Remembering Lois - Give 'em Hell in Heaven

I realize that one of the cardinal rules of pastoral ministry is to never have favorites. But in full disclosure, I lost one of my favorites today. 

It was not always the case. She could not stand me when I was first appointed as her pastor, and she was not quiet about her dislike. I'll never forget the day she arrived late for a meeting and made an announcement before sitting down, "You'll have to excuse me for being late. The nurse wouldn't let me leave the home. My blood pressure was too high since I was about to see my pastor." Or there was the time when she was presenting the budget and said something along the lines of, "If we run out of money this year, it's not my fault. It's because we're giving the pastor a raise." 

Lois was the the 92-year-old chair of the Finance Committee as well as the coordinator of Christian Social Concerns when I arrived. She did not trust me or the District Superintendent who brought me to Mount Vernon Place. "You and your friend, Argo," she would say repeatedly while shaking her finger at me.

I loved Lois, though. I could not stop loving Lois. And Lois finally decided I was not going anywhere so she might as well learn to like me, too. She eventually learned to love me. She made her way into a huge crevice of my heart - a heart that is broken today as Lois entered the church triumphant a little after 7:00 this morning.

Lois was part of a group of saints at MVP who taught me a million lessons about the church, ministry and life. She never missed worship until just a few months ago. She was always at weekly Bible study - when it was at the church and later when I traveled to her place of residence in Northern Virginia. She embodied generosity when it came to giving of her time and resources. And she had an uncanny ability to make you laugh.

She and Howard were the best of friends - longtime church members at MVP who also resided in the same place. Both of them lived more than a century. I'll never forget going to visit Howard when he was sick, and walking into his apartment with Lois. There was a near empty box of Cheez Its next to his chair. Lois picked up the box, gave it a shake and said, "No wonder your stomach hurts, Howard." 

I loved hearing Lois tell the story of the night Howard's dog came back to life. Rebel was Howard's constant companion in life - more fur than body and a very loud bark. Howard was very sad one day when he arrived at Bible study, "I'm not sure what's wrong with my little dog but he has not been himself all day." We went down to Howard's apartment and walked in the door. Rebel would have normally been barking like crazy and nipping at our ankles. Not this time. Rebel was still as could be, flat on his back. I suggested we pray for Rebel. I got down on my knees, put my hands on his little body and prayed. Soon Rebel was up, running around. "You brought that damn dog back to life," Lois would say. 

There was also the time when I was visiting Lois and she took me to the library to see their new computer lab. A woman was there setting up the computers. Lois introduced me as her pastor, pointed to one of the screens and said, "Do you know my pastor got a man from one of those?!" She could not quite figure out how I met such an amazing person through the computer, but she adored my husband and loved to flirt with him.

Lois never turned down an opportunity for a martini with her lunch. I remember the first time I decided to have a martini with her. I ordered mine dirty. "How did you get to be so sophisticated?" she asked.

But Lois' impact is so much greater than memories that make me laugh. She had the ability to be prophetic with her words and her actions.

I'll never forget the day she shared during joys and concerns about Metropolitan UMC becoming a member of the Reconciling Ministries Network. "I was reading my paper yesterday," she shared. "And I noticed that Metropolitan, our National Church, became a Reconciling Congregation." "Our National Church!!! They are welcoming everyone. Isn't that the way it's supposed to be?" she asked. "Shouldn't everyone be welcome in God's church?" She would later be present the day our congregation voted to become a reconciling congregation. She even went to Mr. Henry's with us following the meeting to celebrate.

When our church was vacating its property in preparation for a property redevelopment, we had a beautiful chapel filled with everything needed for a small church. It was not long after Hurricane Katrina, and we located a church in Mississippi that was being rebuilt after losing everything. Lois paid to ship all of the contents of our chapel to Mississippi - several pews, a baptismal font, Bibles, hymnals - everything needed to set up church. We later received a photograph, and everything fit perfectly in the church. Lois was so proud of her contribution. I am, too.

But the biggest impact Lois made is that she let go, and she encouraged others in our church to do the same. She was first adamant that her church was going to close. "Pastor, we voted to spend the endowment. It's our money. We are going to spend it and just turn the keys over to the Annual Conference," she said over and over again. But she learned to trust God who is always capable of doing a new thing. She also learned to trust her young pastor. 

So many things about her church have changed. There have been significant staff changes. Our congregation has become more diverse in every way imaginable. While the congregation used to be mainly peers of Lois, the congregation today is predominantly young adults. Lois took delight in what God was doing in her church. She loved telling others about how our church was growing again. 

Lois, I hope you know how much you're responsible for the growth. I pray you know that it would have never happened without you - without your commitment to providing leadership in our church for decades, without your willingness to constantly show up and give even when you were not happy with the changes, without your ability to let go and see what God could do, without your talking back often during church and making laughter a normal part of Sunday worship, without your standing up for justice and equality, without your taking delight in the new people. Thank you for making me a better pastor and a better person. I'd give anything to share another martini with you today. Instead, I'll raise a glass later and close with the words of a church member, "Farewell spitfire. Give 'em hell up in heaven. I'm deeply saddened, but all our lives are fuller because of you."

Indeed.

You'll always be one of my favorites. Please be nice to Jesus.

Until we meet again...