Stories to Tell: Part IX

Baptism

I love that I can remember my baptism.  In some faith traditions, it is crucial that children be baptized as infants.  In others, it is only when one becomes an adult that they can be baptized.  In our tradition as Presbyterians, it does not matter if you are 1 day old or 100 years old--it is the holiness of the moment that matters as well as all of those both before and after it.  You see, for us, baptism is a sign and a seal of something that happened before you were ever born, before you were in the womb even; God loved you and called you by name.  You are saved by God's grace before you can even claim it for yourself because God is always, always reaching for you. 

My parents decided that they would let me choose if and when I would be baptized.  I think this taught me that my relationship with Christ is personal and something that I need to believe in because of my own heart, not because of someone else's choice.  But, being part of a loving congregation taught me that my relationship with Christ is also communal, because you need the community to guide and teach you in the faith.  You need the community to be present as you ask hard questions and interpret the Scriptures.  And so it was that as my relationship with the church I was intending was forged--so was my relationship with Christ. 

After my grandfather died and I attended Montreat for the first time-I knew that I wanted to be baptized for certain.  Rev. Bill Buchanan baptized me on August 15, 1999.  It was his first baptism which creates a special bond for us I think.  My dear friend and elder, Jo Carson stood beside me, smiling her gorgeous smile of encouragement.  Bedford Presbyterian has large, clear windows that while shaded by shutters, let in shafts of summer sunlight.  I remember the bright morning sun beaming on the mint green carpet at my feet. My family and friends sat in pews in front of me.  And I truly felt that I had people who loved both before and behind me.  The choir sat robed in maroon in the choir loft behind me (don't touch the brass railing please) and youth sat above me in the balcony (don't let the golf pencils roll off the edge please).  I remember the water being cool on my head, warmed by Bill's hand as he pressed down on me in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  I remember the calm in Bill's voice and the smile in his eyes. 

We had a party that day at home, after worship.  Why wouldn't we?  Neighbors, church families, close friends, and teenagers piled plates high and scattered around the house in fellowship.  Gertie, our basset hound wove her way in and out of legs, hoping to catch some fallen scraps.  As she exited through the doggie door, so did Bill and Aimee's daughter, Elli-in close pursuit. 

I was given a Teen Study Bible in a sturdy zipper case.  Since that time treasured scraps of tangible faith have been folded between the pages and stuffed in side pockets.  There is a letter there from my friend John, who wrote to me when my grandfather died.  There is a little packet of confetti from when we attended a Millennium youth conference in Indianapolis.  There are pictures from that trip as well as ones from Montreat and Massanetta.  The pages are highlighted with Scriptures that mean the most to me and bookmarked with quotes or lyrics that spoke to my teenage heart.  There's a swatch of terrycloth to remind me of my baptism.  The first of my Montreat wristbands. So many other baubles and notes that I can scarcely zip the thing much less carry it anywhere.  But, if I am looking to the Bible for solace and not for study...this is still the Bible to which I turn. 

I guess we never forget our roots and these are mine. 

Stories To Tell: VIII

Montreat

It is all I can do not to take my shoes off and pick up the soil and dirt on my soles to carry with me.  This week I am walking on holy ground. The birds are chirping and the mountain rises deep green against the bright blue sky. And friends, it is HOT!  From where I sit I can see the paddle boats and canoes creating ripples on the water and hear echoes from the voices of 1000+ youth enjoying each other’s company in this sacred space. 

For this week I am in my favorite, favorite place, Montreat, accompanying the youth from Covenant Presbyterian and Presbyterian Community Center.  We are having a wonderful experience together as we sleep and eat and sweat in tight quarters! Through our keynotes, small groups, worship services, and back-home discussions we are exploring the theme, A Missing Peace, and I am excited for our youth to return home and share that message with the rest of our congregation. 

This morning, the keynote speaker, Paul, talked about disruption in our lives, the chaos that can happen, and how we can find peace in the midst of that through the Holy Spirit.  He directed us to several Biblical examples, beginning with the first verses of Genesis.  In the beginning there was toh-vu-va-voh-hu  (my favorite Hebrew word) meaning chaos, by my favorite definition.  And then the ruach, the breath/wind/Spirit of God hovered over the deep.  In this moment God separated the light from the darkness.  I was struck by this because no matter how chaotic life feels, there is a shift for me when I drive through the gates of Montreat.  And believe me, Sunday was chaotic as we loaded up after church and made our way here.  I was feeling stretched in many directions and anxious about how this week would play out.  Then, I entered this thin place where God is so close, and I felt at peace. 

