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Called to be a Light in the Rockfish Valley
Serving GOD with JOY and GENEROSITY
Serving GOD with JOY and GENEROSITY
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David Cameron was the pastor of Rockfish Church from January, 2000 until July
2010. Ordained as a minister of word and sacrament in 1982, David has served
churches in North Carolina, Tennessee and Virginia. With additional training in
counseling he has also worked as a family counselor. David is married to Kathryn,
also a Presbyterian minister, and they have two grown children, Katie and Will. They
have moved to Immanuel Presbyterian Church in Albuquerque, NM.
Archives of David's Sermons may be found here.
2010. Ordained as a minister of word and sacrament in 1982, David has served
churches in North Carolina, Tennessee and Virginia. With additional training in
counseling he has also worked as a family counselor. David is married to Kathryn,
also a Presbyterian minister, and they have two grown children, Katie and Will. They
have moved to Immanuel Presbyterian Church in Albuquerque, NM.
Archives of David's Sermons may be found here.
Pressing On
Psalm 131
Philippians 3:10-16
Sitting quietly. Pressing on.
Like a toddler resting in his mother’s lap.
Like a highly trained athlete straining toward the finish line.
Sitting quietly. Pressing on.
These are the two images our scripture lessons hold before us this morning.
At first they seem diametrically opposed,
like polar opposites.
One quiet and passive, the other intense and active.
An either/or proposition.
But I suggest that while they certainly do represent two ends of a spectrum,
it is the same spectrum,
and somehow as those who follow Jesus we are called to see them
not as either/or propositions, but as a both/and kind of arrangement.
Kathryn and I have been in a “Pressing On” frame of mind for the past months
as it became more and more a reality that we would be invited
to come begin a new work in Albuquerque, NM.
The challenges at Immanuel Presbyterian Church have captured my imagination
and I have begun to imagine myself interacting with store keepers and neighbors
and other ministers, and university students
fully immersing myself in life and work in that new place.
Like Paul says, I feel my body, my mind, and my spirit straining forward.
You, on the other hand, probably feel abandoned.
Sure, you’ve been kind to say nice things and be encouraging,
but let’s face it, I’m forcing this on you.
Though some of you may have been secretly HOPING I’d leave already
the fact that I’m going means I’m leaving you with some hard work to do.
I’m leaving you with uncertainty about your future,
forcing you to face significant change you’d probably rather not face.
Some of you have family stress, some are facing illness,
some of you are dealing with end-of-life issues for yourself or someone you love.
You need pastoral care and I, your pastor, am getting ready to dissolve.
Come Thursday I’ll turn back into a pumpkin and you’ll be left holding my glass slipper
wondering, “Where did he go? We danced so well together!
Wasn’t he having a good time?”
While I’m pressing on, straining ahead with Paul,
You will need to be curled up in God’s lap with the psalmist.
I don’t mean to get melodramatic here,
but you need comfort,
like a weaned child that’s left wondering “Where did that wonderful breast go?”
you need to grieve a loss and rest on God’s lap and be quiet.
But here’s where the paradox of Christian life comes in.
Here’s where the challenge of following Jesus grabs our imagination
and stretches us to go beyond what we expect or what comes naturally.
I am pressing on, but I am grieving, too.
I have this great feeling of energy for the future,
but unlike Paul, there’s no way I’m forgetting the past.
One of the first people I met after moving here ten years ago was Jan Fitch.
She came into my office as I was unpacking boxes and stared at me, frowning.
I don’t’ remember her words exactly,
but basically she let me know pretty abruptly that she was prepared not to like me.
It wasn’t exactly the welcome I’d expected.
But then I learned that David and Tandy Taylor, the ministers before me,
had bought property from her and built a house next to her –
that they had had two children while here,
children who learned to call her “Gran Jan.”
Jan was grieving, but it wasn’t long before she was stopping in frequently
and we became friends.
Jan died before my second year was up, and I think of others who have gone on
in my ten years here, those who are now part of our “cloud of witnesses”
who sit in God’s stadium and cheer us on as we continue the race.
