Twenty one years ago. Seems like last week. It was a Saturday morning. I had been in the garage getting the lawn mower ready to go. (1958 Wheel Horse. You always spent a fair amount of time getting it ready.) I came into the house to check the time (we had plans for later in the day) and the phone rang. Marsha was right there so she answered it. From a smiling face she went to a frown, then three shouts of NO! “We’ll be right there!” In a pastor’s home you sometimes get tragic calls, but the expressions and the reaction from Marsha made me think this was a family incident. Our 17 year old nephew, Marsha’s brother’s son, was dead. They lived three towns over, so we were pretty much up on everything that went on in the family. The week before his girlfriend had broken up with him. He seemed hurt, but also seemed OK. He hadn’t come home on Friday night, so that was concerning. His Dad went out early on Saturday morning to walk the trap-line. Sometimes our nephew would camp at a certain place along the trap-line. His Dad found him. Marsha’s brother kept his guns under lock and key in a closed in cabinet, but his son knew where the key was because they hunted together. He had gotten a shotgun and closed the cabinet so his Dad wouldn’t see a gun was missing. Once deep in the woods, our nephew put the barrel of the gun in his mouth and killed himself.

          Of course, we dropped everything and raced to their home. Marsha took the house over. People came in and brought bakery and food. Marsha worked at keeping people fed and she organized people so that the house was not overwhelmed. I was the pastor, talking with people and holding hands. Kids from the high school kept coming in. They were shocked and highly impacted by what had happened. Marsha and I were crazy busy. Finally, 6:30 in the morning, we were able to fall asleep on the couch.

          I jerked awake at 9 AM. Church! It was Sunday! I had called the secretary before we left the house the day before, but had given no updates since. I needed to get to the church.

          I drove straight there and got in about fifteen minutes before church was to start. I must have looked a mess. I was still dressed in my grubbies from working on that mower. Unshaved. Maybe even a little smelly. I met with the Elders for prayer and walked out to the sanctuary. I walked to the pulpit and just started talking. We sang a closing song that morning, but no other songs. Totally ignored the bulletin. I just talked. The Scripture I used was not what I had prepared. The message was not anywhere near what I had prepared. I just talked. I talked about our nephew, about the vitalness of life, how he thought he was only worth death. I don’t know even what I preached. I never listened to the tape. I was in pain and I wanted to be back at my brother-in-law’s house, but I knew I needed to be in that pulpit that morning, too. At that time, all of our Youth sat together, away from their parents. Pretty normal. But after I had talked for about forty minutes, something strange started to happen. One by one the kids started getting up and going to their parents. The kids were sobbing and weeping. The parents were stunned. No one knew what was going on, but the kids were shattered. Some, whose parents were not there, began to seek out church leaders. They were all devastated.

          After we were done, I hunted John down. He was one of our Youth, the oldest of the group at that time. In fact, I spent quite some time on the phone with John last month. He had been asked to do his mother-in-law’s funeral and was asking me for help. On this morning, John hugged me and wouldn’t let go. I waited till he calmed down and I asked him what was going on. It seems that the kids were all under a lot of pressure at school and home. They were trying to live like Christians in a worldly society. They had finally decided that they would all kill themselves, all together, the next Saturday night. Obviously, I was shocked. I got the kids together and we talked. No parents were allowed in. Just the kids and their pastor. We settled some issues then and there. We had a Youth group before, but that was the beginning of the greatest group ever.

          By now it was after almost two in te afternoon. I had to get back to my brother-in-law’s house. I went into my office to get something and one of the men in te church was sitting in a chair with his head down, weeping. I called his name, then I shook his shoulder. He looked up and blinked a few times, then he focused on me. “Pastor,” he said in a quiet voice. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Is it over?” “Yes,” I replied. “Church is over.” I was mystified. “No, is it over?” “Is what over?” “I don’t know.” Then he began to tell me his story.

          He had gotten to the church that morning with a heavy heart. He knew about our nephew and he was concerned. Every week we had someone praying during the morning message, and this Sunday it was his turn. After the Elders and I had left my office after praying together that morning, he had slipped in. They normally waited till the sermon was about to begin, but he felt he desperately needed to pray. You could pray where ever you wanted to pray, but most people used my office. He said that as he prayed, he began to feel a great weight come on him. He went deeper in to prayer. He had never felt such a thing. He didn’t realize almost four hours had passed while the service had gone on and ended and I had gathered the Youth and spent that time with them. He didn’t know what had been said in church or anywhere else. He had been with God. And then I had shaken his shoulder. After all of that, he again asked, “Is it over?”

          If you were to ask the people now who were there that morning what was my best sermon there in my eleven plus years, most would name that morning. I know the Youth would all say that it was a great sermon. But then, if you asked them what it was that I preached that morning, you would get blank stares, some sentences that started and stopped, uncertainty. When I got back to my brother-in-law’s house, Marsha asked me what I preached. I told her that I had no idea. It wasn’t a great sermon after all. It was a man sitting in a room all by himself, totally wrapped up in the Lord.

          This is directed to the people of Urbana Yoke Parish, but I also know that there are many readers who live elsewhere. If your church has someone praying during the service, be a volunteer. Go into the prayer room and meet the Lord. If your church does not have a prayer time during the service, start one.

          Now, to the people of the Yoke, we have a prayer room. Someone is in there every Sunday while the preaching is happening. But for a long time now, we have only had two go in and take their turns. Alan Coverdale or Jim Hartley. Praise the Lord for their faithfulness. But, what about you? Can you share a Sunday? The response I normally get when I ask someone if they would take a turn is, “I just don’t want to miss one of your messages!” Yet, vacations come up, ballgames, fishing, chores. We all have things that take us away from church on the occasional Sunday, so I know that my preaching isn’t all that mesmerizing. And, seriously, would you rather sit and listen to me drone, or would you rather sit talk to God?

          One man, sitting alone in a room, saved the lives of a bunch of kids who were fed up. What can you do?

          If you are interested, talk with Alan Coverdale. You can call him at 260-901-0242 or you can talk to him on Sunday morning.

          It really is all about prayer.