For as long as I can remember, my life has revolved around the church. My parents converted to Christianity when I was young, so my memories of “before” are few and scattered. So when they did convert, they chose to walk away from the former things of life — the world, as it were. We became a part of a very conservative “fundamentalist Bible-believing church” and our lives quickly began to revolve around the church, Christian school, and its activities. It was a thriving church and moderately large — I recall many Sundays with over 1,000 people.
We were an independent “Bible” church who interpreted the Bible literally (KJV only – Scofield, Thompson Chain, or Ryrie), believed in the inerrancy of scripture, doctrines like the rapture, the second coming of Christ, separation from worldliness, were strongly evangelistic and missional, preached a lot about sin, hell and the coming judgment, and rejected any form of music that sounded worldly — we only had a piano and organ and sung hymns. (If someone were to sing “special music” they would take the drums out of the track or have someone accompany on piano. CCM was largely forbidden, specifically Christian rock). Also, movies, dancing, gambling, and such worldly pursuits were not a part of our lives. When my parents joined the church, the pastor was more of an expository teacher and Mom really enjoyed and connected with his style. After he left, another pastor came who was more fundamentalist in his beliefs, and the church definitely shifted into a much more evangelistic direction.
Our compound (as we called it) was pretty cool for it’s day. The church actually began in the late 1770s. The current brick building was built in 1831 and subsequently had been added to over the years — a 1,000 seat auditorium, the two-story school wing and a large gymnasium with a state-of-the-art rubber floor (hey, it was the 80s!), locker rooms and showers, and a commercial kitchen. The property had several athletic fields which were improved over the years, an apartment house for the school staff, four parsonages of various sizes for the senior pastoral staff. Later on, we purchased an adjacent camp property complete with a small lake, hotel, chapel, recreation center with commercial kitchen, and a scattering of cabins. We also had a fleet of buses.
The Bus Ministry
Speaking of buses… Let me just tell you, that as a young kid, I drove school buses. How crazy is that? You see, every week, we would send a fleet of a dozen or so buses out into the countryside and area cities to pick up kids and adults who wanted a ride to church each week. This was a big undertaking and required a lot of volunteers — bus drivers, bus captains, and assistants to help with all the people. We would literally bring in hundreds each week. Some times they would have “pack a bus” competitions and it was not uncommon to see 50+ on each bus. (No, that probably was not legal… but it was the 80s!) Each Saturday, about 40-50 college students from Word of Life Bible Institute would drive the hour and a half down from the mountains and stay overnight in the church (we had a huge pile of mattresses, the kitchen, showers and such) and then help out each Sunday on the bus routes and in Sunday School classes. It was like a built-in team! We came to love those students during the year and formed some amazing relationships with them. Each Saturday morning, Dad would leave and be gone for a good part of the day visiting the various folks on the route. There were days when he could not do the visitation because he had to work, so when I was a teen and could drive, that meant he would send me out … the shy, introverted guy. Needless to say, what took him all day to do, took me about an hour. “Are you coming on the bus on Sunday? No? Ok. Yes? Ok, we will be by at the usual time… see you later.” He was an extroverted people-lover.
Dad was a bus captain and sometimes a driver when he needed to be. So every Sunday, he decided that his task was to get to the church at 6:30am, get all the buses started and then move them from the back lot to a nice line in front of the church so that they were all ready for when all the captains, drivers and helpers arrived to go out and pick everyone up. This wasn’t too bad in the summer, but winter was pretty brutal in upstate NY. Matt and I would always go with him (not optional) and help him get them cleaned off and ready to go. And that is when Dad would let me move the buses (obviously, when I was tall enough to reach the pedals). I was just driving them across the parking lot, but it was the coolest thing ever to me. I recall successfully backing a few of them in to the line. Looking back, I am kind of impressed with my young self. Matt remembers how cool it was to be able to “graduate” to being able to drive the buses as well.
One of the cool things about being at the church that early was the adventure factor. Matt and I would wander all over and try not to get caught by Mr. Leonard, the church custodian (who I would later work for during high school and college). Our goal was to try and figure out how to get into the steeple. There were all kinds of weird storage rooms filled with junk, an old staircase that went nowhere and ended at the ceiling, and various holes, tunnels, and architectural oddities that would be found in a church built in the 1800s and added on to a bunch of times. We never did make it up to the steeple — nor the attic of the original building, for that matter. There was an apartment at the top of the church that a family lived in for a while and it was later converted to the offices for Life Saver Ministries. So our best guess that the steeple was actually a bathroom. We still don’t know.
During the time the gymnasium was under construction, Dad was (naturally) a part of that project. (Can you tell where I get it from?!) There was a vintage Pepsi machine in there for a long time, and Matt and I came to the amazing realization that the quarter-sized punch outs from steel electrical boxes actually would work as quarters! So we scored a few free sodas in those days. Matt liked Welches Grape, as I recall. I was more of an Orange Crush fan. Then they got a new machine… I think Mr. Leonard was wise to us. Not much got past him.
And all those vinyl covered mattresses that the students used? Well, we had a grand staircase in the two story lobby… so Matt and I might have tried them out down those stairs more than a few times in the early mornings when no one was around! Then, there was the super wide stairway to the basement where we could race down side-by side. Matt reminded me of that the other day. So much fun was had in those early morning hours.
