Bittersweet Farm

Bittersweet Farm

Small-Town Preacher

Filed Under: Current Thoughts, Past Ministry, Village Parson

MitfordA few weeks ago I conducted a funeral. On the way from the grave-site to the church for the funeral dinner I stopped at the bank. The lady in front of me was taking her time. She and the teller were having a nice talk about something. I used the time to check my messages and e-mails. I heard the teller say; “O, he’s not in a hurry. He’s on his phone.”

I smiled. In my mind I was thinking “No, I’m on the phone because you’re not in a hurry,” but I didn’t say it. Sometime after Jr. High school it began to dawn on me that it was not a good idea to say every little cute witty thing you think.

I always drive away from a funeral thinking how glad I am to be alive, how much I cherish my family, and how eager I am to help as many as I can have eternal life. When you stop a while and stand at the edge of a grave it has a way of putting life in perspective. It slows you down—helps you sort out your priorities. I don’t want to push my way through life all out-of-breath and out-of-sorts. I want to live gracefully and thoughtfully. I want to live patiently among others with whom I share my place on the earth.

“No problem,” I said, “I don’t like to interrupt a good conversation. I’m not in a big hurry.”

“Thanks,” the customer said, “I’ve been shut in for weeks recovering from surgery and I don’t have anybody to talk to. It was just nice to have a relaxed conversation again.”

Lois and I have a large family and I pastor a large church in a large town, so I stood and wondered what it must be like to have no one to talk to for weeks. We all stood and had a relaxed conversation about relaxed conversation. We don’t live in Mayberry. We live in a major suburb of the largest city in our state. It’s unusual for folk to stand around and talk like they they do at Floyd’s Barbershop.

I walked to my Jeep and drove toward the church. The family would be there and the ladies of the church would have the food hot and waiting for them. They would be watching for me to arrive so I could pray for the meal. The grieving family would then partake in the “sacrament” of the funeral dinner. Fried chicken, au gratin potatoes, salad, cake, pie, lemonade and coffee, all arranged by the faithful ladies of the church.

Running my Jeep through the gears it occurred to me that just because I don’t live in a small village anymore doesn’t mean I can’t treat people like I do. All I really aspire to be is a small-town village parson at heart. I don’t think I’ll ever improve on that. Unhurried listening. Patient shepherding. Honorable living. Hard work. Faithful prayer. Preaching that touches the hearts of children and the common man.

That night I spent my drive home praying; “God give me grace to live a graceful life. You have placed me in a large city, remind me always to have the heart of a village parson.”

Ken Pierpont
Granville Cottage
Riverview, Michigan
April 24, 2013

Easter Is Over. It’s Time for Spring.

Filed Under: Circuit-Riding, Current Thoughts, Fireside Academy

Spring

Classic Re-post from 2003

Have you ever wondered why Easter sometimes falls late in March and other times past the middle of April? Scientist and Mathematician types get sweaty palms over questions like this. They have complicated algorithms for calculating the date, but I did a little research on my own and I think I have a handle on it now

Let me put the cookies right down on the bottom shelf where you can reach them. Simply put, Easter is always the first Sunday after the first full moon that follows the first day of spring. An easier way is just to look on the calendar of course.

Early or late, after Easter we are really ready for spring. We’re itching to fiddle around in the yard and break out the baseball glove. But it seems like it has been six months since Puxatony Phil saw his shadow and scurried back in his hole, and winter just hangs on. I just checked the Internet and the weather this week is going to be no more like spring than last week’s was. It’s unlikely there is going to be a run on the Hawaiian Tropic lotion out at WalMart this week. Here in Michigan we are happy if we can just get through spring break without having to shovel snow.

It’s not that we aren’t valiantly acting the part. We are doing our best to think spring and going through the spring motions and sincerely as we can. I chuckle to see the ladies dart though the parking lot into church on Easter Sunday morning with their new white shoes and their light pastel dresses, fresh as a spring breeze, stomping off snow in the foyer. They blow on their hands to get warm wiggle out of their winter coat trying not to ruin their corsage. The front of the church is lined with lilies and when I see them I imagine getting on a plane to fly to where they grew those flowers as soon as church is over. (With my luck that would probably end up being a greenhouse in a balmy spot like Gary, Indiana).

