Ten Years at St. Patrick
Written by Brian Henson (June 2014)Sunday morning, as I was getting ready for church, I thought to myself, “I’ve only got a few more weeks of doing this at St. Patrick.” Even as I type those words, it is a bit surreal. Erika and I moved to Collierville in late July of 2004, and I officially came on staff August 1st. I still remember preaching that day (Jim was on vacation, so I was thrown right into the fire!); I even remember the sermon text. It was the first time I had ever delivered a sermon as a “real life preacher,” and though it was almost a decade ago, it seems like yesterday.As the date of our move to Austin, TX, approaches (July 20th is set for our last Sunday), I find myself reflecting more and more upon the last ten years. This season represents the longest we have lived anywhere as a family, and it is where I have spent the entirety of my career in vocational ministry. A lot has changed during that time; I lost pretty much all my hair, but gained a son (not a bad trade-off!), Erika has earned a Masters degree in Christian Studies, and we have started referring to 25-year-olds as “kids.” Likewise, the church has refined its vision and gone from being a group of nomadic believers renting an old warehouse, with no clear next location, to a congregation on the cusp of building its own facility on the most strategic spot in Collierville.I’m a bit nostalgic at heart, so if you’d permit me, I’d like to put some of these reflections into writing. However, I don’t want to spend time on random memories and funny stories—though I have A LOT of those. Instead, I want to focus on some of the things I have learned during this season at St. Patrick. Consider it (to borrow a phrase from Eugene Peterson) an exercise in gratitude—gratitude to God, and gratitude to the St. Patrick family—for ten of the best years of our lives. So, without further delay…I have learned the value of community. This has happened most often through community groups. I still remember sitting in our living room one Wednesday night almost nine years ago, sharing with our group our struggles with infertility. Little did we know that several couples in the room had gone through the same thing. They comforted us and prayed for us. Months later, they were the same group who offered prayers and congratulations when we told them that Erika was pregnant. That’s just one example; space would fail me if I tried to write all the blessings we have received through the St. Patrick community at large, and through our community groups, especially. If you aren’t in a community group, do whatever it takes to get into one.I have learned to love liturgy. The word liturgy simply means “the work of the people.” That means I am a part of what’s going on throughout the service. We pray as a community, borrowing ancient words that other believers have developed and found beneficial. We read Scripture responsively, and thank God for it verbally (even if we don’t like what we just read). We sing. We are a part of what’s going on. All our faculties and senses are engaged. We stand and sit; we speak and remain silent; we come forward and celebrate Jesus’ victory over death every week; we taste the bread and wine. One of my seminary professors once said that you should be tired after worship. I didn’t really understand what that meant until I spent some time here. The liturgy forces me to think hard and engage my emotions, regardless of how I feel or what I’m thinking about coming through the doors It asks everything of me, because the Object of our worship asks—and deserves—my all.I am—and always will be—right “in the middle” of God changing me. In other words, I’m a work in process. Now don’t misunderstand me: I didn’t think I was perfect or anything. Actually, I had just the opposite problem. Here is what would happen (and still does, at times): I would see some sort of gap or shortcoming in my faith or behavior and assume that God was angry with me and that I was unfit to serve him. I would get so frustrated that I would essentially “take myself out of the game” (picture Grizzlies’ guard Tony Allen getting mad at himself and sitting in the tunnel during the Playoffs). But, because of the steady gospel diet we experience here, I am able to see both myself, and my Savior, more accurately: I am a sinner in need of grace, so I shouldn’t be surprised by my failures, and I have a great Savior who came and stood in my place, so God loves me is for me, and is changing me, even in my worst failures.The love of believers is humbling and inspiring. One of the best parts of being a pastor is that I often get to see behind the scenes into how folks around here look for ways to love others—fellow believers or not. One recent incident floored me. As you probably know, Jeanna Cantey has been very sick lately, suffering from chronic rejection of a lung transplant eight years ago. Folks around here have been fasting and praying for her and her family like crazy. Yesterday morning, shortly after I arrived at the office, I received an email from someone in the congregation. The email said, essentially, “I have done research on ‘living lung transplants,’ where a person can donate one lung. My doctor has always said mine are excellent. I will be happy to be tested for a match if Jeanna needs another transplant.” Amazing, huh? I could tell you more stories than I can count about that kind of love God’s people have shown to others. These stories humble me, when I consider my lack of love at times, and help inspire me to repent and pursue a lifestyle of love and generosity.The Gospel really is the best news in the world. We major on the gospel at St. Patrick. We sing it, we pray it, we preach it, and we taste it every week. We try to base every program and ministry decision upon it. The news that Jesus Christ died for sinners never gets old, never loses its relevance. Time and time and time again, I have watched as this good news (which is what the word “gospel” literally means) has changed me, and others around me. I have watched it bring comfort and healing and peace and joy when nothing else could. There is no circumstance it cannot bear, no storm it cannot weather, no enemy it cannot defeat. It is not just a message we carry; it is the message we carry. It is the only hope we have, and the only hope we need.Well, there you have it. A few of the things I have learned—or relearned—during almost ten years here at St. Patrick. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for the privilege of serving as your pastor for the last decade. One day, we will sit around the great marriage supper of the Lamb, raising toasts to Jesus, praising him for making our little community a place that was about Loving God, Loving People, and Loving Life, and that he chose all of us to be a part of it.