019, something unexpected happened. After nearly three decades in pastoral ministry, I sensed God might be leading me into a different season. An opportunity opened with a local bank, and I accepted a position as Business Development Officer.

In some ways, it felt like a return to those old entrepreneurial dreams. I wasn’t leaving ministry because I was angry or burned out. I simply believed God might be redirecting my path. For the first time in years, I found myself working in the business world again, helping build relationships and explore opportunities for growth.

Then 2020 arrived.

Like everyone else, we watched as COVID changed everything. The bank adapted to new realities, reevaluated priorities, and eventually chose a different direction. The role for which I had been hired was disappearing. Leadership offered me another opportunity within the organization, but it involved becoming a consumer loan officer.

I tried to imagine myself sitting behind a desk every day approving loans and financing purchases. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it wasn’t who I was. Nothing against the people who do that work. It simply wasn’t where my heart was. I couldn’t shake the feeling that God wasn’t calling me to spend the rest of my working years helping people borrow money to buy things they probably didn’t need and often couldn’t afford.

Once again, I found myself standing at a crossroads.

The door that had seemed so promising in 2019 was quietly closing. I didn’t know what came next. I only knew it was time for another change.

Looking back now, I don’t see the banking years as a detour at all. I see them as a placeholder.

When I left vocational ministry in 2019, I needed somewhere to land. SpeeDee wasn’t for sale. The opportunity didn’t exist. But the bank did. For two years, God provided exactly what I needed for that season. Not forever. Just for then.

At the time, I couldn’t understand why that door was opening only to close again so quickly. It felt confusing. Disappointing, even. But hindsight has a way of revealing what faith often cannot see in the moment.

The bank was never the destination. It was the bridge.

Had SpeeDee been available in 2019, I likely would have stepped directly into it. But it wasn’t. The timing wasn’t right. God wasn’t withholding anything from me. He was simply preparing the next chapter while providing a place for me to stand in the meantime.

Then, when the season at the bank had run its course and the role I had been hired to fill was disappearing, the opportunity I had imagined as a young man sitting in my grandfather’s hardware store suddenly appeared.

Nearly forty years after I first sat on that stool in Chatham dreaming about SpeeDee Oil Change, the business in Ruston was for sale. The very business. On the very road. In the very town.

The location was right. The timing was right. And for the first time, I could see that what felt like uncertainty had actually been providence all along.

There was one more detail I couldn’t appreciate at the time. The same bank that had provided a place for me to land after leaving ministry became the bank that financed the purchase of SpeeDee Oil Change.

Sometimes God’s provision is only visible in the rearview mirror.

I didn’t start it. I didn’t build it from scratch. Another entrepreneur did all of that. But I bought it. And in doing so, I realized something I had never fully understood. Sometimes God says yes to our dreams. Just not according to our timetable.

Looking back, I spent years paying attention to doors that didn’t open. There were positions I sought and didn’t receive. Leadership opportunities that passed me by. Places where I thought God might be leading, only to find the answer was no. Those disappointments felt significant at the time. Some of them still sting if I’m honest. But while I was keeping score of the doors that closed, I failed to notice the dream God quietly fulfilled.

The young man sitting on that stool in Chatham could never have imagined the route God would take to get there. He certainly couldn’t have imagined owning an oil change business while also serving as a pastor. He couldn’t have imagined the detours, disappointments, failures, successes, and surprises that would fill the next four decades. He only knew he had a dream.

What he didn’t know was that God had not forgotten it. The older I get, the more I suspect that faith is often learning to trust God’s timing when it bears little resemblance to our own.

Sometimes God closes doors we desperately want opened. Sometimes He opens doors we never expected. And sometimes He takes a dream that has been sitting quietly in the back of our hearts for forty years and says, “Not yet.”

Then one day, when we’ve almost forgotten about it, He says, “Now.”

Funny thing is, no one knew that story. Not even Vanessa.

No one knew that a young man sitting on a stool in a hardware store, flipping through Entrepreneur magazine, had quietly dreamed about owning a SpeeDee Oil Change in Ruston one day.

I almost forgot about that dream myself. But God didn’t. 

Until next time, keep looking up…

A Faith Worth Passing On…

/ pastorlynnmalone / 2 Comments

This past week, I had the privilege of preaching my mother’s funeral.

There are some moments in life that are too important to keep to yourself.

For those who couldn’t be there… and for those who simply want to remember… I wanted to share what was said.

This isn’t just a message about my mom. It’s a message about the kind of faith that lasts.

Mom’s Funeral Message

I’ve told my congregations before that I was raised at the foot of a Methodist piano. When I said that, the story was usually about me… or my brothers. But today I realize—it was never about us. It was always about Mom. And more than that… it was really about Jesus. In a world that chases platforms and spotlights, Mom chose a piano bench.

Mom’s faith sat on that piano bench—Sunday after Sunday—for over 73 years. She once told me how it all started. Papaw had her taking piano lessons when she was nine years old. Then, one Sunday at Zoar Methodist Church—she had just turned ten—Papaw, who was leading the singing, looked at her and said, “Play.” She’s been playing ever since.

