Your presence shows God's presence
Communicating God's Love
June 6, 1960, a week after I finished seminary, my father and my thirty-year-old brother,
Raymond -- partners in an oil distributing business in our hometown, Jonesboro,
Arkansas -- were delivering fuel oil that afternoon to farmers.
Raymond was driving the tank truck in front and he came to a bridge that was under construction and limited to one-way traffic. A signal light controlling the traffic indicated he had the right of way, but a station wagon coming from the other direction failed to yield and entered the one-way lane.
To avoid colliding with the approaching vehicle, Raymond slammed on his brakes. Dad didn't stop in time and his tank truck plowed into Raymond's.
The collision rammed the engine of Dad's truck into the cab, pinning him behind the steering wheel. Gasoline was gushing out of the tank of Raymond's truck, and flowing into the ditch alongside Dad's truck. A spark set off a horrific explosion, fueled by 4,000 gallons of gasoline the trucks were carrying.
Raymond was not seriously hurt. He ran back to Dad's truck, and yanked on the door of the cab, which had been welded shut by the crash. While he was struggling to open the door, a spark ignited the gasoline in the ditch, causing another explosion.
Dad was cremated in the inferno. Raymond was blown across the highway. Still conscious, he rolled in the roadside ditch to extinguish his clothes, staggered to his feet, and started toward Dad's truck, still determined to rescue Dad. The flames and smoke overcame him and he collapsed.
Three hours later, Raymond died at the hospital. My mother, my oldest brother, Raymond's wife, Mary, and I were at his bedside. His body was charred and swelled, but his faith in God was still strong. His last words -- barely audible -- were the Lord's Prayer.
There we were. My mother, two brothers, Raymond's widow, and their five-year-old daughter, Ramona. We didn't have time to speculate about why this tragedy happened. The immediate question was how could we make it without Dad and Raymond?
What got us through those tough days? The assurance that God was with us.
What made us aware of God's presence? The presence of our pastor, John M. McCormack.
Brother McCormack was across the state attending the Arkansas Annual Conference of the Methodist Church, that started the day of the wreck. I called him and told him what had happened, and asked him if he could help us with the funeral services. He said, "I'll be there!"
I don't remember much about what Brother McCormack said at the funeral, but I remember he was there. His presence made my family and me much more aware that God was there.
How did my awareness of God's presence help me cope? It calmed me, comforted me, and encouraged me in ways that I could neither understand nor explain, and I still can't.
Of course, I know now, and I knew then, that God was already present before Brother McCormack arrived, and God was still present after he left. But something about our pastor being there helped me realize God was with me.
Across the four decades of my ministry, I have gathered many times with families who were still in shock from devastating losses. I have wondered what I could say to help them. Then, I have remembered how Brother McCormack didn't have any magic words for my family and me. He was just there. And because he was present with us, I realized God was present for us. That's what we mean by the ministry of presence.
The ministry of presence comes naturally for my friend, Beverly Powell, an ordained deacon in the United Methodist church who is a chaplain at Mercy Hospital in Oklahoma City. Her gift for the ministry of presence has been enhanced by clinical pastoral training at the University of Oklahoma Medical Center and by extensive experience.
I recently asked Beverly to share with me insights about the ministry of presence.
"The ministry of presence does not depend on the eloquent use of words or the wise and wonderful answers to difficult questions," she said. "Nor does it demand the use of words at all. Based on my experience in trauma centers and hospital emergency rooms, I find that words are seldom the solution for people in the midst of terrible pain and loss, if you don't know what to say, it's okay."
If there are not magic words, what does she think matters?
Ministry of presence, she says, requires letting go of one's personal agenda and the willingness to walk alongside the other person, to be with the her in her journey whether that involves celebrating her joys or sharing her pain."
"Just being there matters," she says, "But being there requires more than just your physical presence."
Being present, she says, requires being willing to stop what you are doing or what you had planned to do and be redirected by God to address the needs of the other person.
It requires respecting the other person as a unique child of God, a person of worth, honoring what holds meaning for her, letting her lead. It requires openness, honesty, and warmth. It requires courage to hear and to discuss issues related to coping with illness, death and dying, and it requires encouraging and embracing him as he expresses, or tries to express, his grief and pain.
When I reflect on the response Brother McCormack made when I called him that day 47 years ago, I know he was present with me and my family in all the ways Beverly describes.
Of course, Jesus is our model for the ministry of presence. By being present for countless people who were hurting and hopeless, Jesus communicated God's unconditional and unlimited love. And so can we!
