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When people learn I wasn’t raised in the church, there is a seemingly inevitable follow-up: “how did you become a Christian?” And I have my inevitable reply: I started going to church in high school to meet girls. This is true, by the way. My friend Mike kept telling me about the girls he was meeting at church and youth events, and I figured I’d give it a shot. Of course, that’s just the short version, abbreviated for humor. The longer version: instead of a girlfriend, I found myself welcomed into a community, participating in an expression of faith that was unique. I’ve since come to learn that it wasn’t precisely “unique”, just, well… healthy. Faithful. Grounded more in scripture than bumper-sticker theology. My previous experiences were more of the “turn off your brain; it’s time to talk about God” versions, where questions were not welcome, and discussion too risky… You were “welcome” to toe the line. Or leave. At the fore of my “unique” experience was our pastor, Cliff Melvin. His investment in the youth was real, and paid in presence. Early in my faith journey he co-taught a youth only Disciple Bible Study, lending his perspective and passion to our small group, and insisted we avoid the “youth edition”, inviting us to engage without holding back or feeling like we weren’t ready for scripture or theology. As a very new Christian, it was one of the most formative experiences of my life. I believe what Cliff taught me most of all was that God calls unique people. Not unique people willing to change in order to fit an image of faithfulness, but unique, beautiful, special, gifted, God-loved and God-created people to serve the diverse kingdom of God in diverse ways. He never told me that, but I witnessed it in him. Cliff laughed hard, with his whole body and soul. It was a joyous sound that I can still hear. But he rarely laughed at you, because his joy was sharing it with you. And though joy was in abundance, it never meant he wasn’t available for serious conversations, and we had many. Struggling in the years following my experience of abuse, Cliff was a part of my journey of healing. He never shied from patiently listening, supporting, encouraging. And that never stopped. Beyond my time with him as a youth at First Sanford, we stayed in touch through college and seminary, through leaving seminary, through the years and the hiccups and the rejoicing, including getting back to seminary, crying together over breakfast around disaffiliation, celebrating my commissioning. One of my favorite moments in my time in pastoral ministry was the year he and I were a part of Courage to Lead together. Aside from providing the opportunity for two geographically distant friends to come together, it was immensely special to share that time with him as colleagues. Of all the memories I’m sure I’ve lost, I can still remember where it began. I don’t remember anything specific he said in the sermon that Sunday, just that it was about forgiveness. Our call to forgive others, God’s forgiveness of us as means and measure, and the challenges in practicing it. I don’t remember anything specific he said in that sermon, but I’ll never forget what he offered. It wasn’t a distant or detached treatise on the potential difficulties of forgiveness, delivered by a pulpited example of success and righteousness. No, it was Cliff, our brother in Christ, offering from his own battles with forgiveness. He shared himself, his journey, his struggles. And when the service ended, and he invited us to kneel at the altar and pray for God’s help, Cliff was the first to do so. ~ In the season of Advent, we focus on hope, peace, joy, and love. We name them as gifts of Emmanuel, the coming Christ child that is God with us, and consider them as both promises and means of preparation to receive the gift of God anew. Anew… not “here we go again”, but in new ways. We’re invited to experience God – who chose to become incarnate, among us, lived the human experience, lived for us, died for us, was raised for us – we are invited to welcome God into the truth and fullness of right now. Into our happiness, our rest, delight, and wonder. Into the truth and fullness of our pain and grief. Our doubt, anger, loss. Emmanuel means “God with us”, and it’s a reminder not only that God knows, not only that God understands and can take it, but that God chose, and chooses, to be with us. Will we let God into the truth of right now? The fullness of it? Some of us will gather tonight (6:30p) for The Longest Night, a service that traditionally takes place on the Winter Solstice, recognizing the darkness that is most present on this day. Not to give our grief or lament or sadness power, but to let the truth be true. In the practice of worship, in the presence of community, we let the truth be true, so that the light can truly enter in. The Longest Night service is special, it’s important, and though the feel and flow of the service are quite different, interestingly the message is basically the same as that which we will celebrate Christmas Eve: that the light has come, the light chose to come, even into the midst of darkness. And the darkness does not overcome it. ~ My friend, mentor, and pastor Cliff Melvin died unexpectedly on Friday. His character and personality and friendship are irreplaceable for me, as I know it is for others. I am grateful for him, to have known him, for the ways he exampled the truth of God’s work in all people. I believe what Cliff taught me most of all was that God calls unique people. Not unique people willing to change in order to fit an image of faithfulness, but unique, beautiful, special, gifted, God-loved and God-created people… people who are also at times broken, hurt, lonely, or sad. Who grieve, hate, yell, and harm. Who cry, curse, lust, and at times find ourselves lost. We do not long for these qualities, but to pretend they aren’t there is to miss the chance to invite God into them. Is to miss the chance to serve as the people God has called to God’s diverse kingdom. Cliff never told me that, but I witnessed it in him. Because Cliff was, in my experiences of him over three decades, always unapologetically Cliff. And that was a gift to me and to many others. I will be forever grateful for his love and respect, lived out in his authenticity, and pray I will live and serve with the same. Rev. Ben Richards
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