Category Archives: dad

In the Olive Press with Jesus {part nine: Keep the Change}

This is one of my favorite stories of grace. It’s a good one to walk us home to Easter. I’ve grown up hearing it, time and again, and it never fails to stir my heart in the deepest way. Thank you, dad, for sharing it with us, and thanks to my Grandpa Al for giving and living grace all those many years ago… just when my daddy needed it most. Perhaps you, readers, need it today.

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The Crossroads Restaurant, Lent, March 25 {written by Charles Killian}

When I went off to college (Marion College, now Indiana Wesleyan University) in 1955, I had less than fifty dollars to my name. I remember clearly that matriculation fees were $19.50. My tuition and books were covered by two wonderfully gracious men from my local church: Robert Huffman and Jesse Shatford. They asked nothing in return, except a pledge that I would remain ‘true to the Lord’. That was it.

For my room and board, my job was washing pots and pans in the kitchen, seven days a week. It was boring, and I was lonely. During the middle of that first year, I had decided that I didn’t need college, and was going to quit and join the army. I was only 17, and I needed my parent’s permission. When my folks heard of this they called and said they wanted to come down to Marion and talk to me about this. They came, and we went out to the Crossroads Restaurant, which was famed for its plate-sized tenderloin sandwiches.

I don’t remember much of our conversation that day, but it had to do with my staying in college. My brother, George, was in the army and after ‘boot camp’ I could join him and we could see the world, so I was told by the recruiter. That sounded a whole lot better than doing dishes, going to college, and being penniless. When the meal was over, Dad gave me a piece of money and said, “Go pay the bill and keep the change.” Not noticing, I took the check and money to the counter to pay and realized I was holding a $100 bill. I had never seen such a large bill except for monopoly money.

I returned to the table and told Dad, “You gave me a $100 bill, you meant to give me ten.” He said, “No, pay the bill and keep the change.” My father knew I didn’t have two dimes to rub together, and believed if I had some extra change in my pocket, I might stay in college. After paying the bill, I was left with $94.

Years later, I learned that my parents stopped at the Marshall County bank in Plymouth on their way to Marion. Dad took out a loan for $100 for his homesick boy, and was hoping and praying for the love of God his boy would stay in college. And I did.

The journey has taken me around the world a time or two, but that luncheon at the Crossroads long ago, still looms as one of the greatest moments in my life. And the words, keep the change, stand as the watershed statement that best articulates my understanding of grace.

Keep the change. My father’s words to me at the Crossroads. My heavenly Father’s words to me at the cross. Oh the depths and stretch of such a gift. I don’t suppose I’ll ever get to the end of it. I don’t suppose I’m meant to.

Keep the change. Keep the faith, and by all means, keep telling the story. The best is yet to be.

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In the Olive Press with Jesus {part four: Healing in the Desert}

“Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the desert, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil.” –Luke 4:1-2
The Lenten journey begins in the desert. It is the undiscovered country that invites us to participate in the desert experience of our Lord. A desert and a wilderness, we are told. That doesn’t carry much hope. Its very mention conjures up images of aloneness and aloofness—with austerity, abstinence, and self affliction. Why would one want to visit that place or take that journey?

Well, let me suggest a reason why we’d better take the trip! Gifts are waiting there that will not come easily; but those who are interested in the ‘healing gifts of the desert’ will discover that the desert is rich and verdant in its promise of healing and transformation.

Healing and transformation in Lent? Aren’t those spiritual realities more appropriate to the Easter Season, when all the world is turning to Spring…when alleluias are sounding from everyone’s lips and a crucified Jewish carpenter comes leaping and dancing from his tomb? Certainly Easter is the season of new life as epitomized in the resurrection. But this new life begins long before the Paschal celebrations. It begins back in the wilderness desert of Lent where it is known by another name—conversion.

Could it be that we frequently fail to appropriate and appreciate the healing gifts of Lent because we are so blissfully unaware that we need them? Lent is about giving up of something, yes—giving up our false gods, our false selves, and our false notion that we can make it on our own. And the ‘desert’ is just the place for that to happen.

Change me in this desert, Lord. Let this be a journey of personal decrease and spiritual increase. May the healing work of your cross be the healing, transformational work of my heart as we travel this road together. Amen.

 

Join me each week on Wednesdays throughout the Lenten season to hear a few thoughts from my dad, Dr. Charles Killian (a.k.a. “Chuck”).

In the Olive Press with Jesus {part two: Lent is a Four-Letter Word}

My father tells me that his earliest days of preaching were spent out in a cow pasture, admonishing the uncooperative beasts to produce more milk or else face the threat of eternal punishment. His technique was a bit rough around the edges, his message all the more, but it was his beginning. A cow pasture is a good place to start with Jesus and the Word—the preaching of it, even more so the understanding of it. Sometimes faith is best worked out in the pasture—those wide-open spaces in our lives that allow for roaming, grazing, and thinking. Sometimes, we need that space in our lives to work it out. To walk and eat and ponder with God.