I started trying to name all the churches she played for. In those early days—Zoar and Mt. Pleasant. Later—Frantom Chapel, Concord… and of course, Chatham. And those were just the regular ones. There’s no telling how many times she filled in at other churches along the way.

Seventy-three years… Sunday after Sunday. That’s a lot of showing up.

Now here’s something you may not know. Mom was never very confident in her piano playing. I suppose that’s part of her humility. But she never let a lack of confidence keep her from obedience.

Because she didn’t see it as just playing for a church. She saw it as answering a call.

To my knowledge, she never received a salary from any church. She would occasionally accept a love offering, but she turned most of that back around to the church. For her, that piano bench became an altar. And every note she played was an act of worship.

If you want to understand what that looked like, let me show you.

There was a man in the community—I’ll leave his name out—who had pretty much become a hermit as he got older. For health reasons, he wouldn’t—or maybe couldn’t—leave the house for groceries or medicine. His home had become a mess—cluttered with trash, old rotting food, dogs. It had gotten so bad that eventually, even EMS stopped responding to his calls. Most people had pulled back.

You know who didn’t? Mom didn’t. She kept showing up. She would go to his house. She would take him food. She would help however she could.

And if we’re being honest… some of us didn’t understand it. Some of us probably wondered if he was taking advantage of her. But that didn’t seem to matter to her. She didn’t see him the way others saw him. She saw someone who needed help. And she showed up.

That’s the kind of faith she had. It didn’t wait until it was convenient. It didn’t wait until it was appreciated. It just showed up. The truth is… that kind of life doesn’t come from nowhere. It comes from walking with Jesus. Because if you’ve read the Gospels… you’ve seen that kind of life before.

Jesus said in Matthew 25, “Whatever you did for one of the least of these… you did for me.” I don’t know that Mom ever stood up and quoted that verse. Truth is, I don’t remember her quoting much Scripture at all. She didn’t have to. She lived it. When she showed up at that house… she wasn’t just helping a man in need. She was serving her Savior. That’s how she served.

Her faith also showed up for her family. After Tommy died, Mom started a Saturday morning breakfast tradition. I’m a little jealous that Ben and Shawn got the early years, but I was thrilled when we moved closer and I could join in. I’d rise early and head to Chatham—not for toast and jelly, but for homemade buttermilk biscuits, pancakes, stove-cooked grits with a stick of butter melting on top, scrambled eggs, sausage, and bacon. Real, stick-to-your-ribs food.

We’d gather around the table. Sometimes one of us alone. Sometimes two of us. Sometimes all three. Sometimes with our spouses. Other times with our children. But every time with Mom. Many times Uncle Benny would come down for coffee and a visit. Other times friends and extended family were offered the invitation. Rarely was it ever declined.

Over the years, Mom’s Saturday morning breakfast became legendary. It was the envy of all who knew about it. We’d gather around the table… and there was a sacredness to it. It was rhythm. It was formation. Biscuits and sausage and grits wasn’t just food to Mom. It was glue. Glue that held us together.

Yes, it was glue, but more than that, it was the way she loved us.

She was not an extrovert—and that is an understatement. You would think someone who spent over 25 years serving the public every day as Postmaster would be a strong personality. No. Not Mom. She was perhaps one of the most unassuming people I’ve ever known. But what she did was love deeply and serve greatly, quietly, faithfully.

I’ve known that love my whole life. Vanessa was going through Mom’s things the other day when she came across the bottom third of a loose-leaf sheet of paper folded neatly in a small wooden box. When she unfolded it she saw the words “From Bubba to Mother.” On the right-hand side were these words:

The sea lies peaceful and calm; Your fortune lies upon your palm. There are doctors with all kinds of cures, But no love sweeter than yours.

A simple little poem written by her son. Honestly, I have no memory of ever writing it. But it meant something to her, and now it means something to me. It means the love I knew all my life was real, deep, and abiding. Who keeps a child’s poem on loose-leaf paper for fifty years or more? Mom, that’s who.

Here’s what I’ve come to understand. That kind of love—the kind that makes an altar out of a piano bench, the kind that serves the least of these, the kind that makes glue with biscuits and sausage—that doesn’t just happen. That kind of life is formed over time. It’s formed in quiet moments… in unseen choices… in a steady walk. Because the truth is—Mom didn’t just believe in Jesus. She walked with Him.

That’s the Jesus who shaped her life. And that’s the Jesus who has now received her. Mom’s life wasn’t built on being a good person trying hard. It was built on a Savior who loved her first. A Savior who gave His life for her. A Savior who rose again—so that death would not have the last word. Because of Jesus… this is not goodbye. It’s goodbye for now.

The question that sits quietly in front of all of us today is this: What are we going to do with the life we’ve been given? Because the same Jesus Mom walked with is still calling people to follow Him—to live that same kind of life: A life that shows up… A life that serves… A life that loves.That was her life. Not loud. Not flashy. Simply faithful. In the end, that’s a life that matters.