On Sunday night as we gathered for opening worship a face almost as familiar to me as my own hovered in front of me and I squealed in delight at the shock of it! My dear friend Erin, the one I wrote of a few weeks ago, my forever friend who brought me into the church is HERE in Montreat!  Her youth group sits across the aisle from mine.  Neither of us had any idea we would be here together.  What a gift from God that we have been able to spend time together.  Never expecting to be where we are now when it first began….

I will never forget my first Montreat, I was so nervous to come, I almost did not make the trip but Bill, my amazing youth pastor and now mentor and friend convinced me.  It was 1999. Week Four. My small group number was 33. The theme was On The Threshold  and Bill and his wife Aimee were keynoting the conference.  What a perfect, perfect theme—I was indeed on the threshold, the threshold of my faith and ultimately my vocation.  One day at keynote there was this incredible opening with Bill drumming a tribal beat and a team of youth did a chant about God calling us to fish for people.  It was incredible.  I have never seen anything like it since.  It was a powerful moment and it transformed the way I thought about worship. 

Most of my closest friends growing up were in the youth group, so coming to Montreat was basically like being with my family.  We shared hard conversations after we sat on hard pews that are older than your grandmother.  But we also had so much fun.  We spent hours rock-hopping or getting ice cream at The Huck. My first year I shared a room with Erin and Katie.  We took turns sleeping on a cot in the middle of the room we shared.  One night, in the middle of the night, I woke up (sort of) and I tried to make my way to the bathroom in the dark.  I reached out my hand and touched Katie’s cot, I think so I would not trip.  Katie bolted straight up on the cot and screamed bloody murder and then laid right back down, seemingly asleep.  (I am still laughing with tears in my eyes as I write this almost 20 years later)I dove back into the bed and covered myself.  Then, maybe 10 seconds later I hear Erin’s voice, “WHAT. WAS. THAT?” By that point we were all awake and belly-laughing.

   I also remember seeing David LaMotte’s first concert that year. It is amazing the way music can impact our memories.  I bought David’s latest CD in the bookstore this week.  I listened to it on the way into Montreat this morning.  As I was driving through Asheville the song he had written about our friend Aimee who died I few years ago came on and I thought, wow what a God moment to flood my mind today with memories of her, her mentorship and her motherhood. I also remember her telling a profound story from her young adult life from the stage one morning when I was a young adult, that I had never heard before.  It made me run to my own mother, who was there as an advisor for my home church and hug her tightly.  Someone snapped a photo of the moment and it is framed in my office.

I remember summers here with Bill and Aimee’s children Elli and Taylor.  One day I asked Elli (she was about 7 at the time) if she would come to Montreat youth conference when she was older.  And she said, “well, yea, I basically live here.”  Elli was three when I met her, a precious little blond child.  And now, I have my precious little blond child here with me for the first time.  Kemper is loving the energizers and the music.  When we sing the song, Ten Thousand Reasons he sings the chorus and does the motions that Ms. Candace taught him in Vacation Bible School.  It is the most precious thing in the world and brought tears to my eyes to see him so happy in the place that brings me such joy.  He was in worship a few nights ago when the pastor began to read the story of “doubting Thomas.” Kemper piped up with, “I know Thomas!”  

I’ve always loved Communion at Montreat along with the Candlelight service around Lake Susan.  I remember one Communion service in particular sitting next to Bill in the pew after we had taken Communion and singing the hymns.  Bill just hugged us, one youth on either side of him, with his arms on the back of the pews.  Watching all of those teenagers who had been working through hard conversations and sharing deeply personal things together having The Lord’s Supper was really meaningful to me.  And knowing how lucky I was to have many adults like Bill who loved us and cared for us enough to support us financially to send us to Montreat. By far, my favorite memory of Bill here has been seeing his alternate ego-Right Rev. Smoothe get on stage and do a rap about the Protestant Reformation.  It was amazing!

I’ve come to Montreat Youth Conference a few times as an adult advisor.  When I was in college I came back with my home church, Bedford Pres.  I got to know the youth who were younger than me in my home church and that was a special experience.  In Richmond, I was a youth advisor at Three Chopt Presbyterian Church.  I drove by a few of the houses we stayed in and smiled to think of them.  Such great kids.  I will never, ever forget one of our Seniors, Graham, thinking that he was mooning a bunch of boys that our girls had invited over for lunch, and mooning the pastor, Brenda instead. This earned him the name Moon Pie.  He took the ribbing, all in good fun.  I also remember having deep and meaningful conversations with some of the girls about what it meant to be intimate with another person at such a young age and what the Bible said about sexuality and relationships. I talked to the boys about respecting the young women they were interacting with—even if those young girls acted like they didn’t have much respect for themselves.  Now they are young adults; getting married and graduating from college.  I know we are not supposed to be prideful or boastful—but my goodness, I am proud of them! 

