Eulogy for Arnold Belcher

 

Eulogy

Arnold Dwayne Belcher

March 1, 1917 – November 15, 2012

Service held at 10:00 a.m. on November 19, 2012

Elizabeth Memorial United Methodist Church

Charleston, West Virginia
 

            It was some fifty years ago when Arnold and I first met.  I was in college and a student pastor serving two country churches, and he along with his wife, Helen, and their three sons, David, Kirwan and Alan, were fairly recent arrivals in the northern panhandle, adjusting to pastoral and parsonage realities in Moundsville.  That first meeting occurred on an autumn morning in one of the conference rooms of Wilson Lodge at Oglebay Park.  Arnold, Jim Wilson, Chuck Ellwood, Frank Shaffer, Jr., and I found ourselves seated in the same row near the back for the first session of a two-day mandatory pastor’s retreat (even those of us who were student pastors were required to attend).  There’s something oxymoronic about a “required retreat,” but that’s the way it is sometimes in The United Methodist Church.  The focus of the retreat was evangelism, and an “expert” had been imported from Nashville to show us how to be more evangelical.  He began by inviting the clergy to tell about their conversion experience, and the first pastor to do so said something about how one morning he was on the path that led from his house to the outhouse out back when he felt a “strange movement.”  I believe it was Jim Wilson who muttered under his breath, “I think he got his movements mixed up,” at which point, the rest of us along the row had an awful time stifling our nearly uncontrollable laughter.  The one saving grace of that retreat for me was getting to meet Arnold and the chance to deepen friendships with him and the other mentor colleagues seated along what the expert from Nashville probably concluded was the hecklers’ row.

            Later that year, Arnold approached me about possibly coming on staff at Simpson Church in Moundsville as his associate.  The Bishop and Cabinet approved the idea, and in June I left the two churches where I was serving and spent the next fifteen months prior to leaving for seminary discovering realities of parish ministry in a more urban, corporate-style church.  And what a difference it made!

            Arnold’s affable qualities and his genuine care became very fertile soil in which to deepen one’s roots intellectually and faithfully, and thereby, encourage blossoming of potential.  Countless are the reports I’ve heard from colleagues about their experience as associate pastors, most of which detail dominating, abusive expectations.  Fortunately, the three times I have served as an associate have been in settings where a mutuality of concern, collegiality, and commitment took precedence over insecurities of power and prestige.  And Arnold was the first of those exemplary co-workers for whom humane relational values, or should we say “Christian” qualities, were more important than lesser, more self-centered considerations.

            But that was Arnold’s inherent nature.  He truly enjoyed the wide array of individuals with whom he came into contact.  Even though as a pastor he encountered those in churches who were less than amiable, he rarely reacted in a hurtful way.  All churches have their malcontents (well, maybe not this one), but Arnold’s kind, helpful and jovial spirit was never withheld from even the most grumpy of his congregants.  Indeed, one time, rather than run the risk of harming congregational unity and well-being, Arnold requested a change in pastoral appointments, thus ending conflict with a particular family.  He was highly regarded both in the congregation and community, but to keep the church safe, he left.

            If Arnold carried any grief or bitterness about the difficulty in that former church into his new assignment, it quickly melted away.  His next appointment was to a small college town where those same characteristics of genuine regard for others, intelligent faith understandings, openness to diversity, and jovial friendliness soon found acceptance among faculty, students and congregants alike.  The next nine years spent in Montgomery were filled with good times made possible by Arnold and Helen’s hospitality and care, and many are the students who know the value of a second home when far away from home.  There was one problem at the church, however.  The pipe chamber for the organ was located directly behind a wall in the master bedroom of the parsonage, which was attached to the church.  Even if you were sick on Sunday and needed to stay in bed, or wanted to take a nap during Wednesday evening choir practice, there is no way that was going to happen.