I’m grateful for the faith she lived…and the Savior who made it possible.

Until next time, keep looking up…

Suffering Fools…(and other advice for people my age)

/ pastorlynnmalone / Leave a comment

I haven’t written much lately. I’ve just been too busy. If I’d known that at age 62 I’d be working seven days a week, I might have rethought some things or done some better planning. This is the time of life that one is supposed to be winding down, not ramping up, but ramp up I have, so…

Honestly, what I’ve been reflecting on over the last several weeks is my own mortality. I suppose that’s what we old people do. I don’t really know. I’ve never been old before. It’s kinda’ funny because I don’t really feel old, well except in the morning when I get up, and at night when I go to bed, and the three times during the night (sorry, too much information!)…

I get a lot of windshield time every week (it’s an 80-mile round trip to work). That windshield time is when I do a lot of praying and a lot of thinking. As I’ve been praying and thinking lately, I’ve hit upon several things that I’ve decided I’m not going to do anymore. It simply, at age 62, doesn’t make sense to me to do these things. I thought I’d share them with you, so here goes…

The Five Things I’m Not Going to Do Anymore at My Age

1. Suffer Fools

Yes, I know the Apostle Paul says that we are to “suffer fools gladly” (2 Cor. 11:19), but I also think it was in one of his sarcastic moments that he said it.

The reality is at this age, time is too precious to waste on foolish people. You know the ones I’m talking about–the ones that always only talk about themselves, that think they are the center of the world, that think they’re always right (or that you are always wrong), that are always argumentative, that are always demanding something of others that they don’t offer themselves.

I’m not going to be confrontational. I’m simply going to step away. Peace these days is more important than winning an argument or proving someone wrong, or even calling out foolishness. Honestly, there will have to be a strong urging on the part of the Holy Spirit for me to engage past the surface level of pleasantries before moving on.

2. Care What Other People Think

Okay, so confession time. I spent a lot of time in my past caring what other people thought of me. Perhaps it’s the middle child syndrome that captured me, but I used to cultivate a certain appearance because I thought it was what people expected of me. One of my most important characteristics was trying to meet others expectations, and it all had to do with what they might think about me otherwise.

Yeah, well now that I’m in my 60’s, I’m done with that. Why? Honestly? Because they’re NOT thinking about me! They’re too busy focused on their own lives and worried about their own problems to be worried about me. I suppose it took me all these years to figure that out.

Two passages of scripture come to mind: First is Proverbs 29:25–“It is dangerous to be concerned with what other people think of you, but if you trust in the Lord, you are safe.” And, the Apostle Paul warns the Galatian Christians, “For do I now persuade men, or God? or do I seek to please men? for if I yet pleased men, I should not be the servant of Christ” (Galatians 1:10).

I only care what Christ thinks of me. Will he find me faithful? Oh! And, Vanessa. I care what she thinks of me. Everyone else? Eh!

3. Compare Myself to Others

This third “not-going-to-do” thing is closely related to the second one, but I do believe it stands on its own. I used to compare myself to other preachers. I used to compare my church to other churches. I used to measure my success by the success of others.

Dang! This is more confessional than I thought it would be when I started writing this list down.

Now that I’m in my 60’s, the race is about over. Life is not a competition that I need to win. Hey? If I haven’t won by now, I’m not likely to this late in the game. Of course, it all depends on how one defines winning.

There will always be someone who is better, richer, stronger, younger, better looking (well, maybe not!) than I am. But, I have no way of knowing what is going on in their lives. Their lives could all be a facade. Besides, some wise sage once said, “Comparison destroys contentment.” That sage was correct.

As I think about winning the race, I am reminded of what the writer to the Hebrews wrote to the Church: “let us run with endurance the race God has set before us” (Hebrews 12:1b). Life is not a race that we are in to win. Life is a race we are in simply to finish, and Christ calls us to run with patient endurance all the way to the end.

How do we do that? The writer to the Hebrews tells us that, too: “We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith” (Hebrews 12:2a). At this age, I just want to be more like Jesus. He’s the only one I’m going to compare myself to because the goal of every believer’s life is to be Christ-like. How do I measure up in that regard?

4. Chase Old Goals

This one is tricky, but let me try to explain it. It used to be that I was extremely goal-oriented, chasing the great job, the big church, moving up the corporate ladder (yes, the church has one of those). For the most part, I achieved all those goals.

The Lord, for some strange reason, chose to bless us beyond measure (He still does, too), and ministry was very good to us. I only hope the ministry He entrusted to me was fruitful, and that all the chasing of those goals was not at the expense of faithfulness.

Now that I’m 62, I can say, “Been there, done that!” And, though I found meaning in the moment, looking back over my life, they just don’t seem that important. What are my new goals? Faithfulness to Jesus and a legacy for my family. Everything I do will be oriented to one of those ends.

