"O Death Where is Your Sting"

A Pastor Sam Encouraging Word on Week 8 of COVID-19


https://www.facebook.com/1557570587626404/videos/1658778034253863/

'Not foolish, but fearless' - A Christian response following COVID-19

https://youtu.be/6S8PFATVTe0

A Holy Week Reminder during COVID-19,

https://youtu.be/iAc6xAXGGnM

Frank Denton - This Pastor's Mentor and Friend

I first met him in 1993 when he and Dottie visited the church, which was still meeting in Brinker Elementary School.  Perhaps it was after they'd heard me preach and learned of our new mission through my time of interim pulpit supply at First Baptist Church of Lewisville, Texas. Or, perhaps it was through Frank's work with the Texas Baptist Missions Foundation -a strategic partner with us - or through other friends at the BGCT (Now Texas Baptist). Or likely because his daughter, Laura Denton Hill, was attending seminary with me and learned of our mission and encouraged them to attend. Either way, when he and Dottie walked in - the oldest couple ever to visit who were not also someone's parents or grands - we wondered and were curious. Then came my follow up visit in their home.  There he and Dottie were perfect. Genuinely interested. I kept asking about them and he kept asking about the church. Dottie sat quietly, but with a wry and knowing smile (which I later learned was her pose anytime Frank spoke) and Frank - well, he was abuzz wanting to hear all about our story, desire and vision to plant a community church in this burgeoning, fast-growing area of newly formed West Plano. And so they came. Again and again. And before long Frank and Dottie Denton joined bringing a world of experience, wisdom and more - bringing kindness, grace and the soft wielding way of love.

In the early days of our first building Frank was busy, often supplying at pulpits across Texas where he would tell the Cooperative Program Giving story at any setting he might. As well, Frank was representing the Baptist Mission Foundation - an organization responsible for so much of what we have been able to do as Texas Baptists. For far more than most will ever know, it has been the means whereby Texas Churches like ParkwayHills are in existence today. Through the gifts of faithful people across this state - most of whom would never want others to know of their ways - churches have been begun and causes have been supported that have reached thousands of people with the gospel - all to the glory of God.

Dottie died from cancer in 1995, and hers was the first funeral held in our church building. Frank loved her so, and was heartbroken over losing the love of his life. But, his faith in Christ, his hope set squarely on the gospel, caught my attention - even then, and I learned one of my first of many lessons watching him. I learned a pastor must know, preach and never fail in telling all that, in Christ, there is no sting in death.

As the years wore on Frank continued to faithfully attend.  He was always telling me about someone he'd met.  Someone who needed help. Someone who needed prayer.  Someone with whom he'd just shared the gospel and needed a church, a job, or a friend. I wondered over him - now in his late 70s - and would tease after he'd been by, saying to those standing near, 'well, that's me in 25 years or so!'

One day Frank came to my office and told me he'd written a poem. One he wanted to share. The poem was good. Actually, quite good. Making a simple but needed point. And, after that, the poems kept coming. Next came the guitar. Frank would play a new song for me and I would listen. And, once again, after he left I would smile and say to those standing nearby, 'well, you know, I suspect that will be me in 25 years.' 

Frank never said anything to me that was critical. He was always complimentary and encouraging.  But now that I look back I realize that it was through these compliments and encouragement that Frank had his way of gently leading me to be more. More faithful. More compassionate. More real. This was Frank's way. He didn't tell you what was wrong, just what was right - leaving you with the notion that doing more of what was right would be the key to moving on.