My father has taken that time with God, seven decades’ worth of heart investments. The pulpit in the cow pasture moved forward to include numerous pulpits over the years. Some conventional; some off the beaten path. Regardless of the venue, my daddy has always been a preacher, always been willing to tell the Story, to live the grace, and to serve as an extension of God’s love in this world.

I’d listen to him anywhere—a church, a classroom, in the car, at the dinner table, or even in a cow pasture. He’s just that authentic and wonderful and “holy” connected to the deep things of God. Graciously, he’s agreed to share some of his Lenten ponderings with us. He’ll be here each Wednesday, perhaps even more. He can be trusted with the truth. Children who work out God’s message in the cow pasture are those who have something to say. I trust my daddy’s heart, because my daddy has never backed away from doing the hard work of faith. So, let’s go with God as we travel with Chuck to the Easter cross over these next six weeks.

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Loneliness is a Four-Letter Word 

The pivotal story for Lent is the one at the beginning: the story of Jesus’ forty day loneliness. It is the season of vacancy and vacuum, privacy and pause; of solitude and great subtraction. The Tempter tried to fill the loneliness with bread, with power, and with glory—all good things. The temptation is always to fill, to furnish, to fertilize the emptiness of the forty days.

We, all of us, are drawn to six weeks where we try to be profoundly religious. We will attend worship, participate in adult education, consider mission activities and mission giving, engage in renewed spiritual disciplines that range from some sort of fasting practice, to prayer, to meditation, journaling. We are hungry, longing, and hopeful.

We preachers come along and are tempted to fill that hunger, that longing, that hope. In one community Lent means a revival…another, a labyrinth workshop. One preaches repentance and another goes to a retreat; still others work in a shelter for the homeless or in a letter-writing campaign for social justice. All are good; all are valuable; but when we are waiting to discover the gift in the loneliness, all are distracting.

How about this bizarre thought: a four-letter word, Lent, is a time for preachers to let people alone. If we all make our way to the desert, the place of our loneliness, we will discover in the uncharted part of Lent, the best part of all is receiving gifts—knowing who we are and that we are not alone. Blessed be God who every year gives us forty days to rediscover these healing and transforming gifts for ourselves and one another!

I guess you could say this is my introduction to the desert journey I’m taking as Lent begins: to be more open to silence and listening; to be more intentional in taking better care of my soul and my body; to envision more fully who God wants me to be; and to discern with clarity the difference between what is ‘central’ and what is peripheral.

Lent is a trip I must take for myself. It is a journey into the parched desert of my soul, languishing for water. No one can do that for me. It will be lonely. Yes, loneliness is a four-letter word—LENT! It should never fit too easily into the natural rhythms of our lives.

Prayer: Lord, free me from the distractions that keep me comfortably anesthetized. Amen.

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coming home to daddy’s arms…

My dad is the funniest man I know. Not the stand-up comedic kind of funny, but the everyday conversation kind of funny. As the man walketh, so does his humor. Those of you who know him well, know this to be true. Those of you who know me well, know this also to be true of me. I know this shocks some of you. I’ve even heard it from some of you upon meeting me for the first time.

Elaine, I thought you’d be this serious, contemplative type of person who sits around all day thinking profound thoughts about God. Instead, you’re funny.

I’ve never been offended by the conclusion. After all, I write about some fairly heavy stuff here at “peace for the journey.” But I like knowing that I can be both—contemplative and humorous. I have my father to thank for this genetic DNA. My daddy makes me think and makes me laugh, sometimes within the span of a few minutes. He’s the most generous man I know, giving the best of himself away to all who cross his path. He’s not impressed with things, more importantly, not impressed with himself. He is, however, impressed by the story. Your story; my story; God’s story.

My daddy sees God everywhere, because my daddy is connected to life. To joys and pains equally. To highs and lows. Griefs and graces. Sorrows and celebrations. Regardless of the occasion, my dad has discovered how to live with a balanced perspective. My father lives contentedly and always tempers the tough times with large doses of humor.

I’m so glad I still have him around. He was the first man to ever hold me, to ever love me. The first man to wipe my tears, to tell me bedtime stories, to pray the prayers that all good parents should be praying with their children. He was the only man who loved me when others would not … could not. And his were the arms that stretched wide-open for me and welcomed me home after a long season of loveless wandering in the wilderness. In doing so, my daddy told me the story of Jesus all over again. That one moment in my personal history did more to script the eternal witness of God into my life than any other.