I don’t want to come to the end of the race only to hear my Savior say, “Depart from me, you who practice iniquity, for I never knew you” (Matt. 7:23). The longing of my heart is to enter His presence and hear “‘Well done, good and faithful servant; you have been faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many things. Enter into the joy of your lord’” (Matt. 25:23).

Yup! That should have been my goal all along. It’s a pity it took me getting to be an old man to figure it out. Praise God I did!

5. Ignore My Health

Man! This one has really hit home over the past year. I went 61 years of my life without medication other than the occasional antibiotic or over-the-counter cold medicine. Now, I’m making regular trips to the pharmacy to keep the medicine cabinet full.

I think most of the issues I’m dealing with are hereditary, but let’s just say I’ve not always been the healthiest guy in the world. Yes, back in 2008 – 2009, I went through a period of weight-loss and health improvement, but it was done with chasing those goals I mentioned earlier in mind. I wanted to look better and feel better so I would have a better chance of hitting those goals.

Now, the goal is to be healthy so I can live longer. I know! None of us are going to live forever, but I would like to at least outlive my dad (who died at 63!). There are still some health-related things I need to deal with, but one thing I have done is take off 25 of the pounds I put back on post-2009. Now, I’ve got a closet full of clothes that are too big! Do not take that as a complaint.

My goal is to have the energy to do the things Vanessa and I should be doing now that we’re at this age. A little travel and a lot of family takes a lot of energy. Healthy lives lend themselves to quality lives. I won’t be ignoring my health nor taking it for granted anymore.

Conclusion

So, there you have the five things I’m not going to do anymore. Perhaps I should have cast them in a more positive light and said “The Five Things I’ve Started Doing at My Age,” but I’m a glass half empty kind of guy (which I should probably stop being at this age), so what ya’ gonna’ do? There may be a few tricks old dogs really can’t learn.

I do, however, believe that I don’t have to suffer fools, nor do I have to care what other people think, nor compare myself to others, nor chase all the old goals I set in life. I also believe that I can no longer ignore my health if I want to have fruitful years ahead.

How about you? Are there any things you’re not doing now that you’re older? Or if you’re one of those “younger” folks still out there chasing dreams, is there anything on this list that struck a nerve? I’d love to hear back from any of you. Leave your comments below.

Until next time (whenever that might be), keep looking up…

Reflection and Realignment, Part 2: The Advantages of Bi-vocational Ministry

/ pastorlynnmalone / Leave a comment

I shared in last week’s blog the challenges I’ve faced after a year in this new season of bi-vocational ministry. Lest you think the past year has been nothing but challenges, I will share some positive aspects I’ve experienced as a bi-vocational pastor.

There are some personal advantages I’ve noted, but also some advantages for the congregation (or at least I see them as advantages). As I started writing my list, I thought I might divide them into personal and congregational, but I discovered they really work in tandem, so I’ll just make one list.

Many years ago, while I was serving as a District Superintendent with the United Methodist Church, I wrote a blog praising the efforts of bi-vocational pastors (read it here). Having now served a year in that same capacity, little did I know just what a sacrifice those guys and girls were making. That’s not to pat myself on the back, but to acknowledge my own failure to give proper respect and gratitude to those who paved the way before me.

Freedom

The first advantage I’ve noted personally is freedom. What do I mean? I mean when I’m dealing with a difficult passage that challenges the congregation, I feel a particular freedom to be more direct in my preaching–to say the hard thing, the challenging thing, to question their assumptions–because my livelihood is not dependent on the paycheck I receive from the congregation.

I’m not saying that I’ve pulled my punches in the past, but I am confessing that I might not have always been as challenging in every aspect of preaching (or leadership) because of who I might offend. Knowing that my livelihood was dependent on the congregation was always in the back of my mind. Call me a coward, but I know I’m not the only pastor who may or may not have done likewise.

I can tell you, personally, I’ve experienced a greater freedom in my preaching as a bi-vocational pastor. I believe that to be an advantage for the congregation as well.

Perspective

I certainly view my role with a new perspective. I get to see more of what the laity see week-in and week-out. The laity get up and go to work every day and we (and by “we” I mean clergy) expect them to have a devotional life and volunteer at the church. I never knew how challenging that was, and I see that challenge as a positive outcome of bi-vocational ministry. As a pastor, laity and clergy are now on the same playing field.

You mean you want me to work 40 – 50 (or sometimes 60) hours a week, raise a family, keep a home, volunteer in the community AND lead a bible study, teach a Sunday school and serve on the church board in addition to attending worship every Sunday and reading the Bible for 30 minutes a day? Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I do. But, I’m doing it, too, so…

Mission Engagement

This one is a no-brainer. Going to a “real” job every day puts me smack dab in the middle of the mission field. It affords me a very unique opportunity to engage the mission field and evangelize every day. I see people in my secular job that I might likely never see if I were in full-time ministry.

Now, do I always take advantage of the opportunity? Well, that’s a conversation for another blog post, but the opportunity exists, nonetheless.

