For Lewis

2010-02-01T20:27:00.000-05:00

“I like him! He preaches loud!”

Those words were my first reaction almost 27 years ago after hearing the first sermon by a great man, a spiritual father and mentor to many, and a faithful servant of Christ. He admittedly wasn’t the first choice of the Pulpit Team, but God knew he was the right choice for Stewartsville Baptist Church. We called him as our pastor. . .and he was there.

As a young teenager, I was somewhat cynical of pastors. They were old. They put me to sleep. They didn’t stay long. They really didn’t care about me. But this man was different. He traveled a good distance to shepherd our congregation until housing could be found in Laurinburg for he and his family. Few would chastise him for leaving very quickly after Sunday morning and evenings, as well as Wednesday nights. He stayed. And even more meaningful to the cadre of youth at Stewartsville, he wanted to be around us just as much as he did the adults. His smile was infectious. His jokes made you laugh. His heart was genuine. For me and many other young cynics. . .he was there.

Stewartsville was a struggling church back then. A tornado, a series of interim pastors, and a budget crunch had left us without a real identity—and a needed leader. We were “The little church with a big heart,” but our hearts were hurting. God provided dedicated men and women to carry us through as volunteer Sunday school teachers, Choir directors, deacons, and youth leaders, but we needed a pastor. In the Spring of 1983, God answered the prayers of a faithful congregation and brought us a dark-haired former boxer with a crooked nose to prove it. He brought a passion for preaching, a heart for the lost, and a joy for Christ. But what we most needed, he was and became. He was a pastor. . .and he was there.

A few months later my life changed. A swimming pool, a donut-shaped float, and this thrill-seeking, attention-loving fourteen-year old took my last steps off a diving board and ended up fighting for my life, paralyzed from the shoulders down and not given much hope for a future. In the Intensive Care Unit of North Carolina Memorial Hospital in Chapel Hill, my eyes were completely swollen shut from a collapsed lung and the positive pressure of the ventilator breathing for me. I couldn’t see, but I could hear. It wasn’t long before I recognized the gentle, soothing voice of my pastor of only a couple months. He came to visit me and my distraught family. I asked him to pray for others in the ICU, an illustration he often told when later introducing me. But the bigger story was his heart, his compassion, his concern for me. In such a trying time in my life. . .he was there.

Our pastor was a strong man in many ways, including physically. Yet he did have his own health problems. He inherited heart trouble from his father, who himself died from a heart attack at a young age. Open-heart surgery awaited our pastor only a few years after filling the pulpit. But awaiting surgery and the real chance of prematurely meeting his Savior, God gave him “his vision.” This pastor recovered from his surgery, but Stewartsville never lost sight of the burden God gave him for reaching Laurinburg for Christ. He reentered the pulpit with an even greater zeal to see people come to have a personal relationship with Christ. He took to the “highways and byways” of our county to share personally with others how they could find freedom from sin and be made a brand-new creation. He poured into our church his passion for people. We grew in numbers, yes, but we grew even greater in love. God saved his life and gave him a vision. . .and our pastor was there.

I could go on. So could countless other people whose lives have been dramatically changed through the six-decades of this man’s gospel ministry. We would hear stories about favorite sermons; jokes some of us heard many, many times, but laughed any way; visits when his soothing bass voice carried the words of God and a calming caress; about holding our loved ones’ hands as they prepared to leave this world; about simple times, everyday conversations, and our happiest and lowest moments. You see, he was always there. Even as his hair turned grey, his walk slowed, his workload grew lighter, and his ministerial titles changed, Lewis McLean was always there. From the least of us to the greatest, in his presence, we knew we were loved. We never doubted his genuine care for us—for our mothers and fathers, our sons and daughters, our highs and lows, our friends and our neighbors, our neighborhoods and our counties, and most-importantly our God and His Son. He was there. He was always there.

