AFTER THE RESURRECTION

   BARBARA and I debated about attending the 7:00 a.m. sunrise service on Resurrection Sunday, April 9, 2023, but we knew chilly winds were blowing across the Faith Temple hill. Neuropathy bothers my feet, and the ground is uneven between the church and the giant cross. And I’d have had to stand unless I had taken a chair. I felt sort of guilty about missing the sunrise service. Someone said, “Jesus rose from the dead, and you can’t even rise from the bed!” 

A cold wind drove the Destination COG/Faith Temple (FT) sunrise service into Fleming Hall. Ms. Sandy Brown attended and said they had a good service. 

At the 10:30 a.m. FT Resurrection Sunday service, we sang hymns, prayed, and enjoyed a service planned by Mrs. Ann Burrows. Mrs. Sandra Martin played the piano for the singing, accompanied soloists, and sang a solo. Our church is blessed by her music.

Some folk feel a little letdown after Resurrection Sunday (“Easter” is the common name). We get excited about the day. Spring is in the air; flowers are blooming; the world is emerging from winter. We say, “He is risen!” And friends respond, “He is risen indeed!” Easter Sunday is triumphant! And then, it’s over. 

  

“We have come down from the mountain top of Easter, and now may feel that we are in the valley of the routine,” says the Rev. Charles P. Henderson, a Presbyterian minister. “There always seems to be a let down in the life of the church after Easter. Even if you could, like Thomas, reach in and touch the wounds in his body... Even if you had solid, certifiable evidence that the resurrection was real, there would still be the bills to pay, the meals to plan, the problems of life to solve… So it was for the first disciples.”

  After you experience a great accomplishment or enjoyment, you feel things slowing down, returning to the routine and the mundane, Henderson says. 

  

I remember when my younger daughter, Suzanne, was a preschooler in the early 1980s and we attended the Fowler Reunion at Fleming Hall, Faith Temple’s fellowship building. My late mother, Eva Fowler Crain, was one of nine children, so I grew up with 15 first-cousins on the Fowler side. Many of my cousins attended the Fowler get-together, and Suzanne enjoyed playing with their children. Mark Fleming, child of the late Charles and Mrs. Sandra Fleming, entertained us by imitating an inchworm speeding along the floor of Fleming Hall. What fun! Driving away after the reunion ended, I heard a small voice from the back seat say, “Well, I guess we’ll never do that again.” My late wife, Carol, and I were amused at how quickly Suzanne’s letdown began.

Jesus’ disciples probably had a letdown after that first Easter Sunday, Henderson says, adding, “None of them had actually seen the resurrection. They had heard the reports about the empty tomb; a couple of them had seen a mysterious stranger on the road to Emmaus, but even if it actually were Jesus, so what? Things were quickly returning to normal.”

After the resurrection the disciples woke up to the fact that the world looked pretty much the same as it had looked before they ever met the man from Galilee, Henderson says.  

  

“They began drifting apart,” he says. “Some of them headed north to Galilee where it all began just three years before. They even returned to their fishing boats. It had been a heady three years, following Jesus to become fishers of men. But on the morning after Easter, Peter and the rest turned back to their boats” (John 21:1-25).

  

After fishing all night and catching nothing, they saw a man on the beach. He called to them, “Have you caught any fish?” They said, “No.” The man said, “Throw out your net on the right-hand side of the boat.” They did and caught so many fish (153) they couldn’t pull in the nets. John told Peter, “It is the Lord!” Jesus had cooked fish for them and said, “Come and dine.” This was the third time Jesus showed himself to his disciples after he rose from the dead. He encouraged them in the work opportunities that lay ahead of them. 

  

Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 15:58, “Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye stedfast, unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labour is not in vain in the Lord.” 

  

To be steadfast is to be firmly fixed and not subject to change, to be firm in belief and determination, and to be loyal and faithful. 

  

“Lord, give me firmness without hardness, steadfastness without dogmatism, love without weakness,” Jim Elliot said. 

  

Paul says we should “always” do God’s work and not be hindered by letdowns. 

