Today’s Word from Pastor Jim…
It was a warm humid August day in DeKalb, Illinois. It was the Summer of 1984, after three years of marriage and two years of seminary Felicia and I were headed out on the Oregon trail. Like the pioneers of old we headed west that day to begin a new life in an unknown land. The summer hit “What’s love got to do with it?” by Tina Turner was playing on the radio of my old Pontiac as I pulled into the parking lot of the hospital where I was born 25 years earlier. The Haish Hospital, named after its benefactor barbed wire baron Jacob Haish, had been converted now to an assisted living facility for the aged. We bounced up the seldom used stairwell to the second floor and were greeted at the door by my grandfather Harold Lindus.
My grandmother Aline Lindus had died on her birthday two years earlier. Grandpa Lindus was tired and worn, his lungs ravaged by emphysema, his oxygen tank always close, his hands unsteady. He had worked hard all his life: a sharecropper, a bus driver, a factory worker, and a man of profound faith. In his younger years, with the help of others, he was among the farmer founders of little Trinity Lutheran Church on 7th Street in DeKalb. Now his life and his world had contracted. Dinners out were rare, travel was out of the question, most of his life was spent in a small apartment, in the halls and gathering spots of the hospital where I was born.
We had a touching, tender, loving visit. My grandfather, like his grandson, was smitten with the young Jewish girl who shared my life. We talked about faith; he was troubled as he spent much time watching TV preachers and wondering why so many were cured and his prayers seemed unanswered. When it was time to go, we embraced, and he slipped a hundred-dollar bill into my hand; he wanted to pay for our gas as we journeyed out to Washington to begin our pastoral internship. The Pontiac, loaded up with clothes and wedding presents, headed across the prairies and mountains of this great land. With three hundred dollars in the bank and an $800 a month stipend we began a life of service in the church.
The fall was busy, learning names, visiting homes, playing games with the youth group, preaching once a month. I was also leading worship at Bethany Lutheran Church. Each Sunday I was expected to chant the liturgy. It was among the most terrifying ventures of my life. Fortunately for me, I was mentored by a Professor of Church Music at Seattle Pacific University. A young Vernon Wicker took me under his wing and with the patience of Job he loved me through my internship year. I was in my office at church on November 1st, All Saints Day, writing a sermon for Sunday when the phone rang. It was my mother; my grandfather Lindus had died. For all the Saints who from their labors rest. We flew home to DeKalb, gathered at church and graveside, and said goodbye.
On Sunday, October 20th Vernon Wicker died. Vernon and Jutta were long time members of Trinity Lutheran Church. Vernon will be laid to rest in the columbarium in close proximity to the niche that will have my name on it. Vernon’s beautiful voice has been silenced, his legacy will live on in his family and in my life. Tomorrow we will observe All Saints Sunday, there will be 28 candles on the baptismal font. The flames will flicker for the 28 from our community who have died since November 1st, 2023. It is a sobering day, a graphic reminder that life is short, and each day is a gift. I give thanks for my grandfather, for Vernon and for all the saints who from their labors rest.
One beggar, telling another beggar where to find bread, I am your,
Pastor Jim
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