Today, my heart is broken, yet my spirit is joyous. For the first time in almost 30 years of knowing Lewis as my pastor, he’s not here physically. His days of struggling with chest pains, colostomy bags, and the other troubles of this world were over just after 4 o’clock pm, February 1st, 2010. Like Enoch, Lewis walked with God, and God took him home today. Just as Moses met Yahweh on a mountain-top overlooking the Promised Land, our pastor now is in the very presence of the Master. Elijah traveled to heaven in a fiery chariot as Elisha astoundingly looked on. We, like Elisha, may still look for Lewis until it really sinks in that he walks this earth no more, because God’s angels transported him this afternoon to glory. Like the great apostle Paul, Lewis ran his race, he kept the faith, his life was poured out in service as an offering to Christ, and he now wears a crown of righteousness, which he will soon toss gladly, humbly, and lovingly before the feet of the One Who gave him the glory he now knows.

Still, we must never forget the main reason we cry today: the cause for the tears, the lumps in our throats, and the pounding in our hearts. Lewis McLean was always here for us, because Jesus was there for him. Lewis undoubtedly as he always did would shy away from our praise and instead reflect it upon the one most deserving. As we celebrate the life of our beloved pastor, we remember the death, burial, and resurrection of Christ. He made Lewis the man he was on earth. He gave him the eternal life he now enjoys. And because of Jesus, we can smile even through the pain, because we know beyond any shadow of doubt that our goodbyes are not from people who grieve as those who have no hope. Our goodbyes are not really goodbyes. For us who know Lewis’ Lord and Savior, we can assuredly and confidently say, “See you later.”

Mark and Maddie

2009-07-13T21:26:00.000-04:00

I'm not a parent nor do I play one on TV.

I am, however, an uncle--a very proud uncle of a nephew and niece, born to my younger brother and his wife. Mark will be nine years old in December, and Madison Leigh was born just over three weeks ago.

I've always loved Mark (Stinker, Little Mark, Markie--as time has progressed). He's such a sweet boy. Mark is autistic. He does not speak. Neither dampens my love for him. I think it makes me love him more. I daily pray God will loose his tongue even now past the age when doctors doubt he will ever speak. He likes the UNC football helmet magnet on my stereo. I like to watch him pull it off and on repeatedly. I think he likes the feel of the magnetic pull as the helmet moves away and towards the metal. Mark makes me smile inside. This weekend I really noticed just how big his feet are. I asked him to show me his big feet. He threw his right bare foot up to my face like a Radio City Music Hall Rockette. I enjoyed watching him later devour a 7-layer nacho supreme and four tacos. I love my nephew. He is a gift from God to me.

I'm not a mom (naturally) nor have I fathered a child. I've never quite understood the immediate love a mother has for her child after giving birth. Maddie changed all that. Even though she's not even a month old, doesn't recognize her uncle, and has a weeble-wobble head, I've instantly become attached to her. I look forward to seeing Maddie, watching her sleep, nurse a bottle, and look around, marveling at her surroundings as only newborns do. She's my flesh and blood. I'm not her parent, but in a limited sense, she belongs to me--at least in a small corner of my heart.

Over the past couple years, I've become resigned to the possibility that God's sovereign will may not include me getting married. I may remain single, dedicating my life singularly to the church and ministry to which God called me. As a quadriplegic, I'm not guaranteed I could father a child even if I found that special woman who would make me the second most-important person in her life. I wouldn't know (for lack of a better phrase) until I tried.

At times, gazing down at little Maddie or watching perturbed as Mark changes my thermostat settings (he likes pushing not only my buttons, but the thermostat's), it's tough not feeling my heart begin to swell along with my tear ducts. Still, lying awake at night with a bout of insomnia, I know God's will is best even if I don't understand it in my human finitude. I know there are many aunts and uncles in the world feeling the same emotions as I do. I know Mark and Maddie have my blood flowing through their veins, and I can invest my life into theirs as they grow older.

I'm a pastor of a growing, missional church plant here in Laurinburg, North Carolina. I'm a professor to almost 200 college students yearly at UNC-Pembroke. I'm a writer of Sunday school lessons for hundreds of teachers around the United States. I'm a son to my parents and brother to my two siblings. But tonight, I'm wondering if my most enjoyable role might be uncle to two (perhaps more in the future?) beautiful children.

I am "Uncle Scott" to Mark Raybon and Madison Leigh. I'm just so sorry they're both more beautiful than any of your children!

Scott

Blue Musings

For Lewis

Mark and Maddie