  

Before Jesus ascended to heaven, he told his disciples, “All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth. Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world. Amen” (Matt. 28:16-20).

LETTER TO MY FIRST-GRADE TEACHER

 Hi, Mrs. Nell (Mrs. Nell Thompson Adams Montgomery).

  I hope you are doing well. I thought I’d write a letter to you today. I suppose I type better than I write in longhand. The spellcheck on this computer helps correct my mistakes, and it’s easier to move fingers while typing than to move one hand consistently, I think. 

  

It’s cool outside this morning. Mr. Raymond Willbanks called last night and said he was coming by this morning. He carries his grandson to school on school mornings. Grandson Conner is in seventh grade and attends Blue Ridge Middle School, which is in the old Blue Ridge High School building. (I remember meeting there for church when Pastor Jimmy Thompson was organizing Faith Temple.)

  

I asked Raymond if he’d like to eat breakfast with us, and he said yes. Barbara organized the breakfast, going a little further than I had envisioned. We had scrambled eggs, sausage, gravy, and biscuits. She placed jelly on the table too: strawberry and grape. She had coffee ready for Raymond. I don’t drink coffee — never have care much for the taste, though I drank a few cups while in the Army. I guess I was a “social drinker.” Later, I gave up drinking any coffee. 

  

I remember Ma Crain telling me about Preacher Barton, a Pentecostal minister. He didn’t drink coffee nor eat ice cream, as I understand. He would ride in his car, which had scriptures painted on it, I guess, and announce that a meeting was going to start at church, so “Come on out to the meeting.” Do you remember such things?

  

Well, Raymond drove up in his truck this morning. He enjoyed the breakfast, and we talked. He brought me copies of inspirational writings he had used in teaching Sunday school over the years. He would distribute items he copied to augment his teaching. I can borrow from them when I write. 

  

Raymond and I were friends from early childhood. Don Hill was my first real friend. We were in diapers when we became friends. And our grandmothers lived within walking distance. Mrs. Few would walk across a footbridge down at the creek that separated their properties. That’s when Ma and Pa Crain lived down near the creek. Across another creed was Mr. Grady Atkins. Not far, across through a few peach trees, was the Mr. Troy Burrell place. Up on the hill above the Burrell place was a Mr. Hall. In his early days, Pa read Mr. Hall’s newspaper. Mr. Hall told Pa that he could read it, as long as he put it back in the box so Mr. Hall could get it when he was ready. Pa got up early and read the paper before Mr. Hall retrieved it, so things worked out pretty well. Pa could read the newspaper for free. 

  

Raymond and I used to play softball at school. We were big boys, so we often were asked by other boys to choose sides for softball. Sometimes we would head up teams and choose sides. The little fellows who couldn’t hit very well would usually be the last ones chosen. Sort of sad, but that was life on the old softball field. 

  

In 4th grade, in Miss Ruth Langford’s class, Raymond and I were classmates. Most other years he was not in my room. (There were two of each grade for my class during those years at Mt. View.) Miss Langford (or Lanford, not sure of spelling) gave us an arithmetic test that covered “carrying.” We had not studied that in class. I went down through the numbers, adding but not carrying any sums. When we got the tests back, Raymond made a good grade, and I made a horrible grade. “Why did you do so well?” I asked Raymond. He said, “I learned to ‘carry’ from my brothers.” He had to work in his mother’s store and had learned to carry as part of his job of making change. He’s a smart and very Christian man. I am proud he’s my friend. 

  

I just had a return call from Ms. Juanita Barnett. She is in the National Health Care on Pelham Road. She has cellulitis and is slated to be there for rehab until April 5. Her personal phone number is 864-517-4384. 

  

She previously had two varicose veins rupture and had to go quickly to have them sewn up. This bout with cellulitis is her first, as I understand. We’re praying for her and miss her at church.

  

Mr. Tim Burrows has been approved for liver transplant, as long as other tests prove he is healthy enough to have that done. He was in Charleston for that examination. On his own while driving, his ammonia level rose, and he had to be sent to the hospital and placed in ICU for a few days. I hear he is out now and probably headed home. An offering is to be taken at Faith Temple this weekend to help with expenses.