            You didn’t have to know Arnold for very long before discovering his deep appreciation of the out-of-doors, especially his love for wild, wonderful West Virginia.  Chances are that had he not been called to the ministry, he would have become a naturalist or an environmental scientist.  To become his friend meant Sunday afternoon drives with Helen and him on some West Virginia back roads observing the flora and fauna, or long hikes in the woods that always uncovered foliage and plants you never knew existed.  Indeed, sometimes when walking along some of the rails to trails in our area, I am accompanied by others.  So, why not try and impress them by prattling off the names of trees, ferns and flowers that Arnold taught me.  (Friends are not always easily impressed.)

            There was one teenager, however, John Williams, who back in the sixties, was so enthralled by Arnold’s ability to connect faith in God with the beauty of nature that he attributed to Arnold’s influence his own love of the out-of-doors.  Later, when John was in his fifties, he was stricken with Cancer, which ultimately took his life.  One item on John’s bucket list was to express gratitude to Arnold for paving the way to his own love of nature.  So shortly before John died, he asked if I would drive him to South Charleston, where Arnold and Helen were living at the time, so that he could express his appreciation in person.  Would you believe that Arnold, now showing signs of advanced aging, feebleness and fading memory, had the three of us driving to a wooded section near his home, once again pointing out the wonders of wildlife to be found there?

            “I lift up my eyes to the hills,” sang the Psalmist, “From whence does my help come?”  Those are words that surely resonated with Arnold’s spirit.  He, Helen, David and Alan have known the full range of life experiences, the joys of affectionate family ties, the miracles of the cosmos both human and ecological, and they have known deep disappointments and awful tragedies, particularly the death of a son and brother at a much too early age.  But somehow mysteriously Arnold and his family (which includes many of us here) have been able through it all to look to the hills for strength and the assurance that the journey is always in God’s eternal keeping.  Thanks be to God.

Eulogy for Bill Roberts

Eulogy

William (Bill) Lloyd Roberts, M.Div., Ph.D.

November 8, 1937 – October 29, 2012

Funeral Service held at Wolf Run Presbyterian Church

Cameron, West Virginia

            We first met on a Saturday morning some 36-37 years ago.  He, Sue and David had just moved to Sistersville to begin pastoral and manse life in the town’s Presbyterian Church.  Our family had arrived about a year earlier for the same reason, but in the town’s United Methodist congregation.  Bill walked the four blocks from his office over to our parsonage to introduce himself.  When he got there, he found my wife, Polly, sitting on the ground replacing a broken basement window.

            Approaching Polly, he introduced himself, “Hello, I’m Bill Roberts, the new Presbyterian pastor in town.  Is your husband around?”

            Getting up from the ground, Polly said, “Hello, it’s nice to meet you.  Yes Jim’s here.  He’s inside cooking breakfast.”

             Bill said later that that’s when he knew he was going to like our family, what with the seeming role reversal, which back in the 70s was more unusual than it is today.  What Bill didn’t know at the time was that I had attempted to fix the window earlier that morning, but the pane Polly measured and purchased didn’t fit, and in response to my less than patient reaction, Polly was determined to do the repair herself.  If Bill had known the back story, he might not have been as apt to accept our invitation to join us for pancakes and bacon, our son’s favorite Saturday morning fare.  That gathering around the table was the first of countless such times of genuine communion, and the bond over the years of our two families has enhanced and deepened our appreciation for relationships that make life worth living.

            Actually, Bill was the older brother I never had, and sometimes he would act like an older brother.  Occasionally, we would have fallings-out, but, as Bill taught me, getting upset with one another doesn’t mean we’re going to throw one another away.  Quite the opposite, we’ll work it through and move on.  Sometimes, as brothers tend to do, we’d taunt one another.  Usually Bill, quicker and more perceptive than I, would catch the hidden meaning of something I had said, and he made certain that I understood what I really meant (not always appreciated).  The places where I could rib Bill usually had to do with the little details he often missed.  Bill was so intensely focused on his responsibilities as a pastor, counselor, mentor and in his other helping roles that he sometimes forgot the little things of everyday life, like wiping dog doo-doo off your shoes before entering the house.  That happened once when he was visiting us, and before Polly had the chance to address it with Bill, I took some twisted delight in razzing him about it: “Polly’s going to get you!”  Poor Bill; he did feel badly and like a pesky younger brother I made it worse.