Dr. Boyce A. Bowdon, a United Methodist minister and writer, is author of several books, including "A Child Friendly Church."
Raymond was driving the tank truck in front and he came to a bridge that was under construction and limited to one-way traffic. A signal light controlling the traffic indicated he had the right of way, but a station wagon coming from the other direction failed to yield and entered the one-way lane.
To avoid colliding with the approaching vehicle, Raymond slammed on his brakes. Dad didn't stop in time and his tank truck plowed into Raymond's.
The collision rammed the engine of Dad's truck into the cab, pinning him behind the steering wheel. Gasoline was gushing out of the tank of Raymond's truck, and flowing into the ditch alongside Dad's truck. A spark set off a horrific explosion, fueled by 4,000 gallons of gasoline the trucks were carrying.
Raymond was not seriously hurt. He ran back to Dad's truck, and yanked on the door of the cab, which had been welded shut by the crash. While he was struggling to open the door, a spark ignited the gasoline in the ditch, causing another explosion.
Dad was cremated in the inferno. Raymond was blown across the highway. Still conscious, he rolled in the roadside ditch to extinguish his clothes, staggered to his feet, and started toward Dad's truck, still determined to rescue Dad. The flames and smoke overcame him and he collapsed.
Three hours later, Raymond died at the hospital. My mother, my oldest brother, Raymond's wife, Mary, and I were at his bedside. His body was charred and swelled, but his faith in God was still strong. His last words -- barely audible -- were the Lord's Prayer.
There we were. My mother, two brothers, Raymond's widow, and their five-year-old daughter, Ramona. We didn't have time to speculate about why this tragedy happened. The immediate question was how could we make it without Dad and Raymond?
What got us through those tough days? The assurance that God was with us.
What made us aware of God's presence? The presence of our pastor, John M. McCormack.
Brother McCormack was across the state attending the Arkansas Annual Conference of the Methodist Church, that started the day of the wreck. I called him and told him what had happened, and asked him if he could help us with the funeral services. He said, "I'll be there!"
I don't remember much about what Brother McCormack said at the funeral, but I remember he was there. His presence made my family and me much more aware that God was there.
How did my awareness of God's presence help me cope? It calmed me, comforted me, and encouraged me in ways that I could neither understand nor explain, and I still can't.
Of course, I know now, and I knew then, that God was already present before Brother McCormack arrived, and God was still present after he left. But something about our pastor being there helped me realize God was with me.
Across the four decades of my ministry, I have gathered many times with families who were still in shock from devastating losses. I have wondered what I could say to help them. Then, I have remembered how Brother McCormack didn't have any magic words for my family and me. He was just there. And because he was present with us, I realized God was present for us. That's what we mean by the ministry of presence.
The ministry of presence comes naturally for my friend, Beverly Powell, an ordained deacon in the United Methodist church who is a chaplain at Mercy Hospital in Oklahoma City. Her gift for the ministry of presence has been enhanced by clinical pastoral training at the University of Oklahoma Medical Center and by extensive experience.
I recently asked Beverly to share with me insights about the ministry of presence.
"The ministry of presence does not depend on the eloquent use of words or the wise and wonderful answers to difficult questions," she said. "Nor does it demand the use of words at all. Based on my experience in trauma centers and hospital emergency rooms, I find that words are seldom the solution for people in the midst of terrible pain and loss, if you don't know what to say, it's okay."
If there are not magic words, what does she think matters?
Ministry of presence, she says, requires letting go of one's personal agenda and the willingness to walk alongside the other person, to be with the her in her journey whether that involves celebrating her joys or sharing her pain."
"Just being there matters," she says, "But being there requires more than just your physical presence."
Being present, she says, requires being willing to stop what you are doing or what you had planned to do and be redirected by God to address the needs of the other person.
It requires respecting the other person as a unique child of God, a person of worth, honoring what holds meaning for her, letting her lead. It requires openness, honesty, and warmth. It requires courage to hear and to discuss issues related to coping with illness, death and dying, and it requires encouraging and embracing him as he expresses, or tries to express, his grief and pain.
When I reflect on the response Brother McCormack made when I called him that day 47 years ago, I know he was present with me and my family in all the ways Beverly describes.
Of course, Jesus is our model for the ministry of presence. By being present for countless people who were hurting and hopeless, Jesus communicated God's unconditional and unlimited love. And so can we!
Dr. Boyce A. Bowdon, a United Methodist minister and writer, is author of several books, including "A Child Friendly Church."
