Recently, a member of our choir at Danville’s First Presbyterian Church passed away. He hadn’t been with us for a while due to deteriorating health, living in a rehabilitation facility, but past hope of rehabilitation.
He was a retired minister of the Gospel, ministering over 30 years in poor mountainous areas to churches not the first choice of “ministers on the rise” (no Rapture pun).
And speaking of multiples of 3, in the number 33,000, you have the number of hours this gentleman of God volunteered, visiting the sick at the local Danville hospital. His doing this, post retirement, equaled “Pastoral counseling free of remuneration by the church” (but always “free of charge” to those to whom it was offered).
The funeral program portrait of this man, The Reverend Charles William Thomas West (“Tom” to us) matches one hanging on a wall behind a bench in a corridor of Danville hospital. Hospital officials so respected Tom’s daily ministering visits that they placed his portrait above and behind the bench where he rested between his rounds. Jerusalem has “14 Stations of the Cross;” and Tom has one “station,” marked and dedicated to him in Danville Hospital.
At the memorial service, there was neither coffin nor urn; but instead, Tom’s empty, hanging choir robe, a more appropriate “container” from life.
Tom loved to participate in 5K races. It just now occurs to me that despite the metric system’s incursions into our lives a foot is still a foot (and a toe is still a toe).
Tom had run so many races that it affected his knees to the point that he walked pigeon-toed. I think the case might be made that he “wore himself out doing good” from a combination of things, his ministry, his running (some ministry there too), and walking repeated miles on his hospital visits, and now rests peacefully (Good sleeps well; evil sleeps fitfully).
Tom also had life-long handicaps to deal with, mostly by himself, as he never married. His myopia necessitated thick lenses; and his hearing required aids in both ears.
Thinking of a gradient with Helen Keller at the far end, Tom was about 40 percent of the way there; but he was not vocally challenged, since he had spent his working life preaching. That “bony” wear and tear on his knees put them on a functioning par with those long-challenged, softer parts of eyes and ears (just now a fragment of Scripture comes to mind: “Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard…”).
Tom was frugal with his wit, choosing not to bring it forth “before its time,” after it was “aged” to just the right amount.
Having only been used to seeing Tom sitting at the other end of the men’s choir row, several years ago I had the pleasure of hearing him once again preach during Holy Week. It was one of the most logical, thoughtful, eloquent, nuanced sermons I’ve ever heard.
Tom could sound grumpy at times. After I missed some choir practices, Tom looked me squarely in the eye, almost snarling, and coming close to finger-pointing, said: WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? YOU NEED TO BE HERE!” Over time, such sternness had the desired effect!
Although a dedicated choir member, poor Tom’s sense of pitch was “found wanting” (Mene, Mene, Tekel…); but we never spoke even one word about it to him. I could be absolutely sure of my tones; but if I wound up sitting next to Tom, even though my eyes were on the page, Tom’s voice was in my ears, resulting in my sometimes wandering pitch. Whenever singing next to Tom, I had to almost triple my concentration to make sure I was right.
But perhaps Tom’s tone-deafness was a subtle, even unconscious part of his overall ministry, encouraging those around him to judiciously re-examine themselves in order that they may be “certain!”