            But Bill’s exceptional genius, his skills and care were such that while he might inwardly feel embarrassment or pain, he rarely reacted in harmful ways.  He could be a “bear,” but most of the time he was a “gentle bear,” and his aim was always to work toward healing and wholeness, even if that meant putting his own feelings aside for the moment.  He may have begun to adopt such stoicism as a child who encountered more dysfunction than is good for a child.  Then later as a Ph.D. student at Princeton, working closely with Dr. Seward Hiltner, the Grandfather of the Pastoral Counseling Movement, and Dr. Michael Andronico, Bill developed a keen and uncanny intuitive sophistication in seeing through the various complex components of a situation and guiding those involved toward resolutions that fostered forward movement and constructive outcomes.

            What an amazing myriad of life immersions Bill has known!  Earning his Ph.D., Bill’s journey has carried him to pastorates of both large and small congregations (or corporate and family churches, as we sometimes call them—Bill’s preference was clearly for the latter, the congregations where relational values took precedence over procedure,  propriety, pomposity and other business-like protocols).  Not only so, but it was in the small faith family where Bill found the freedom to fulfill the many facets of his calling.  The small church, particularly this congregation here at Wolf Run, afforded the opportunity for Bill to put to good use all of the competencies he had acquired, including his designing and coordinating a major national research project sponsored by twelve Protestant denominations studying what makes for effective Christian education; his gaining a number of certifications and licenses in Social Work, Gerontology, Conflict Mediation and Counseling; his years as a professor at a seminary in Pittsburgh (the one he sometimes referred to as the other PTS); his work as a consultant to denominations and congregations in areas needing skilled mediation, especially in church/pastor conflicts; but all of that pales when contrasted with the painstaking zeal he gave to individuals struggling with overwhelming difficulties and looking for a better way.  Bill was single-minded in his devotion to those looking for a credible, meaningful and better life.

            One way Bill, and his wife Sue, made that kind of difference was through what became called the “adopted daughter process,” an idea that had its origin in Bill’s doctoral dissertation.    Having committed early in their marriage to having one natural child, they also decided to always leave room in their family for at least one “adopted child.”  The first opportunity came when Bill and Sue met a fourteen-year-old at a church camp whose name is Sally, the daughter of affluent, professional parents.  When Sally, Bill and Sue met, somehow something clicked, and that led to Sally’s frequent visits with and inclusion in the Roberts clan.  Those visits became a springboard for Sally to try out fledgling ideas, plans and feelings.  She treated Bill and Sue’s young son as a brother, and she was the one who taught toddler David how to drink from a pop bottle.  The Roberts’ influence on Sally made a difference.  She matured beautifully and in time earned her own Ph.D. at a prestigious university, and then she married and became the mother of three children.  On her wedding day, Bill approached Sally’s mom and said, “This must be a very proud day for you.”  With a tear in her eye, Sally’s mother responded to Bill, “No, this must be a proud day for you.”

            Over the course of their married life, Bill and Sue have provided that kind of safe and guiding environment to twenty-six adopted daughters.  These women have moved on having become accomplished individuals in their own right.  There is occasional contact with them, or in some instances, none at all.  But having been helped to go and do and be whom they are meant to be, these adoptees were not made to feel obligated to Bill and Sue, but were encouraged to give to others as they had received.