 

I hope your day goes well. I often think of you. Love. 

GENE BARNETTE PASSES ON

  Mr. Gene Barnette, 81, left this earthly existence on Sunday, the Jan. 20, 2023, “after several years of declining health.” His body lay in a closed casket at The Wood Mortuary in Greer, SC, on Wed., Jan. 25. Barbara and I stood in a long line to speak with Mrs. Sandra Alexander Barnette, his wife of 59 years, and his family. Gene and Sandra attended Praise Cathedral in Greer.

  A solid Christian, Carl Eugene “Gene” Barnette attended Faith Temple (FT) as a young man and played a cornet in the church band. 

  

Eager to join the FT band in 1958, I used my dad’s trumpet and began taking seventh-grade band at Davenport Jr. High in Greer, SC. Before long, I began playing at church, sitting beside Gene Barnette, who was 5 or 6 years older than I and played a cornet. (A cornet and a trumpet are almost the same; a trumpet is longer than a cornet.) 

  

“You have to transpose one note higher,” Gene told me.

  

“What?” I thought. When playing music written for piano, trumpeters have to play one note higher than the piano music — it’s about notes being written to suit instruments. I learned to “transpose” notes and make music at church. Gene and I sometimes joined in duets. He played the soprano part; I played alto, the lower part. We praised God through instruments (extensions of human voices). 

  

Some songs our church band played were “Count Your Blessings,” “Looking for a City,” and “Onward Christian Soldiers.” Many churches have quit singing “Onward Christian Soldiers” because its words sound too military, they say. But “spiritual warfare” realities cause us to use analogies. Didn’t Paul tell Timothy, “Thou therefore endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ” (II Tim. 2:3 KJV)?

  

Music tastes and styles change. Stringed instruments and synthesizers are likely to be found today in many churches. Music is still a wonderful way to praise God and unify — at least while folk are singing — a congregation. “Serve the Lord with gladness! Come into his presence with singing” (Psalm 100:2 ESV).

  

Pastor Jerry Madden and Pastor Bobby Lord conducted Gene’s funeral at 2:00 p.m. on Wednesday, providing comforting words for Gene and Sandra’s children: Angela Hagan and Nathan Barnette (and Jada, Nathan’s wife). I greeted Gene’s sister, Mrs. Margaret Rainey and her husband, Mr. Jim Rainey. Margaret was part of FT’s youth group when we played summertime softball at Greer City Park. 

  

Born in Greenville, SC, Gene graduated from Taylors High School in 1959 and pursued a career in accounting. He was diligent, serving “in various churches as a praise and worship leader, trumpet player, deacon, elder, finance committee, and a children’s outreach bus driver,” his obituary noted.

   

Some folk don’t like to say the word “die” when someone expires. I use the euphemism “passed on.” A euphemism is a mild expression used instead of a harsher word. “Passed on” indicates that a friend didn’t just cease to exist. Instead, he passed on to another place — heaven, for those who place faith in Jesus.

  

When a friend passes, I often think of these words to the song “If We Never Meet Again” by Albert E. Brumley: 

  

“Soon we’ll come to the end of life’s journey / And perhaps we’ll never meet any more / Till we gather in Heaven’s bright city / Far away on that beautiful shore.

  

“If we never meet again this side of Heaven / As we struggle through this world and it’s strife / There’s another meeting place somewhere in Heaven / By the side of the river of life / Where the charming roses bloom forever / And where separations come no more / If we never meet again this side of Heaven / I will meet you on that beautiful shore.”

  

I plan, someday, to meet Gene Barnette “on that beautiful shore,” and if they have cornets or trumpets there — and I think they do — maybe Gene and l will play another duet, and we’ll sound better than ever. ###

GOOFED

 I first heard the word "goofed" at Mt. View Elementary School, Taylors, SC, when in fifth grade in 1957. Our teacher, Mrs. Bonn Barton, asked Kenneth Sammons a question. He gave a wrong answer. She corrected him. He said, "I goofed." 