In 2000 ParkwayHills buried a time capsule out by the monument sign facing the Tollway. We were dedicating the new millennium and, so, in a morning worship service, with cameras rolling, we carried the capsule through the entirety of the church - from preschool, to kids, to youth and adults - class by class - placing things inside.  As the capsule came into the sanctuary it was finally handed to Frank, who then, as one of our oldest members, carried the capsule outside to be buried. As he did we, who were still inside, watched Frank via a video feed shown on the church screen. Many of us began to cry as we watched this man we'd come to love. For we realized that Frank, now nearly 75, would likely not be alive when it was to be opened 25 years into our future. By now Frank had become our churches unofficial patriarch. Sitting each Sunday at his post along the east side wall, looking for those who were visiting to make them feel welcome. Bringing guests week after week, and sensing - always sensing - who among the audience might be the most needy, displaced or uncomfortable.  I would watch Frank from my pulpit post and could often be heard by those standing close, 'well, you know, I suspect that will be me in 25 years.' 

Before my last Sunday as Senior Pastor of ParkwayHills, Frank called me on the phone. In his 90s, now, he was living with his children in San Antonio. His voice was weaker but his words were still the same. He complimented me on a job well done, and then - of course - encouraged me on the days ahead, that I make the most of them and not waste my talents, gifts and call. As we talked he called me pastor as tears began to well in my eyes. Hearing him call me such was humbling, an honor that I have never been sure I deserved. After we hung up I sat in my offie and thought of this man. This one I had pastored for so many years, all the while with him really pastoring me. Then I said softly, this time only to myself, 'well, you know, I suspect that will be my in 25 years.'  And I bowed my head and prayed to God that such might be so!

Thank you, Frank -

Pastor Sam
1 Timothy 4: 1-8

Of things I thought I'd feel at 2020, these were NOT those!

I remember being 19 in January, 1970 - and turning the page to this new decade I find it amazing at how fast the time has passed from then to now. To myself and friends I'm often caught saying- 'I never thought I'd be this young when I got this old." And, if you're a Boomer, you'll understand what I mean.

But, it could be worse - and I see evidence of this every day. Friends who are ill. Others who are broke. And many more who are worse simply because they've quit! Quit caring, quit trying, quit producing, and quit - and this is the saddest - just quit loving and giving.

I've felt for a long time - or perhaps just observed it - that what's most true of us seems only to exaggerate as we age. If stingy, we get more stingy.  If generous, more generous.  If sentimental, mushy. And, if mean, we just get more mean. Though I could be wrong because I never was a kid to kick a dog, and still don't - though my petting of one remains sparse.

Regardless, today I awakened to the decade of 2020 and wondered how in tarnation I got here with most of my hair, albeit white, still on my head. I checked some college football scores to make sure I wasn't dreaming, then put on my workout clothes to head to the newest fashionable gym of West Plano. The one where all the pretty people (or those who want to be) are.  I greeted the employees - the youngsters with perfect bodies who work there and politely act as if we (the members) aren't old, just in need of some toning up. And I privately wondered whether they - in all their perfection - would be any better off than me when they get... (nope, I just can't say it - see my first paragraph).

But... of all the things I thought I'd feel back in 1970 regarding the day I made it to 2020. three things were not in the mix. First, I felt hope. Not hope as in 'wishful', but hope as in what is - my 'riches in God'.  I thought of how the early church was hopeful, too, and visualized their conditions as compared to mine. How they responded to culture, calamity, persecution, poverty and even wealth. Paul wrote to Timothy to 'charge them not to be haughty, nor to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but on God, who richly provides us with everything to enjoy. ... to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share.' (1 Timothy 6:17ff). And to those who grieving - even over death - not to do so as 'others without hope' for their hope, in Christ, was as certain as Jesus' resurrection - and could be counted on. (cf 1 Corinthians 15)

Then, there is a second thought or 'feeling' - the thought of counting. Meaning, a desire to make my days on this earth count. To count for what matters. To bear diligence in the things that will make an impact in the Kingdom of God. For diligence is most noble when put to things other than self, and I want to be diligent in these.