Avoids Isolation

Let me make another confession: When I was in full-time ministry, I tended to isolate myself from the secular world. It was actually fairly easy to do. Always in the office. Making hospital calls. Going to church meetings. Attending denominational functions. Traveling to Christian conferences. Hanging out with other clergy. There was no (or very little) contact with the “real” world. We clergy could easily develop our own “ivory tower” syndrome, just from a religious perspective instead of an academic one.

Secular employment gets me out of the religious bubble that clergy can sometimes live in, and that’s an advantage for both clergy and the congregation.

Financial Freedom

Okay, so I don’t know if “freedom” is the correct word for what I’m trying to communicate. I didn’t take the pastoral position because I needed the money. The Lord has blessed us in our business, so I’m not talking about that aspect of it, but I will say that a part-time salary for many bi-vocational clergy serves as a means to financial security.

I know many retired pastors who supplement their retirement income by serving a congregation. I also know some bi-vocational pastors who use their church income to increase their generosity.

For the congregation as well, a bi-vocational pastor allows them to have a pastor when they otherwise might not be able to afford it. Technically, one might argue that if a congregation can’t afford a pastor, are they legitimately a congregation, but I would argue that the early church couldn’t afford clergy either. There are many, many small congregations that are making a significant Kingdom impact. I pray Haughton Methodist is one of them. Having a bi-vocational pastor frees congregational resources to be directed toward evangelism and outreach.

Leadership

Being a bi-vocational pastor has forced me to rely on laity for getting things done in the congregation. This is an advantage for me and for the congregation. I have had to “let go” of some aspects of congregational leadership, and as a former full-time clergy, this has forced me to deal with my own control issues. Of course, I now have control issues as a small-business owner, so am I really dealing with it on a spiritual level? That notwithstanding, it has definitely been an advantage in ministry.

Likewise, the laity has, of necessity, had to embrace leadership responsibility in the life of the congregation that having a full-time pastor may not have allowed. A healthier and more biblical leadership structure is developing in the life of our congregation as a result. That can only be a positive thing.

Strategic Conversations

By my count, that’s twice as many advantages to the challenges I noted last week. I guess that means I’m doubly blessed by serving in a bi-vocational role. Seriously though, I honestly believe the advantages far outweigh the challenges of bi-vocational ministry. I also believe more clergy and more congregations should explore God’s call to see where He might be leading them. Might bi-vocational ministry become an intentional strategy to enhance ministry and build the Kingdom?

I’d love to hear your answer to that question. Hit me in the comments with your thoughts.

Until next time, keep looking up…

Reflection and Realignment: The Challenges of Bi-vocational Ministry

/ pastorlynnmalone / 2 Comments

Last week was the one-year anniversary serving as “Pastor” of Haughton Methodist Church. I put the title pastor in quotes because most days I don’t really feel like their pastor. I feel more like their Sunday preacher. Please understand, that’s not a reflection on the congregation. It is a reflection on me.

The anniversary gave me pause to reflect on a year of bi-vocational pastoral work. The time of reflection helped me identify some challenges I’ve faced. I share them here as a means of personal processing, acknowledging that my reflection may actually be helpful to other bi-vocational ministers, or to those considering bi-vocational ministry.

Don’t worry! It’s not going to be a long, drawn out blog. I don’t have that much time (I’m a bi-vocational pastor, after all!), and you won’t take the time to read a long post.

Defining Terms

First, I should define the term “bi-vocational pastor.” It’s really self-defining, but just in case, a bi-vocational pastor is one who works a full-time job in addition to serving as the pastor of a local congregation.

I intentionally use the term bi-vocational “pastor” because it is a specific calling within the Church. Here’s the reality–every believer is called to ministry. That means every believer is a “bi-vocational minister,” but not every believer is called to be a “bi-vocational pastor.” Make sense?

Why a “bi-vocational pastor”? One reason is the financial aspect. There are many (and by “many,” I mean a LOT!) of small churches across the country-side that lack the resources to pay a full-time pastor. This is the primary reason for bi-vocational pastors.

However, there are some pastors who feel God’s call to both the marketplace and the Church, so bi-vocational ministry affords them the opportunity to fulfill both callings. There are other reasons, too, but I said this wasn’t going to be a long blog, so…

Why am I a bi-vocational pastor? I am a bi-vocational pastor because when I stepped out of a full-time ministry role, I did not step out of God’s calling to preach the Gospel. When I left vocational ministry in 2019, I wasn’t completely sure what the Lord was calling me to, but I was entirely sure it wasn’t to full-time ministry.

Seasons of Transition

Early in the transition, I thought perhaps this new calling was for simple “pulpit supply.” I’d scratch that itch to preach by filling in for other pastors. Yeah? No! That wasn’t it.

Not long after I stepped away from a full-time role, a congregation called asking me to “fill in” for a period of time. That fill-in role turned into a two-and-half year interim situation. I’m certain the Lord called us there for that season, but I also felt the Spirit’s nudge that the season was over. (Absolutely WONDERFUL congregation, by the way!)