It doesn’t really matter when Easter comes here in Michigan. In March or even in April it’s still going to be on a day that seems a lot like winter. It’s still going to be a while until we can go out and read on the porch without risking frostbite and hypothermia.

Every year my longing for spring is stronger. It’s a little scary. I find myself understanding why some people are so eager to get on the road for Florida as soon as the leaves fall from the Maples in October. I will always believe our Michigan winters are beautiful and enjoy venturing out on skis and skates, but the older I get the more I like the idea of a deep chair by a big fire in a cozy lodge with a good book and a strong coffee. That is my idea of a near-ideal evening.

I must admit there are a few welcome hints that spring will eventually come. In the mornings the birds are warming up their voices. A week ago my heart was warmed to see that brave crocuses pushed their way up to meet the sun. That is a promise of daffodils and tulips to come. The Magnolia in front will wear her flowery dress soon and the Dogwoods will pin white blossoms on their lapels. Wild violets will bloom like a purple carpet in the woods, the evening breeze will carry a hint of lilac, and spring will be back. It always does. It always will. We have a biblical promise on that in the book of Genesis chapter nine that as long as the earth remains the seasons will come and go. Just when it seems like the winter of despair is here to stay hope springs eternal.

Meanwhile I am going out to check the mail. If I am not back in an hour send the Saint Bernard for me. Just make sure that little cask hanging from his neck is filled with strong black coffee. My mom would be real disappointed in me if word got to her I was sipping Brandy, even if my life did depend on it.

What to Do With Irritating Kids

Filed Under: Current Thoughts

Cherry Sours

In a moment of weakness this week I yielded to the temptation to buy some Michigan Sour Cherry Candies. I really don’t need Michigan Sour Cherry Candies at all, but I can eat them like a champion. Outside the store was a kid riding a skateboard back and forth in front of the door. Just a rude kid. I was a little irritated with him. He had no regard for the safety of the customers trying to get into the store. He made no attempt to pause to let me get into the store. He knew they didn’t want him there interfering with business. I walked past him without acknowledging his presence.

As I walked toward the candy aisle I remembered a news story I’d been listening to on the radio that morning. A thirteen-year-old boy named Tyler Nichols was sitting in class in a school about two miles from our church on Thursday morning and asked to be dismissed to use the restroom. What the teacher had no way of knowing is that Tyler had a loaded gun with him. He quietly went the bathroom and took his life.

They say Tyler was a nice boy. He was a good student. He was well-liked. No one knew. This week the whole area mourns his sad, senseless death. All of us wondered what would have happened if we could have helped Tyler with whatever was clouding his young mind.

Walking to the candy aisle I thought about the rude kid on the skateboard. I bought an extra bag of cherry sours. On the way our I caught his eye and said; “Hey, I got something for you. He looked at me suspiciously and I tossed him a bag of my favorite candy. He started to object. I said; “They are great. You’ll like them.”

“Thanks,” he said.

I gave him a smile and drove away with a pray on my heart that I would see him again.

It was a small gesture. Maybe someday we will build a skatepark for him and his friends and the Tylers of the Downriver and we will point them to Jesus before they listen to the dark, deadly voices within that would rob them of life.

…And I pray: Christ Jesus My Savior; give me love and compassion for everyone. Even when they are bad or rude or irritating. Even if I don’t understand them. Even if they are not kind to me. Give me a heart of love. Help me to see into their souls like you do. Help me walk though my world like You walked through Galilee healing and helping, teaching and feeding, loving and forgiving—before it’s too late.

Ken Pierpont
Granville Cottage
Riverview, Michigan
March 25, 2103

I tell a version of this story toward the end of this message recorded on Palm Sunday, March 24, 2013

Ken Pierpont
Ken Pierpont
What to Do With Irritating Kids
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You Will Know

Filed Under: Current Thoughts, Discernment, Village Parson

The End

Mark Hitchcock has written a readable, comprehensive book on things to come. The End

In the second year of our marriage I was blessed with a pulpit and a perish in Mercer County, Ohio not far from the Indiana border. We were in our early twenties. The good men of the church (Bob Thees and Jerry Heibie) came with their pick-ups and moved our simple belongings into the nice parsonage. It was a small Cape Cod set in the corner of succotash field (corn one year, beans the next). On the opposite corner of Swamp Road was the Church—white clapboard with a steeple and bell surrounded by a cemetery. Just enough room for a little parking and a volleyball court. Church volleyball was big in little churches along the Ohio-Indiana border.