Finally, there was a third thought -  the idea of 'thought' itself.  I awakened determined to put my mind to - as Paul wrote - whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. (Philippians 4:8) 

For, yes, at 19 I suspected that turning 69 would mean the end of things. How silly and 'millennial' of me (tsk, tsk). For this has not been so at all. And, if anything, I've learned this - that it's not about ME but HIM.  He is -,and because He is this gives me hope. He compels me to live a life that counts. And, He, my LORD and my GOD, must remain the maker and master of my thoughts if the year 2020 and beyond is to be anything worth seeing.

So...
Yours for hope, for counting, and... for many, many good thoughts yet to come! 

Happy New Year, indeed!

Pastor Sam

Jack Holder and the ParkwayHills Nine

Belinda and I awakened early on Saturday to take a drive south of Dallas to Limestone County.  I was born in this county, in Mexia, TX.  Just south of there is Groesbeck, TX, the county seat and... that is where we were headed!

We were traveling there to pay our respects to the family and memory of Jack Holder, a man I very much admired. In the early days of our calling to plant the ParkwayHills mission church, he and his wife, Mary Martha, signed on to be a part. I was thrilled because Jack was a key leader at Northway Baptist Church where we attended, and I knew that this decision would go a long way in encouraging others to come and help us as well.

What I didn't realize then was how close we had been to each other geographically for many years - without either of us knowing.  Jack was born in Ben Hur, Texas - and graduated from Mart High School (less than 20 miles, as the crow flies) south and west of where I spent the summers of my childhood.  However, I did not know Jack as a boy from Central Texas, but as a successful Christian businessman and lay leader of our church. He had chaired about every committee at Northway, and, in the latter days of his time there, had chaired our Long Range Planning Committee that looked into relocating us to the corner of Midway Road and FM 544 - the site our one-time mission, Prestonwood Baptist, eventually bought and moved to itself.  In short, Jack and Mary Martha's decision to come and help us was a real coup fo this young preacher - one called but, in so many of the world's ways, ill-qualified. So then, for our first year and and some change, Jack and Mary Martha Holder formed a part of what we came to affectionately refer to as the 'ParkwayHills Nine' - one couple of nine who'd come from Northway Baptist Church and signed on as we were first organizing - meaning, couples who agreed to tithe or, in short,  pay me a salary so we could begin. And now, there he was, Jack Holder, a man I admired and looked up to calling me pastor. WOW!

While driving down on Saturday I thought of a memory. One of a cold, rainy day in early March, 1989 - a week before our first service under a tent. I'd planned to hang door hangers on all the doors of the Bent Tree West neighborhood. However, as I was readying to do so, there came an awful rain storm leaving the task designed for many to just me - so it seemed.  But, that's when Jack Holder showed up. And, with umbrella and rain boots in tow, he said, "Come on Pastor, I'll hold our umbrella."

When Jack retired as the CFO at John Deere, still a relatively young man, he and Mary Martha decided to move back to the place of their roots - their home town and family farm outside of Mart, TX.  I was worried over him leaving.  He had been our first Board President, and formed much of what and whom we looked to for confidence and strength.  But, as he told me the news over breakfast, he looked at me to say, "Pastor, you will be fine."  God has this - and I am confident He will make it work as you remain faithful to Him."  Jack was right, of course.  God did have 'us' - all of us - and faithfulness was all He required.

So Belinda and I drove to Groesbeck last Saturday, then on out to a country cemetery plot with others who knew Jack well. We went to pay our respects to this man we loved. The first of our ParkwayHills Nine to go 'home'.  For that is where He is. He has passed on to the 'Land of the Living' to be with his Savior and Lord - and... we will see Him again!