            Valley Chapel in Fairmont, the congregation where I was pastor prior to retirement, with some nudging became convinced that having someone of Bill’s caliber on staff could provide some much-needed services, and so in 1990 Bill set up a satellite counseling office in our church and the two of us worked side by side for the next fourteen years.  Those years saw Bill working with domestic violence situations, addiction cases, adolescents undergoing adjustment issues, pastors and/or their spouses referred by denominational authorities, potential divorce situations referred by the Family Court Judge, at-risk youth, PTSD victims, and individuals struggling with vocational issues.  Some clients were provided help on a pro bono basis, and the others were willing and able to pay the $30 fee for sessions that lasted anywhere from an hour to an hour-and-half.  Talk about getting the most bang for your buck!  We deliberately did not advertise the existence of the counseling center; it gained its excellent reputation because of its many satisfied customers.  An added benefit of Bill’s presence on our staff was that he became the consultant to our Christian education programs, including the week-day pre-school, licensed day care and tutoring programs as well as the Sunday school classes.  Bill’s roles here included meetings with the Child Development Center Staff, assistance in the development of Sunday school lessons, and actual sessions in which Bill taught class sessions, demonstrating a process of educating children that works.  It is impossible to know just how far-reaching Bill’s contribution to the life of our congregation was, but it definitely made an important impact.

            Sometimes, Bill needed backstopping when it came to the little details—like the time a counselee brought three or four bongs to a counseling session to signify a decision to quit smoking marijuana.  Bill’s office was located just off the left side of the front of the sanctuary, and rather than hiding the bongs in his office until they could be marshaled inconspicuously off the premises, he lined them up on the front pew.  Fortunately they were discovered before Sunday, but not before choir members saw them during their rehearsal on Wednesday.  It did seem curious that some of them knew what they were.

            One of the members of Valley Chapel, upon learning of Bill’s dying, sent an e-mail expressing his appreciation:

“Sorry to hear of Bill’s passing although I was aware of how bad his health had become.  I had some great conversations with him and recall once asking him to talk to a young man who had told me he thought he was gay.  I told this fellow I haven’t a clue about this, but suggested he see Bill.  So a few days later I asked Bill and told him I would absorb the cost for this man, and he saw him once.  The man came to see me a day later and announced he was not gay but really rather normal as he had been told.  I didn’t say anything to Bill, but a few days later he told me my friend was not gay but confused, and he did not charge for the visit.

“In addition to the good sermons he delivered, I will always remember his getting out of his little VW and starting up the sidewalk only to return and get something else and perhaps do this twice more, and still had the baseball cap on sideways and the look of a man who had much on his mind.  Still he’d stop to say hello and visit prior to going to his office in the church.

“One day he had enough cat hair on his wool coat to make a new cat, which he observed that I noticed as we talked, and he said I seem to have forgotten to brush that off.  My kind of man.  When I think of him I will smile, and that is the way I want to be remembered.”

            Another grateful member at Valley Chapel, in recognition of the help she had received from Bill, commissioned and had installed a stain-glass window in Bill’s office.  Of all the stained-glass windows in the church, that one is the only one that represents the resurrection.  What a perfect place for a resurrection window, for it was in that small space that many persons found the real meaning of resurrection, new hope and new life.

Some of you are aware of Bill’s love of boating, especially sailing.  This pastime began for him as a child visiting with his grandparents who lived near the shore.  Largely ignored during his most productive years, sailing reappeared as the love it once was, and several years before retiring, Bill was back on the water in his own sailboat.  He was in utter ecstasy on the water!  Sometimes, however, wind and waves surge suddenly, even on a lake.  That happened to Bill one time, and he quickly headed back to the pier, but before he could dock the boat, it swamped and rolled over with him under it.  A conscientious and careful sailor, he did have his life jacket on and quickly emerged on the starboard side of the boat.  Rescue operations were successful and Bill’s picture was plastered on the front page of the local newspaper.

            Jesus is said to have walked on water.  Bill couldn’t do that.  Oh, well, maybe in a way he could and did do that for as long as possible facing the tempest of overwhelming illness.  But more importantly, he used his unique gifts of strength, wisdom, skill and care to lead so many others in staying afloat “when the storms of life were raging.”  We are all the shipmates of a good Captain who has shown us the way to sail on.