Mrs. Barton said, "Where'd you hear that word?" 

He said, "On TV." I think he had watched a Western. 

Mrs. Barton shook her head, and I thought about TV affecting our language. 

Funny, how you remember little things like that.

ARE PARENTS AND CHILDREN 'FRIENDS'?

  Should parents expect their adult children to stay emotionally close to them?

Taylor Caldwell wrote “Great Lion of God,” a novel about the Apostle Paul. In that fictional tale, Paul’s father, Hillel, talks with Gamaliel, a revered Jewish teacher:  

“Then our children are strangers to us?” said Hillel in the exhausted voice of grief.

“Almost invariably,” said Gamaliel. “Wise is that father that knows that from the beginning… Let him cultivate his son’s friendship, as he would cultivate the friendship of a stranger… for what man can be a friend to another if the sympathy is not there…? I do not deny a father’s love. But a son’s love is a vagrant thing… A man must not seek to compel his son to love him… He must only demand respect and honor, and in the end they may be of more value.”

I sent that question and Gamaliel’s “advice” to friends who commented:   
  “I think we have a parent-child relationship when children are young but a friend-friend relationship when they mature,” a mother of three adult children said. 

I wrote to her, saying, “Parents always will have parent-child relationships with their children. We may imagine friend-friend relationships with our children, but I doubt that’s possible. Is the friend-friend thing part of our wishful society? Some parents relate well with their children, but there will always ‘be’ the parent factor.”

Chuck wrote, “I think your response is spot-on. It sounds like a current-society idea to become friend-friend instead of always ‘loving parent-child.’”

A retired teacher said, “I totally agree with you, Steve. A parent is a parent, first and foremost… I have seen parents who ‘think’ they and their children are ‘friends,’ but that is not what God intended the relationship to be. The Bible, to my knowledge, says nothing concerning a ‘friend’ relationship [with one’s children]… You can be a friend to your child, but you are ultimately the parent, and they are the children.”   

A mother said, “‘Honor your father and mother – which is the first commandment with a promise – that it may go well with you and that you may enjoy long life on the earth’” (Ephesians 6:2-3). 

Buddy Bowman, a retired public school teacher and coach wrote about his childhood in a “mill village” in S.C.: “It [the parent-child relationship] is a subject that could bring about a wide variety of opinions, depending on the parent-child relationship in the early stages. I remember friends who spoke of their fathers in a disrespectful fashion. It angered me, because I believed their behavior to be disgraceful, as I knew their fathers to be hard-working men who did what they could for their families, with limited income. My remark was that they (their fathers) were better in their roles than my friends were as sons. Their mothers seemed to have their respect, but not their fathers. My respect for both of my parents grew even more as I learned of their sacrifices. Today, as I drive down the road, I ask God's forgiveness for my sins of omission, regarding both of my parents. They were better parents than I was a son, and I still regret that.”

SYMPATHIES TO A GRIEVING FAMILY

   Sympathies go to Mrs. Ann Burrows, wife of Pastor Raymond D. Burrows (of Faith Temple Church, Taylors, SC), on the passing of her mother, Mrs. Vivian Butler. Sympathies also go to Mr. Bill Butler, husband of Mrs. Vivian, and to their children and mates and to extended family.

The loss of a mother’s support, guidance, and love can leave an emptiness and pain that might seem impossible to heal, even if her death was expected, someone said.  

Research shows the most common age range for losing a parent is 50 to 54 years old. 

I was almost 42 when my mother, Eva Fowler Crain, died at age 67. Mother contracted breast cancer at least seven years before it advanced to her bones. My family (Carol, Janelle, Suzanne, and I) lived in Kernersville, NC, when we visited Dad and Mom (J.B. and Eva Crain) in Greer, SC, in Feb. 1989. Mother, mustering her strength, sang an early “Happy Birthday” to Janelle. We drove back to NC; Dad soon called; he was at the hospital with Mom. Over the phone, I heard Mother’s “death rattle.” She died a day after Janelle’s 16th birthday. Mom’s funeral was at Faith Temple, burial in Hillcrest Memorial Gardens. Dad had a heart attack and died about fourmonths later.