And so, today, I tell you again this story I’ve told you before via this video that I posted on my one-year blogging anniversary, nearly three years ago. It’s a bit painful for me to watch it, considering the many miles that have been walked in the time since first posting it. But one thing, one thread remains the same to this day.

My daddy is still stretching his arms wide-open to welcome me home. He’s still making me laugh, still telling me stories. Still connected to the world, and still making sure that I know the way back to Jesus. Today, I honor my father by sharing this witness again. He’d want you to know that, even if you’ve never had an earthly daddy to love you, you have a heavenly Father who loves you perfectly and whose arms are stretched wide on your behalf.

I love you, daddy, for so many reasons, but none more so than for telling me … showing me God. You tell him well!

~Lansey 

A Pulpit on the Pamlico River

A Pulpit on the Pamlico River

“In the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who will judge the living and the dead, and in view of his appearing and his kingdom, I give you this charge: Preach the Word; be prepared in season and out of season; correct, rebuke and encourage–with great patience and careful instruction” (2 Timothy 4:1-2).

I spent last evening on the Pamlico River, sharing my heart with a group of women about Moses’ “walkabout” of faith. It was a night of pleasure for me—a time of fellowship with friends, both old and new, all the while in the company of our Father who spoke to us through his Word.

I don’t think I’ll ever get over the fact that God has allowed me any type of platform for sharing his truth. Like the apostle Paul, I bring little eloquence and even less knowledge than him to the table. Like Paul, I feel unworthy of the calling; still and yet, God bestows the privilege upon me—upon us all as partakers in the kingdom that is now and is to come.

Today I called my dad to talk about my experience; we talked about preaching—about his experience behind the pulpit, his nerves regarding the pulpit, and his preparation for the pulpit. He told me something important as it pertains to the “handling” of God’s Word. He’s been a professor of preaching for nearly forty years. I think, perhaps, he holds some wisdom in the matter.

“I tell my students, Elaine, that they should write their sermon outlines, write out their entire thoughts word for word if they like, early in the week. They should get their sermons down on paper by Thursday noontime and then spend the rest of the weekend reading them, pondering them, praying over them. And then, when Sunday morning comes, they should walk away from their notes (not needing them) and preach the story with all the confidence of heaven to back them up.”

A sermon well-preached is a story well-lived. My dad’s been preaching that story for fifty years now … living it a bit longer. This past Sunday marked his golden anniversary in the pulpit. It is my privilege to share with you a few words he shared with his readers regarding this treasured milestone.

A seasoned minister, upon hearing that I was going into pastoral work, asked me this question, “Chuck, when you get up to preach, where will you be standing?” My first thought was “What a strange question.” Was there no better question to ask than that—the geography of where sermons will be preached?

I responded, “Behind the pulpit, of course.” He paused and, slightly shaking his head, replied, “No, no, they tell me when one stands to preach, they do so between heaven and hell.”

That was a stopper! Karl Barth, noted theologian said to the preaching students in his class, “Upon what grounds do you assume the role of mediator between heaven and earth? You will be standing between God’s grace and human need.” I have to admit, this business of ‘standing’ in that location has haunted me every step of the way. On the other hand, I have discovered inexorable delight and joy, knowing full well that I would have been missing ‘the mark’ had I done otherwise. My only boast was that I stood on “a Rock that was higher than I.” That made the difference!

This past Sunday, I preached at the ACTS United Methodist Church, which marked the anniversary of a fifty-year journey that started off at a little country church in Darke County, Ohio. It was during my senior year at Marion College (now Indiana Wesleyan), that I commuted to that unincorporated little village called Longtown. My congregation was African American, and those people loved, supported, and challenged me to stand up and “do it.”

My ministry has been ‘bookended’ by Longtown Wesleyan Church and ACTS United Methodist. The in-between years, all fifty of them, have fled swiftly by, like a weaver’s shuttle. And on this Golden Anniversary I can say without exaggeration or embarrassment, that it has been a ‘good stand’. And for the rest of the trip, I have several more corners to turn until I get home.

~Chuck

I suppose the “fruit” of my father’s “good stand” is the living witness of the countless lives he’s touched along the way. He’s touched mine. He’s taught me what it is to stand between heaven and hell as a mouthpiece for the truth of Jesus Christ. I stood there last evening, and by God’s grace and only his grace, I’ll stand there again.

So for you, dad, here are a few words of living witness to let you know just how wide and long and high and deep your reach has extended for the kingdom of God. It reached to the Pamlico River last night; I imagine there are several more corners it will turn before we all get home. This I do know … we’ll get there together. I love you.

(This portion of my talk last evening came at the end. It is a bit blurry and the sound not high quality. Please forgive. Remember…we’re a low budget operation over here.) Copyright © June 2009 – Elaine Olsen

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