That summer Lois planted a garden and tended her vegetables. We played house and started to learn the art of pastoring. Our bedroom was in the Northwest corner of the house. A half-mile to the west was a lovely wood and then, beyond, another. Through the wood ran a creek. Between the wood and the house acres and acres of corn grew strait and Ohio tall reaching up all summer toward the sun.

By October it was dry and golden-brown. Early in the month it was harvested. Now the wind blew unhindered from the west over off the woods and the barren field and through our bedroom through large casement windows. Storms would sometimes roil in from the west crashing and thundering and blowing the curtains. For some reason the memory of it is sweet to me.

My study was in the northeast corner of the house until we got the news that we were going to be parents. Then the room was painted blue. We knew our firstborn would be a son. We just knew. We outfitted the nursery with Jenny Lind baby furniture. The good men of the church moved my bookshelves to the church.

One winter night our love turned into the beginning of a tiny baby boy. Winter turned to Spring turned to Summer. Now autumn had come and we were about to meet our little boy. We went to bed early that late autumn night October 29, 1981. We slept for just a short time when Lois woke me up. We had had a few false starts but this time she had a look of dark determination on her face. She quietly said, “We need to go now.”

“Are you sure.”

“Yes. I’m sure. Let’s go… Is this it. This is it.”

“How do you know?”

“I know. This is it.”

It was. The next morning our lives were forever wonderfully changed.

The memory came back to me in my study the other day. I was studying the return of Jesus Christ in power and great glory immediately after the Tribulation of those days. Jesus told his disciples that He would return to the earth one day. He said it would be like the coming of spring. He said it would be like the Days of Noah. He said it would be like a woman with birth pangs. He will come with his saints to judge and rule and establish a Kingdom on Earth. How will they know? They will know. Every eye will see him. His return will be glorious and literal and powerful and visible. There will be no doubt about it—absolutely no doubt… Think about that. It will do you good. Be ready.

Ken Pierpont
Granville Cottage
Riverview, Michigan
March 18, 2013

I Talk to Myself

Filed Under: Current Thoughts, Village Parson

Pulpit

Remember Who You Are.

Some days I just have to grab myself by the lapels and give myself a good talking-to, because I let this sin-cursed world kick me in the gut and I forget who I am. Here’s what I say to myself:

“Ken, you are a storyteller, you are a poet, you are a writer. You are a Herald of God. You are an Evangel-a good news announcer. You are a direct-souls-to-God-man. You are a shepherd—a Village Parson—no matter where you live or how large your village is.

You are a man who carries with you the fragrance eternal things. You use stories and well-chosen words to stir up good things, weighty things, love and wonder in God.

You are a trail guide into the mountain-heights of God. You are not just an ecclesiastical chair-shuffler—you teach people the catch the wind of the Spirit and sail to places—beautiful, charming places where they have never been before. Places where balmy breezes warm the chill out of their souls.

You guide people to experience wonderful things they have never experienced before, visit places they didn’t know existed, taste and see and smell and feel things that they knew nothing of. You are skilled and gifted to stir up within people longings recovered from their earliest childhood urges. That’s who you are. You are that when you speak and preach and pray and sing and visit and counsel and write and when you stand around after the service and talk to people, when you pray by their bedside, when you stand with open Bible in the pulpit.

Brew a cup of coffee. Put on some good music. Gaze off into the blue sky. Look out over big water. Walk in the woods. Take a drive in the country. Look long on a massive Maple in the full splendor of autumn glory. Ponder the constellations and think for a while about who you are. That is who you are—there is never a reason to be overcome with discouragement when you are devoted to a life calling of such gravity and glory and grandeur.”

Fat Buds

Filed Under: Current Thoughts

Tigers

Tigers

Spring is making it’s annual trip north. The buds are fattening on the Pear out front. The birds are boldly singing in the early-morning chill. The sky is still gray and the grass is still brown, but were are on daylight savings time now and the Tigers are in spring training. They will be here in early April and I’m sure they will have some springtime in their luggage.

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