After another couple of interim stints in congregations, I thought the Lord’s call might be lived out in that way. After all, interim pastor is a legitimate need of the Church, and there are pastors specifically trained for such ministry (I’m not one of them, though), but because I wasn’t trained in that ministry, I didn’t have the expertise (nor the time) to lead the congregations in the work necessary to prepare for their next pastor.

Haughton Methodist Church has been different, though. I felt (feel?) called to settle in and be their pastor–their bi-vocational pastor. That calling brought a different mindset to ministry for me, and I suppose it is that mindset that has caused this week of reflection. It might also have to do with the fact that I got another year older this week, so there’s that! Anyway, let me get to the challenges I’ve faced.

1. Time Management and Overload

Margin matters, and as a bi-vocational pastor, I’m finding little margin in my life. Family gets crowded out and rest is sporadic, at best. The most concerning part is that personal spiritual renewal is almost non-existent (dare I confess that?).

That leads to mental and emotional fatigue. My grandfather, who was a businessman, worked all day, went home and vegged out in front of the television. I now know why he did that. He was tired! I often find myself doing the same thing. Many days when I get home I just want to do something totally mindless and that wastes a lot of time.

2. Limited Ministry Opportunities

I know the congregation needs new ministries. I know that I need to be discipling leaders and I know I need to be present in community outreach. There’s that time thing, though. It is difficult to discern and communicate a vision for the congregation while keeping the plates of family, work and ministry spinning. Not an excuse, just a reality.

The only way I know to overcome this reality is to rely on the laity of the congregation. I’ve got some of the best at Haughton, that’s for sure, but laity still need leadership.

3. Identity and Calling Tension

I confess that I wrestle with a “less-than” feeling when compared to my full-time clergy colleagues. I honestly don’t know why because I’m certain the Lord called me away from that. Perhaps it’s that I fear others perceive me as “less-than,” and that is my real problem. I’ve always struggled with what others think of me. Yes, there is more spiritual work I need to do if I’m still worried about what other people think of me.

I’ve tried to figure out who I am in this new season. Am I a pastor who owns a business, or am I a business owner who also pastors? It’s a perplexing question. How I answer the question determines how I set my priorities. I seem to answer it differently on different days, and I can’t think that’s a good thing.

Blessings Abound

These are just three of the challenges I’ve reflected on over the past week or so. There are probably a dozen others, but this post is already too long. Lest anyone think the past year has been all challenges, you would be incorrect. There have been far more blessings, and counting those blessings is one way I’ve managed the challenges. I’ll save those blessings to share for another blog post.

In the meantime, please pray for the congregation at Haughton Methodist Church. Oh, and pray for me, too. We both could use the prayers…and you could probably use the practice.

Until next time, keep looking up…

The Hardest Day…

/ pastorlynnmalone / 3 Comments

I’m nigh onto 62 years-old. It is not hyperbole when I say that Wednesday, September 3, 2025, was the hardest day of my life.

I will not go into detail (details only matter to criminal investigators and gossips), but September 3rd was the hardest day of my life because we had the funeral for my 22 year-old grandson, Kobyn Adam (read his full obituary here). He died under tragic circumstances on Saturday, August 30, 2025.

I suppose my writing this blog is a way of processing my own grief. Pastors aren’t the greatest at grieving. We often have the mindset that we’re supposed to be strong for those who are grieving, so we put on our game face and go to work (or at least that’s what this pastor has done in the past). I really shouldn’t be so flippant to say that pastors have a “game face.” Rather, it is the power of the Holy Spirit that gives us strength to do the hard work of ministry in difficult times.

I will say that the power of the Holy Spirit gave me the strength to get through the hardest day of my life. I chose to preach the message for Kobyn’s funeral. My friend and colleague, Rev. Lamar Oliver, was gracious enough to make the drive to Morgan City to assist with the service. Rev. Oliver served as pastor of Pharr Chapel Church after I was appointed elsewhere and my son and his family continued to attend there. I don’t know that I could have made it through the entire service alone, so I’m grateful for Rev. Oliver’s help and friendship.

So many people asked me, “Why are you preaching the funeral?” or, “How are you able to do that?” The answer to the first question is because I wouldn’t trust the task to anyone else. That’s probably a result of my own insecurities but I simply didn’t believe there was anyone else who would do the job adequately.

The answer to the second question is because when people don’t know what to do they do what they know. I simply didn’t know what else to do, so I did what I know–I preached. Actually, the real answer to the second question is by the grace of God and the power of the Holy Spirit.

I know I should have taken a step back. I know in my mind that I should have had a few days to just be “Poppy,” and gone through the grieving process with my wife, my son and the rest of the family. I know that in my mind. I just couldn’t convince my heart. In my heart, I had to preach…because, well…when you don’t know what to do…you do what you know…

Unfortunately, I’m feeling a little guilty now because I wasn’t more attentive to my family and I didn’t ask what THEY needed during this time. Should I have taken that step back and just been Poppy to them? Is that what they needed? I suppose even for pastors the default is for self-preservation. I needed to preach for me. I NEEDED to do that for Kobyn.

