Anniversaries

are curious things. We use them to mark events, remember what has gone

on before, and look with anticipation toward the future.

Those who have

lost a loved one tend to view each significant event in the year following

a death with sadness and mourning. The anniversary becomes the "first

Christmas without" or the first Thanksgiving without" the one

who has ended their journey on earth. My mother marked her fiftieth wedding

anniversary even though my father died before he could share it with her.

Generally, however, anniversaries are happy times full of laughter, memories,

and celebration. This week is a triple anniversary for me.

One is a time

of sadness as I remember my dad who died five years ago this week. Once

in awhile, especially when my guard is down, I will find a photo of him

in his World War II Navy uniform, or of him painting a landscape, or of

him working on the house or just sitting in his chair reading. At those

times, I will get that uncomfortable lump in my throat as I long to see

him and hear his voice again.

The other day,

I was hammering a stray nail into the stairway bannister and glanced at

the hammer I was holding in my right hand. It was dad's. The handle was

smooth from years of constant use where his hand had gripped so firmly.

The metal was worn from striking tens of thousands of nails. It suddenly

felt like a holy thing in my hands. Gently, I fingered the "E"

he had carved into the tool's handle to mark it as his own. I lifted it

to my nostrils hoping to catch a wisp of his scent. Finally, I just sat

on the steps and cried like a seven-year-old. There was so much more I

wanted to know about him, so many questions I longed to ask, so many things

I neglected to say.

This week is

also the fifth anniversary of the founding of the church I pastor. That

humble first meeting five years ago in my living room only gathered eleven

people in addition to members of my own family. We outgrew our living

room and have met for most of those five years in the chapel of Carmichael-Hemperley

Funeral Home in Peachtree City.

It takes a

brave soul to visit a church that meets in a funeral home, but our little

church family now numbers about 160, 40 percent of whom were not in church

anywhere prior to coming to Christ the King. This coming Sunday we are

going to erect a 30' x 60' tent, move in chairs, wire the place for sound

and celebrate our anniversdary on the 11 1/2 acres we purchased on Highway

34 in Coweta County.

We'll return

to the funeral home after the service for a few more months as our first

building is being built. But, for a Sunday, we will have a slam-bang,

revival-like, sacramental, liturgical, charismatic celebration like we've

never had before. And anyway, whoever heard of an Episcopal-type church

meeting in a tent anywhere at all around here? But then, we are not your

typical Episcopal-type church. It will be a great deal of fun.

I have been

fortunate to have served as the pastor of several wonderful churches over

the years, but the people at Christ the King are like my own family. I

haven't had a regretful day in five years and I plan to shepherd these

wonderful people until I die. I will, however, miss the physical presence

of Tom Hennessy, Ruby Hester, and Pat Cangemi, precious church members

who will be joining with us as part of that "great cloud of witnesses"

who are worshiping with the Church Triumphant. And I will miss Father

David Jones, our minister of worship and a wonderful priest, who is recovering

from brain surgery at Emory Hospital. Yet, their influence and presence

will be felt.

This week also

marks my thirtieth wedding anniversary. It's really quite a miracle since

nearly everyone we knew never thought we'd make it. I was 20 and Cindy

was 19 when we were wed just nine months after we met in speech class

at East Tennessee State University. I think I was the bad news that every

parent guards against. In fact, Cindy never had a curfew imposed until

she started dating me.

Both sets of

parents were horrified and even the minister who married us did so with

great reluctance. Our folks thought that we would never finish college

and that our lives would be ruined. It wasn't easy, I gotta tell you,

and there were many times when one or the other of us was ready to throw

in the towel.

But, we did

finish college and then some. We produced three sons and, so far, they

have produced for us four grandchildren. Two sons are police officers

and the other is a linguist for the Air Force. My wife is an assistant

professor of nursing at a state university and I am a parish priest. Anyone

who knew Cindy in high school would not be surprised at how much she has

accomplished. Anyone who knew me in high school would be dumbfounded and

amazed. All in all we have much to celebrate.

So, this week,

I will weep and laugh and ponder and remember. I will play with my grandkids

and wish that my dad could have seen them. I will sing and celebrate in

church and wish that Pat and Ruby and Tom were still there where I could

serve them the Bread and the Wine.

I will hold

the hand of my wife and wish I had been a better husband and had been

able to give her more than I have. I will renew my pledge to her that

I will never leave her nor forsake her even until the end of time. And

I will pray and hope for at least another thirty years with her sharing

my bed and my dreams and my life.

Anniversaries

are curious things. They give structure and meaning and depth to our lives.

They cause us to laugh and to cry. They should be celebrated.

[Father David

Epps is rector of Christ the King Church in Peachtree City. He may be

contacted at [email protected] or at www.ChristTheKingCEC.com .]

ion Home Page | Back

to the top of the page