Pastor's Message - July/August 2025

~ A Place at the Table ~

“When you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place,

so that when your host comes, he may say to you, ‘Friend, move up higher’.”

~Luke 14:10

Dear Members and Friends,

Have you ever felt undervalued just because of…who you are? Too straightlaced, too nerdy, too unconventional, too different? One time in Cameroon, I felt left out for being single, young, poor and childless. The PCUSA had three missionary households in that country: two traditional families in the city plus my strange family out in the bush. My family consisted of Francois (wise urchin I’d taken in), Rosette (trusty maid-of-all-work), Bob Dole (treacherous guard dog), and my immature self. My concrete bungalow was nicer than most African homes, but it had few luxuries. My fellow Americans lived in gated villas with cars, TVs, generators, water heaters, phones, primitive internet, cooks, gardeners, launderers, cleaners, security guards and pets. The Americans were kind to me, and I was always welcome in their comfortable homes, but I felt like it was my job to entertain the kids whenever I was visiting…as a sort of rent. On a few occasions, I was asked to travel into town to babysit, which I willingly did for a chance to speak English and watch TV. I loved all five of those kids. Best of all, they loved me. After a long dusty trip in a crowded bush-taxi, it cheered my soul to hear those children yelling with joy, “Uncle Brian’s here!” They called me “uncle,” which melted my heart.

One day I was invited to town because our boss in Louisville was coming to Cameroon to visit us missionaries. A feast was being held in his honor at one of those lovely American homes in the capital city. The children were to eat outside, so the adults could talk undisturbed. I was helping get things ready for his arrival when I made a startling discovery: there were six place settings at the children's table, despite the fact that there were only five kids. I realized with a sinking heart that I’d been counted among the children. That hurt. The guest of honor was my boss, too. He hadn't deigned to visit me; he would only stay at the new Hilton in town. I was 25, unwed, childless, and made far less money than the others. They thought of me as a child! No one was trying to belittle me. It was all done in goodwill, which actually made it hurt more.

I asked my friends, the American hosts, “Did you put me with the kids?” They laughed, hugged me, said it was an accident, and moved me to the adult table, where I sat sulking and silent—surely reinforcing everyone’s assumptions that I really did belong at the kids’ table. In retrospect, I wish I'd had the wisdom to relinquish my right to the grownup table. I wish I'd just sat outside with the kids—who wanted me to sit with them, who felt happy to be around me, and who never failed to include me. Not only would it have made them happy, it would have made me happy to be with little people who didn’t even notice my lack of social standing. My fellow missionaries were always good to me, and I’m grateful for that. But they did what most of us do: rank people according to how much, or how little, they resemble us.

Jesus said, “Unless you change and become like little children…” When we feel secure about our own place at life’s table, it’s easy to forget that many people don’t have it so good. All it takes is the slightest whiff of difference for us to seat a person at the other table: too poor, too uneducated, too foreign, too woke, too different from ourselves. But truly, don’t you think we’ll all get our turn at the kiddie table sooner or later? One day you’ll be too old, or too sick, or too much of a hassle to include. How about we just push all these tables end to end and sit at them together? Old differences don’t matter. There’s lots of room. Happy summer to you.

Christ’s Peace,

~Brian