My bad! It’s not about me and what I need. In my grief, I lost sight of that fact and perhaps I was not as helpful to my family as I should have been. I can only repent and pray the Lord gives me clarity and strength should anything like this ever happen again (God forbid!), to help me focus on the right things and not my own personal need, but on the needs of others (especially those closest to me).

Oh well! What’s done is done and it can’t be undone. My prayer is that I was adequate to the task.

One thing I know for sure: It was providential (no, I’m not Calvinist) that our church (Haughton Methodist Church) was reading through the book of Job during this time. Reading through Job gave me the foundation for the message I preached during the service.

I include the message I preached for Kobyn below for one reason: a person who attended the service reached out to me after the service. She said she had lost her daughter tragically 24 years prior and that my words were the healing she needed after 24 years. I was humbled, honored and blessed by her sentiment, and I took it as affirmation that preaching Kobyn’s service was the correct choice.

No, actually, I’m still not sure it was the correct choice. It could just be that the Good Lord took the lemons I gave Him and made lemonade out of them. He does seem to do that so often. Either way, the words were healing for someone. I include them here so that they might be healing to others who are grieving.

Kobyn’s Funeral Message

I remember the day Kobyn was born. We were standing in the hospital hallway. We could hear all the rustling in the labor and delivery room. Vanessa was so giddy. We heard the first cries of a newborn baby and Vanessa started jumping up and down. She couldn’t wait to see this little guy and to put her arms around him. The smile on her face when they finally brought him out—well, it is indescribable. It was sheer joy! All I saw was a round head—just like mine! That was the first day this guy brought joy to our lives. He’s been bringing joy to us ever since.

The older Kobyn got, the more he looked like me. It wasn’t long until I started calling him “Mini-me” because as an infant and a toddler it was a little uncanny how much he favored my baby pictures. I thought, “Well, he’s going to be a fine- looking young man!” As he grew into adulthood, the similarities faded a bit, but I was still correct—he is a fine-looking young man! Even though he was a young man, I still sometimes referred to him as “Mini-me.”   

I remember Vanessa and me driving, literally all the way across the state of Louisiana to watch his first football game. He was so little. I thought to myself, “He’s gonna’ get killed out there.” Well, he survived, but it didn’t take him too many seasons of football and soccer to realize he wasn’t going to be an athlete. Music became his passion, and just like everything else he ever tried, he excelled at that, too.

I remember the day I baptized this kid. Talk about bringing a Poppy joy. And confirmation, too. I watched as this kiddo gave His musical talents to his local youth group as a member of the praise band. I’d go to youth group on Sunday evenings just to hear he and Kade lead in worship. Oh, the insufferable youth group games one had to endure just to get to worship, but it is one of the ways this guy continued to bring joy into our lives.

I could stand here all day and recount memories I have of Kobyn. You don’t want to be here that long. Besides, you have your own memories that are special. I encourage you to hold those memories close. Those memories are one way the Lord gives us to grieve the loss we feel today and there is great grace and not a little therapy that comes in remembering. 

I will especially remember one very special connection Kobyn and I shared. During a very difficult time in both of our lives, when we were separated by distance and didn’t get to see a lot of each other, we stayed connected through the game of chess. He loved to play chess. He was teaching his cousin Skyler to play chess and checkers…but anyway…he had me download a chess game on my phone, created me an account, and we played chess together online. Games would take weeks at a time. He almost always prevailed—he relished in beating Poppy at chess. It brought me great joy to lose to him over and over again.

For all the joy this kiddo brought me through the years, like you, I’m struggling to find any joy today. I am asking the same question you are asking—“Why?” Honestly, I’m not finding any answers.

I can’t think of the question “Why?’ without thinking of the man named Job in the Old Testament. I’m not going to read a lot of scripture from that Old Testament book because it’s just too long but let me give you the Lynn paraphrase: The Bible says Job was a good and righteous man. He lived with integrity and had a deep reverence for God.

I won’t go deeply into the details—I’ll trust you will read it for yourself—suffice it to say that even though Job was a good, just and upright person, tragedy came his way. Through absolutely no fault of his own he lost every one of his children through tragic circumstances. He was a rich man, too, but tragedy stole his riches, as well. Job’s tragic loss—which he couldn’t understand—caused him to ask the question “Why?”

As I’ve read the book of Job over the last week, I counted at least 20 times that Job asked God the “Why?” question. And, each time he asked the question (some would argue it was 25 times—but those were more implied questions than direct questions) he didn’t get an answer. All he got were platitudes from friends. What he got from God? Silence.

That’s how we feel, too. We’ve asked a thousand times over the last five days, “Why?” and we’ve not heard the Lord answer the question once. It makes us angry, and that’s okay. It’s okay to be angry with God. He can handle it. He’s not going to get mad at us for anger in our grief, but He’s still not likely to answer our questions.