This is my first time coming with Covenant, but I hope it will not be my last.  I have been so impressed with their willingness to engage with other people, and with one another.  We are still getting to know one another and building relationships takes time.  But I am honored that they have shared this time with me and that they have been so patient and welcoming of Kemper. 

If I didn’t believe in the Holy Spirit, I’d call it magic—what this place can do for a person’s soul.  But I know that it is God.  I know that it is God because I meet God here time and time again—and we become reacquainted, God and I.  I remember who God is, and who I am, and who God created me to be.  And I am home.  

Stories To Tell Part VII

The Second Miracle

My life seems to be stitched together by miracles.  Mostly of the modern medical kind, if you want to be technical about it.  But, that's okay, because God has given us the gift of our minds to understand and discover science, medicine,  and the healing arts.  There are still things that happen that are beyond our understanding when it comes to our minds and bodies.  We learn more each day.  The second miracle becomes more fuzzy in my mind as time goes on.  Besides that, God keeps adding new miracles, each one more life-changing and critical than the one before it.  

As I entered high school, my Papa Tate was growing increasingly frail.  Now, the best description I can give you of my grandfather before his illness is to point you to my Dad. Dad looks like him, walks like him, talks like him, acts like him.  My Dad got his incredible talents of building things and fixing things from my Papa.  Papa had green eyes that twinkled when he was tickled at something. He also had a quick temper and you could hear him cursing from his shop on top of the hill when you walked out of the back door of their house. I have fun memories of him. When I wasn't much older than four I was staying at their house. I went into the bathroom while he was shaving.  I got stuck in the toilet and he had to pull me out.  I don't know why I thought it would be fun to see if I'd fit all the way into the toilet bowl while I was sitting there!  I also remember how he would say a blessing before our meals.  He mumbled the prayer and said it so quickly that no one in the family actually new what the words at the end of the blessing were! Same blessing for years on end, but no one can replicate it. He also loved gravy and country style steak more than any other person on the planet! 

Papa had Alzheimer's, followed by colon cancer.  I remember that in his last few years he would tell stories from his early life, but they were muddled and did not always make sense.  He began to talk less and less about the present and lived in the past.  He would do things like put on his clothes over his pajamas.  I am sure there were way more things going on for him than I really remember, I was only 13 or 14 years old at the time.  But I do remember it being very difficult for my grandmother.  It is one thing to know someone has this horrible disease but another thing entirely to really understand the depths of it.  It takes that person away from you in reality.  The body is there but the individual inside can become different altogether.  I don't think Grandma could fully fathom this so she spent a lot of time worrying (who wouldn't) and fussing at him about things he couldn't make sense of or understand.  There came a time near the end of his life that he couldn't call us by name anymore.  

It was early June of my freshman year of High School when Papa went into the hospital.  The cancer was ravaging his body.  I think he had some surgery to remove part of his colon...but what I remember is  that he was unresponsive for several days. The day he woke up he remembered every one of us by name!  I was fortunate enough to be able to go and spend an afternoon with him in the hospital.  I was so pleased that he could say our names, even people he had not seen for a long time.   He passed away only a day or so after that.  Mom called my school and had someone come and tell me of his passing during my last class period of the day, gym.  She knew I would have friends around me to comfort me.  

I do recall (humorously) that when Dad went to Lewis Gale the day he passed away, he left the sunroof and windows down in his car and it poured down rain.  I insisted on riding back to my grandparents house in Salem with Dad.  We sat on soaked seats as we drove down the River Road, back to the "holler" which would never quite be the same again.  Papa Tate had basically lived in that neighborhood near Green Hill Park his whole life, spending his Sunday mornings at Green Hill Church of the Brethren.  

I am so thankful for the gift of that warm, sunny afternoon that I got to spend by my Papa's bedside.  We were never as close as I was with my grandmothers, but I loved him all the same.  All of that happened as we were becoming more involved at Bedford Presbyterian and I was sorting out if I was ready to join the church or not.  I had a lot of questions about my faith.  In a few weeks time, I traveled to Montreat for the first time.  I have no doubt that the experience of miracles I witnessed with my grandparents and my trip to Montreat solidified my belief in the Triune God and the ways in which he works continuously in the world.