After Mother’s death, Carol left the kitchen and found me as I worked in our garage in NC. 

“You haven’t cried much since your mother died,” Carol said, with a questioning sound in her voice. 

“I’m afraid if I start, I won’t stop,” I said, feeling moisture in my eyes.

“Grief is the price of love,” someone said.

Mrs. Ann demonstrated her love for her mother and her family by caring for them “above and beyond the call of duty.” She is going to grieve.

“Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted,” Jesus said (Matt. 5:4).  

In ancient Israel, folk were expressive. A loved one was usually buried on the day they died. A burial was “followed by a funeral procession and a 30-day mourning period with loud wailing and dramatic displays of grief,” someone said.

Jesus received word that Lazarus was sick in Bethany, the town of his sisters Mary and Martha.

The Mary mentioned is the Mary who anointed the Lord with ointment and wiped his feet with her hair. The sisters sent to Jesus, saying, “Lord, he whom you love is sick.”

Jesus delayed going to Lazarus. When Jesus arrived, Lazarus had been dead four days.

Mary met Jesus and said, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews also weeping that came with her, he groaned in the spirit, was troubled, and said, “Where have ye laid him?” They said, “Lord, come and see.”

Then “Jesus wept” (John 11:35).

That verse, “Jesus wept,” is the shortest verse in the Bible. It says a lot about Jesus, who comforts us with this message: “I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live” (John 11:25).

CHILDREN LEARN ABOUT THIS UNFAIR WORLD

  Children learn how the world works — in their little corners of the world, and beyond.

As a pre-schooler, I lived in a white-shingled house on a 13-acre “farm” on rural Groce Meadow Road, Taylors, SC. Dad was a World War II Army combat veteran who worked at Southern Bleachery. Mother, who had sewed sheets in a mill, stayed home during my early years. Sister Shirley came along three years behind me. I was blessed to be born into a Christian home. We attended Gum Springs Pentecostal-Holiness Church.

Poor people and not-so-poor people attended our church. My late Uncle Fred, who was raised on a farm, worked in textiles at Southern Bleachery, too. He said people who worked in “the mill” could afford to buy pre-made cigarettes but other folk had to “roll their own.” Of course, Uncle didn’t smoke. He attended our church, and our church didn’t approve of smoking, much less drinking. That was why we had “holiness” in our church name, I thought back then. 

I began to realize that some people were nice and others not-so-nice by hearing adults talk. I learned that God loved all people — “red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in His sight.” We used to sing that song in Sunday School. Forming ideas of the kind of world I’d been born into, I saw people of different colors — they were referred to as “colored people” in the 1950s.  

Ma and Pa Crain — that’s what I called my dad’s parents — often took me to Greenville on their Saturday “milk and butter route.” Ma wanted to be called “Ma” instead of grandma because “grandma” sounded old, she said. Ma sold milk and butter to city-folk wanting straight-from-the-cow products. In Greenville, I’d see all kinds of folk. A few “colored people” in the city appeared fairly well-to-do. Of course, there was the poor fellow on Main St. He had no legs and sold pencils for donations. He sat flat on the sidewalk with his back against a stone-walled building. His black hands held a cane, but I wondered how he used that cane, with him having no legs. I can still see an image of him in my mind. 

When I started first grade at Mt. View School, I rode the bus. On that long, round-about trip to school, I saw the houses children lived in, and I couldn’t help but make judgments about how poor or rich they were. A few lived in brick homes, most in shingled-houses, and some in run-down plank abodes. Mobile homes weren’t on the scene in those days, as I recall.

By age six, I knew people who were affected by poverty, race, handicaps, mental problems, and moral failings. I came to believe that Jesus can give eternal life and save us from this fallen world and accepted Him when I was six years old. I also came to believe this: No parent can keep children from learning about the unfair world into which they’ve been born.