A Scrappy Beginning to Holy Week

On the first day of Holy Week my email inbox was full of letters of concern. For the last ten months I have been working with another church in our presbytery that finds themselves in a time of conflict. The trouble has been brewing for a couple of years, maybe more. But it is now coming to a head. The leadership is working to bring into the open what has been festering under the surface for some time. They have invited members with “concerns” to put them in writing and then attend a special meeting to talk about these concerns. In our fallen condition we often avoid conflict at any cost. Time and again we fail to understand that conflict is normal and expected wherever at least two people live together, in whatever manner. When it is avoided for longer periods, it only grows. Then bringing it to the forefront always feels like things are getting worse. They are, but only visibly. But once visible—in the open air—the conflict can be better seen, understood, and potentially resolved. That is what this group of church leaders is working toward and hoping for.

Monday morning, the first day of Holy Week, I was reading all of these letters of concern that had filled my inbox. I must confess my first thought was, What a way to begin Holy Week! Then it hit me. This is the way Jesus began Holy Week. Tensions that had been hidden and building for years were mounting, and those who were against Jesus were getting bolder in their opposition. I am not suggesting that the writer’s of these letters of concerns are “crucifiers,” nor am I suggesting the pastor involved is Jesus. I am just reminded that we are broken and sinful folks, and Jesus came for this very reason. Jesus came because we are a scrappy lot! Holy Week was not an antiseptic, spiritual Kum Ba Yah! It was a scrappy, contentious, confused caravan of folks encountering God incarnate. Some recognized him and followed, some got caught up in all the miracles and wanted to believe but were confused, others were outright hostile, and a whole bunch of folks were just to busy to notice God had visited. Sounds all too familiar!

We would all love to jump right to the Hallelujah Chorus and sing the praises of the risen Christ and glory in our being adopted as heirs. But we must first wander through the streets and alleys of broken relationships, disobedient and distracted lives, and self-absorbed hostility. We must come crawling—scrappy, contentious, and confused—to the cross. And when we look up, we see God incarnate suffering there for us—the weight of the sins of the whole world on his shoulders. Our sins and the sins of those we are in conflict with are all together laid on Christ. We cannot get around it. We must confess our scrappiness—our sin—and then, only then, can we see our way through to Easter morning and the resurrection and glory of the risen Lord. Thank God that beginning Holy Week scrappy is exactly the right path to the resurrection.

Monkeying Around at a Memorial Service

Can you do that? Today I did. Steve Eugene Ruckman was a stellar human being and an equal opportunity prankster. He loved the song, “Hey, Hey, We’re the Monkeys,” and he loved to monkey around. There would be no way to celebrate his life without a little of the same at his memorial service.

Steve was one of those people who was always available when you needed him. He was also a man who could fix anything. Not a bad combination! He was the property manager for our church and one of our ruling elders. The former he came to willingly. The latter, I had to drag him kicking and screaming. Well . . . quietly kicking and screaming. Steve never made a scene. He did not want to be seen.

He resisted being an elder first because he was so dedicated to his family. He was the quintessential parent for his daughter, Katie, and son, Eric. They were in high school band and so Steve and his wife Ruth were band parents. They chaperoned, they chauffeured, they fed, they financed—everything a band needed, they were. Eric was a scout, too. Like his dad, he attained to Eagle Scout. So, of course, Steve was a quintessential Scout dad. He camped, he pledged, he built, he organized, he taught, he scouted—everything a scout troop needed, Steve was.

He did not see himself as a leader. He did not like to be “up front.” He was quiet and preferred to do things rather than talk about doing things. But he was a leader. People followed him. Peopled trusted him. When he did speak, people paid close attention. After his kids were out of band and Scouts, I cornered him. He succumbed to my pleading and carrying on. He became an elder. And he led. Quiet but strong leadership was his hallmark through a critical time in the life of our congregation.

But through all of it, Steve had fun and made life fun for others. He was in the office almost every day. He lit up the office with his pranks and teasing. When he first became ill from his chemo treatments, it was like the sunshine had been taken from the interior space of the church. We missed him. Steve and his family were in worship fifty Sundays out of the year, and on those Sundays Steve was the first person to greet people. As one frequent visitor described him, he was “the face of First Presbyterian Church of Downey.” And a warm and welcome face he was!

In 2006 I needed to move my office. Steve offered to put together a moving crew while I was on vacation. The new office was bigger, and so I had told him I would like to have a small table and chairs for working space if possible. Steve accommodated my request as only Steve could.

When I returned, there it was. Carefully placed in the middle of my office was a red and yellow Tyco picnic table, benches and all! And for added effect, in the middle of the table sat a large box of crayons and a tent sign that read “Pastor Candie,” each letter written with a different color crayon. Steve loved to monkey around.

Last year during my sabbatical I was in Southeast Asia. Steve could not resist teasing me even from around the world. He sent me an email with a picture of my office door attached. A bright pink piece of paper covered my name plate, and on that paper was the name “Steve Ruckman.” The subtitle declared that he was in charge.

About nine months ago Steve was diagnosed with endocarcinoma. It was already fairly advanced, and the chemo and radiation treatments quickly zapped him of his energy and ability to get around and fix and lead and monkey around. On Tuesday, March 15, at 4:22 p.m., after a day with family and friends laughing and crying at his bedside, Steve entered the eternal kingdom.

So earlier today I presided over the memorial service to celebrate Steve’s life. We can do that because Steve knew Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior, and lived it plainly and simply. Steve is not dead. Steve is alive because that is what Christ promises in John 11. Because Jesus died and lives again, even though a person dies, he or she will live. This was my meditation text for his memorial service. That is what Easter is all about. We will also celebrate because Steve would have it no other way. He would want us laughing and joking. He would want us monkeying around. It’s likely that is what he is doing right now. He is enjoying being in the presence of God, and I am quite certain he is monkeying around with angels.