We had so many experiences as we drove the rural backroads of the county. From the trailer parks to the town squares, I experienced some of the poorest situations I had ever seen. One family had no floor. Their house was an old leaning shack with a dirt floor. Another family lived with their goats in their battered trailer. Many of these kids had nothing. From a single mom struggling to survive with their kids while in abusive situations, to an elderly woman who faithfully got on the bus each week, these people became a part of our life. Dad had an incredible heart and would give and give. Even though we were poor and didn’t have much, that didn’t stop him from fixing plumbing to finding coats or medicine — his kindness and love for these families was my constant example of Jesus. There were times I probably resented how much time he poured into this ministry, but looking back now I know that he was pouring his heart into serving “the least of these” in the best way he knew how… and that makes me so proud of him.
The bus ride was never dull. We had a variety of special needs folks who rode with us. In fact, we stopped each week at a hostel run by Gary and Maxine that served adults with special needs. I remember some of these guys — Eddie was one who you never knew what he was going to say or do; definitely a character. But all of them were so genuine and beautiful. They would attend our special needs ministry called Hearts and Hands. A deaf guy named Ralph came each week (my parents knew sign language). Hazel was this elderly lady who lived out in the country by herself, and she was always so kind and gracious. Then there was Leona — she was boisterous and bow-legged and took her teeth out. I still have a quilt she made. Harold was another special needs kid – he was loud and out of control most of the time, so the bus ride was never dull with him on board. In order to make the trip more interesting, Dad would get on the PA he had rigged up and tell stories. He was always a story teller, and he could make you cry or laugh from those tales. But they always would end up pointing to Jesus and have a moral message. The church songs on the bus were always high energy and fun. Some of the messages weren’t quite theologically correct like the “Countdown” song with spoke of the Rapture, or some songs that emphasized externals in order to be accepted by God like “I’ve Been Redeemed” — one verse: No you can’t get to heaven in a mini skirt cuz God don’t like those girls that flirt… another verse: If you wanna see, the old devil run, you gotta shoot him with the gospel gun…. Oh boy.
Sometimes he would bring on a special guest who would usually do a couple songs for us. I remember how a lady named Zoe would sing — a cappella — and the bus would go silent, listening to the sound of a beautiful hymn. Those were the special moments that you don’t forget. During the summer, there was an ice cream place down the road from the church. I still don’t know how, but Dad would take the whole bus out for ice cream from time to time. I remember running cones to the bus. (My personal favorite was a chocolate and vanilla twist covered in rainbow sprinkles or the chocolate dip, but that was reserved for when it was just us.)
Now, lest you think these buses were nice fancy machines, you would be mistaken. They were old and cranky and you never knew what they were going to do. I vividly remember one time when we had a full load and were trying to get to church. It was a spring morning with a light misty drizzle. Well, the bus started acting up and Dad figured out that the only way to keep it running was to hold open the carburetor (as I recall). The 70s Internationals had gull-wing doors on their hoods. So Dad grabbed one of the students and put him in the driver’s seat, gave him a crash course in driving a bus. Meanwhile, Dad went outside and climbed up on the engine and proceeded to sit there and mess with the engine and keep it running with poor, scared, Jerry white-knuckling it on the miles of curving hilly roads from Galway to Perth. Speaking of white-knuckled… one time on a very icy morning (and I am talking like hockey-rink slick), we slowly came around a corner and had to descend a decent hill with a slight curve on it. Dad knew right away that this was not going to be a good situation, so he had everyone be quiet. He wasn’t driving, but I give that driver props, because he slid that bus sideways all the way down that hill without flipping it. That was a tense few seconds, and everyone erupted into cheers when we made it to the bottom. I never saw such a sigh of relief on my Dad’s face. During the summer months, we would often take the bus home after church and give it a good cleaning and hose the floors down. Then we would get to ride it back to church, with me, as always, standing on the stairs by the door looking out over the road.
At Dad’s funeral, a few kids from the bus route were there. Now adults, they spoke of how much Dad had meant to them over the years and how they were impacted by his friendship and love. I met my friend Jay on the bus. We would stop by their crazy amazing Italian house by the big lake — a noisy, music-filled, castle-looking place with great food and drying pasta (all the time) and have these wonderful conversations. Jay and I became great friends through junior high / high school and I pretty much lived over there every chance I got (especially once I could drive). Their house was the complete opposite of all my conservative fundamentalism… so for me it was like a whole new world outside the bubble.
The bus ministry had great impact on hundreds and hundreds of people for many years. So many people invested into a ministry that really did touch the lives of the down-and-out, of those who had nothing, of those who were searching, of those who needed love, attention, and Jesus. Our church had a strong desire for people to know Jesus, and even though our methods or expression might have been flawed and imperfect, I do believe that God used this ministry to show his love to many people through people like my father who served in this ministry. He was loved by those kids and I know he and many others made a positive impact in their lives.
This has been story time with Joshua. I thought it would be fun to write some of this stuff down for posterity, so stay tuned for Part 2 and beyond!