Have I told him lately that I love him?
The words of the song, “Have I Told You Lately That I Love You,” are ringing in my head. Though the song is for sweethearts, the words are haunting me in a different way.
Have I, as a member of your church, told you, as my pastor (lately or ever), that I love you and thank you for all you are and do? A more nagging question is, Have I said anything to help smooth out the rough spots you encounter day in and day out? Have I done anything to give you a boost? Have I ministered to you?
Last Sunday, just before you were to go into the pulpit, our eyes met and I said, “Talk ‘purty.’ ” How pathetic of me. You were within minutes of probably the most difficult sermon of your ministry and my flippant words could not have told you that I understood, I cared—that I thought it was wonderful that you had brought to fulfillment your prayer to bring together two congregations hostile toward each other over a vicious church split many years before you came to us. You were entering the pulpit to bring a loving message of reconciliation to people who had taken separate ways, some of whom carried bitter hatred. Couldn’t I have said that I appreciate your healing ministry—that I admired your courage?
If I were to say, “I’m sorry,” you would say, “For what?” You overlook our shortcomings and see more good in us than is there. Maybe that’s a part of your deep understanding of grace. You continue to love people when they block the path. You maintain a beautiful spirit in spite of obstacles, disappointments, and discouragement.
A newcomer mentioned to me that in your own church people don’t seem to know you for the great minister you are recognized to be throughout the nation. “The prophet is not without honor save in his own land.” We do take you for granted. You are even criticized sometimes for being away from “our” church. Your ministry fortunately is not bounded by the streets surrounding our building. Have I told you that I am proud you are sought after interdenominationally and that you can bring blessing on college and seminary campuses, in troubled churches, among discouraged pastors? I am glad you share your ministry with as many as your priority commitment to “our” church and your time and energy permit.
Your energy seems unlimited, and that is a concern. How can you keep up this pace? On Sunday, perhaps after a night on a plane, you teach a class of newly-weds. Then you give yourself totally to preaching that is biblically profound, made understandable and usable. More than likely you and your wife will invite to dinner a couple having trouble or some lonely person. You graciously attend the frequent recital, anniversary, or dedication, then it’s back to church for the evening Bible teaching and afterward for treats at someone’s home because you are fun to be with.
There is no letup through the week. Surely you get too much of committees, board meetings, telephone calls, “Mickey-Mouse” details, leaks in the roof, hurt feelings, staff problems, trifles. You don’t show your disgust.
Your brilliant mind, linked with the heart of a learner, wants to study, delving into the minds of other thinkers. While you must yearn for more study time and for the writing you want to do, you accept the interruptions. When I asked if you could see my brother, you gave up an afternoon to counsel this troubled stranger. You owed him nothing, but he owes you his new lease on life.
That is another of your skills. You give a hurting person a new lease on life—and, in a way, that is almost everyone you meet. You seem to assume that everyone carries a burden and you perceive what it is. In turn, people know you earnestly care for them and so they open up to you. You give wise counsel and steer a new course.
You have the gift of discernment. You are not to be duped or manipulated: you can spot someone trying to con you, and then you get tough. You almost missed on Walter, however! We’re still laughing about how you frightened him with your gruffness when he first met you. The receptionist had called you from your study because there was another “one of those” asking to see the preacher. You approached him with a stern, “I suppose you want money.” His trembling, “No, Sir, I just want someone to look after my two little boys while I find a job,” made you do a quick about-face. You listened, you discerned, you acted.
Walter, today, is a beautiful success story: no longer a victim of alcohol or tobacco, a faithful and skilled worker on the job you found for him, reunited with his wife, the oldest son now baptized and the new baby dedicated. Walter loves to tell of his belief in miracles because of the miracle that happened to him. Thank you for being God’s instrument for making miracles happen for those like Walter. Thank you for your compassionate heart for people.
Thanks for recognizing and answering God’s call to you to the ministry. No one can doubt that call! Thanks for your obedience and sacrifice in leaving the big church where everything spelled success to come to our torn and bleeding church where the need for you was the greatest. Thanks for believing after six years of struggle that you are where God wants you.
Your untiring spirit, your servant heart (you’ve been caught dusting the piano), your heart for people, your hospital calls and visits to the shut-ins, your ministry in crisis situations, your pastoral care of your flock, your sermons and Bible studies and prayer times—all these reveal Christlike attributes of one who humbly and openly recognizes his own feet of clay.
I’m glad you are neither pious nor sanctimonious. But you are kind and considerate, delightful company in varied groupings, interesting and fun to be with. In recognizing our need for models, you serve as one in your roles of husband, father, grandpa, citizen, friend.
Though in no way are you narrow in scope, confined by clerical draperies, or blind to the humanness of us all, yet permeating every ounce of your being is the one compelling desire to win people to Christ, to disciple us, to nurture us in the faith.
When the going gets rough for us, we turn to you. We know sometimes the going gets rough for you, too, and you are the only one in our church who does not have a pastor. While it would be presumptuous for me to offer to be a pastor to you, I can be your friend. I am grateful I have you as my pastor—and my friend.
Have I told you lately that I love you?
EDITH CLEMMONS COE1Mrs. Coe, who lives in Wichita, Kansas, is a former high school English teacher.