https://www.groesbeckfuneralhome.com/obituary/jackie-jack-holder

Pastor Sam
Ephesians 3:20-21

Northway Church and the Long Hand of God

Northway Church, Dallas, October 2019, Photo by Mike Keith

My long time friend, Mike Keith, who grew up at Northway Baptist Church of Dallas, took this picture and others recently following a tornado that ripped across Dallas, Richardson and into Garland wreaking great havoc to property but, amazingly, taking no lives. Mike and I first met in the early 70s, while he was working as DJ at a radio station in Mexia Texas, the life-long home of my grandparents. My grandfather had introduced us, saying, "I have a young man I want you to meet.  I think you will like him." He was right.  I did.  And, as Mike and I talked that day, sharing stories of how two very hip young men might find themselves in the midst of the Mexia Texas culture, he spoke of his home church in Dallas and how, if "ever I was there I needed to look the church and his father, Bill Keith, up" - "a church and people who loved helping young people interested in serving the purposes of God." 

Northway Church, from Southeast to Northwest, Oct. 2019, Photo by Mike Keith

Well, fast-forward a few years, by the long and amazing hand of a providential God, I found myself a member of that very church, as yet unaware of the fact that it was the church Mike had told me about some 4 years earlier. It was an exciting place. And the church's pastor, Billy Weber, was leading the congregation in unparalleled growth reaching hundreds of young single adults - like myself - moving to Dallas to work their first jobs. When Mike posted his pictures on Facebook, in particular this one to the right, I could not help but recall a memory from the summer of 1976, just after my 26th birthday. For right where those yellow curbs are painted, I was sitting in the driver’s seat of a rented bus, one filled with children from a local neighborhood where I had gone to pick them up to bring them to the first day of Northway's Summer Vacation Bible School.  The bus was packed.  The kids were screaming.  And, outside its door stood our leader, Children's Minister Sondra Saunders, who had somehow cajoled me into this duty just hours before.

Like all the Northway staff, Sondra Saunders - who later became the children's minister of Prestonwood Baptist Church, leading that church to reach literally thousands of children for Christ - was hard-pressed to take no for an answer if/when she believed in something. And, on that Sunday preceding VBS, Sondra believed she needed more volunteers to drive buses and pick up kids the next day. So, she came to me and to many others - placing that sweet hand and pointer finger into my chest to say, "I need you to drive a bus"  "Tomorrow!"  How could I say no!  I was a musician, and my only commitment for the next morning was sleep.  So, I said, "yes."  To which she smiled then walked away adding one thing more - "Oh - and, if you don't mind, bring your guitar! I may need that too."

Larry Pinion, Sam Dennis, summer of 1976, photo taken by Billy Weber

From there, as they say, the real story begins.  For, when I pulled up in front of the church that morning with my bus load full of kids, Sondra came to the open door of my bus to say - "Sam, I'm sorry.  But we don't have enough room for these kids, yet!" "What?" Was my reply, as I sat in the bus looking at her incredulously.  "Don't worry, I just need some time."  Then added - 'did you bring your guitar?"And right then and there, on that memorable day, began my journey back. For not only did I sing and play for the children as they remained on my bus, I was asked to add a Bible lesson, too. And everyday thereafter, for VBS 1976, I did the same.  For Sondra, like she has for so many others down through the years, became the instrument of God's calling on my life.  I had served in churches before - using my 'talents' many times over.  But, this time, things seemed different.  The faces of the children, the press of the crowd, reminded me of what it must have been like when Jesus walked the earth.  When people clamored to see Him, and 'His Followers' would try to 'protect' His time.  But this would not be so for Christ, who seemed to always find time for those wanting to see Him. For I learned that day, as broken as I was, Christ could still - and would - use even me.  And that the key to His doing so was not me at all, but Him. That I would and could be used by Him when, and only when, I would be faithful in bringing people to Jesus. That was Sondra's way - and it was the way of Northway Baptist Church for as far back as then till now.

For I very strongly suspect that Northway church, which for now is meeting somewhere else, will return to this site one day soon.  And, like all churches God chooses to use, she well knows that the loving hand of God truly is... long! 

Behold, the Lord's hand is not shortened, that it cannot save, or his ear dull, that it cannot hear." Isaiah 59:11

Indeed,

Pastor Sam