What I realized as I read through Job again is that the story of Job in the Bible is not a story about Job’s suffering through the tragic losses in his life, but rather it is a story about Job’s faith through the tragic losses of his life. Even though Job had a lot of questions for God, he never lost his faith IN God. Just as with Job, the story of our lives are meant to be stories of faith. Will our faith bring us through this tragedy? That’s the question for this hour on this day.

No, I haven’t heard any answers to my questions. Job suffered, and for 35 chapters he poured his heart out to God as he listened to the platitudes of family and friends. Finally, all God does is ask Job some very pointed questions: “Where were you when I laid out the foundations of the universe? Can you make it rain?” Like Job, we ask God the hard questions of why, and like Job, God doesn’t answer us in any way that seems reasonable to us.

Why doesn’t He answer? Two reasons I can think of. First, knowing the answer would not make the burden any less hard to bear. Explanations are intellectual, passive and touch only our minds. Suffering is physical, active and God acted by suffering in His Son, Jesus, to deal with the issue of sin, evil and suffering in the world.

Second, God doesn’t answer because we are incapable of comprehending the answer. We simply cannot see how God uses the ordinary (or extraordinary) circumstances of our daily lives to effect redemption, but that doesn’t mean God isn’t doing it. We can’t see the grand sweep of eternity, nor can we see God’s plan for creation or even for our own lives—as long or short as they may be.

Receiving no answer leads us to believe that God is absent. Job certainly thought so (Job 23: 8-9)– “But if I go to the east, he is not there; if I go to the west, I do not find him. 9 When he is at work in the north, I do not see him; when he turns to the south, I catch no glimpse of him.”

Trust me when I tell you this: God is not absent. He is at work through this. If He seems absent, perhaps He is, as an old Catholic nun told me, so close that we can’t see Him. I believe with all my heart that He was present with Kobyn Saturday morning, holding him and loving him with a love deeper than the deepest sea. And I believe that He is present with us now loving us in the same way—even though in this moment He seems so silent and so distant.

I agree with the Apostle Paul who reminds us in Romans 8 that there is nothing in life or in death that will ever separate us from God’s love in Jesus Christ, His Son. Nothing can separate us. If I believed it before Saturday I have to believe it now—that’s what faith is—and our stories, like Job’s, are meant to be stories of faith.

Our stories are meant to be stories of faith because God has chosen us to be participants with Him in the redemption of His creation. Literally, from cover to cover, the Bible is about God restoring His creation, and God chose us to be participants in that restoration. We participate by faith.

God sent His son, Jesus Christ, to die on the cross. God entered the world, limiting Himself to time and space, and when He did, He played by the same rules we play by. He suffered and died. A man as Jesus was, full of grace and compassion, so willing to give Himself in service to the world, it made no sense for the world to kill him. It was in his suffering and death that the world finds its redemption, and it is in his suffering and death that we are called to be participants by faith in God’s eternal plan.

Yes, I know, that doesn’t answer the questions we’re still asking but it’s all I’ve got.

So, what next? Let me offer three brief responses that will hopefully enable us to take another step in redeeming our circumstances. First, grieve—deeply. It’s okay. Grief is as human an emotion as joy. I recall King David in 2 Samuel 18 who lost a son through quite tragic circumstances. In his grief, he wished he could have traded his life for his son’s. We can’t, even though in our grief, we sure would like to. Grieve with deep grief. It’s natural. Don’t wallow in it, but go through it with faith.

That’s the second thing we must do—trust. If I believed God was a good, loving, kind and just God before Saturday, then I have to believe that He is still just as good, loving, kind and just today. He is the same yesterday, today and forever. He didn’t change because our circumstances did. Kobyn is in the hands of the God who loves him and who loves us. By faith, I’m trusting in Him to get us through this.

Finally, we need to serve. Remember, the Lord is calling us to participate with Him in the redemption of all creation. There are others who have walked this same journey. There are others who will soon walk this journey. Statistics tell the tale of a rising mental health crisis, especially among young men. If we would find any redemption in this tragedy, let us become advocates for all those who struggle with mental health issues. Let us walk with others through their grief so that they might find hope in Jesus Christ.

God has redeemed and is redeeming the world through suffering—first His Son’s, and now through ours. Will we participate with Him by our faith?

Many friends have reached out to me over the last several days. One word that has been used several times is “remarkable.” They said, “Kobyn was a remarkable young man.” I corrected them, “Kobyn IS a remarkable young man.” Let us never refer to those we love who die in the Lord in the past tense. He is alive, maybe more alive than he’s ever been. I believe that!

So, I’ll miss you, buddy, but I know where you are. I know I’ll see you soon. Fly high, Mini Me, and rest well until that day. Poppy loves you now and always! Amen!

Conclusion

Perhaps someone else will find the words healing. They have helped me along in my own grief as I’ve read over them at least four times in the past week. The answers to the “Why?” question is still not clear and may never be, but I’m trusting the Lord to get us through…perhaps one blog post at a time.

Until next time, keep looking up…