I’m hesitant to name names because I know I’ll miss some,
But I think of Bruton Darden and Ken Winfield who were our leaders in stewardship,
and Clara Sheffield, our oldest member, who at 91 still sang for me.
I remember Verne Paulsen, the southern gentleman, Chuck McGatha the historian,
Portia Lawson, so full of vigor,
Orville and Lillian Karicofe, Jim and Mary Ammons,
and Monty and Elizabeth Purviance
who taught me that laughter is ageless.
Of course we recently said goodbye to David Carr and Elaine Venn much too soon.
I remember them and I give thanks for them.
I also remember trips to Mexico and Montreat,
Hikes up Humpback Rock, Christmas caroling, and craft making events.
I remember Global Markets and Pavilion picnics and Bible studies and Lectio Divina.
I remember the Men’s Lunch on Thursdays.
I remember unsung saints who have fixed toilets and weeded flower beds
and painted walls.
One thing I remember most and will carry forward with me into my next work
is the absolute dedication you have to caring for this community.
You are second to none in reaching out to those who hurt or who are in need.
Backpacks in the Fall, the Children’s Food Pantry, the Care Bear Tree –
Thanksgiving boxes, Easter baskets, Senior Lunches.
I have been honored to be associated with your generosity.
To you much has been given and so you give much in return.
Beyond all these things, though, I will remember our worship together.
You have taught me how to expect more in worship than simply to talk about God.
Through your singing, your prayers, and your attentiveness
you have help me negotiate the turmoil of midlife,
endure national crises,
and rise above the occasional hurt feelings that go with life together.
By your willingness to give yourself freely in worship,
allow me time with your children,
and to forgive my occasional clumsy and ill-considered words from the pulpit,
you have helped me experience God. \
You have taught me grace.
I am pressing on toward Albuquerque and the new work God has in store for me there,
yet as I remember our life together, I also need to sit on God’s lap.
I need to be held close and comforted.
I will miss you.
And as I sit while pressing on,
the circumstances of my leaving call you to faithfully press on while you sit.
Over the years you as a church have proven yourself fully capable
of choosing pastoral leadership that fits who you are,
of finding women and men who thrive here.
This is a sign that you are a healthy congregation with your priorities straight.
There is no reason to expect that will not continue.
Every time there is a change in pastoral leadership there is hard work to be done,
but you’ve always done it.
You’ve risen to the occasion.
You’ve taken the rudder and kept the sails trimmed and the keel even.
There’s no reason to expect this time will be any different.
If you are fairly new to this congregation or if you’ve been one to sit back
this is the perfect opportunity for you to step forward and get involved.
There will be plenty for everyone to do.
If you’ve been working hard and need a rest, take it, but then re-enter the fray.
In all the pressing on you and I will be doing in these days ahead,
and in all the quiet comfort we’ll be needing,
Paul reminds us that one thing is still our primary goal.
The future of Rockfish Presbyterian Church and Immanuel Presbyterian Church
is not up to us. It is ultimately in God’s hands.
Our primary calling, Paul reminds us, is to know Christ;
to be willing to share in his suffering and to find hope in his resurrection.
Our calling is to resist the temptation to wallow in the past
AND to resist the temptation to think the future of the church rests solely on our efforts.
Our calling as brothers and sisters, as those who are together children of God
is to trust in the mystery and the love and the grace
of he who is our cornerstone, he who is our peace.
Copyright David Cameron 2010
Psalm 131
Philippians 3:10-16
Sitting quietly. Pressing on.
Like a toddler resting in his mother’s lap.
Like a highly trained athlete straining toward the finish line.
Sitting quietly. Pressing on.
These are the two images our scripture lessons hold before us this morning.
At first they seem diametrically opposed,
like polar opposites.
One quiet and passive, the other intense and active.
An either/or proposition.
But I suggest that while they certainly do represent two ends of a spectrum,
it is the same spectrum,
and somehow as those who follow Jesus we are called to see them
not as either/or propositions, but as a both/and kind of arrangement.
Kathryn and I have been in a “Pressing On” frame of mind for the past months
as it became more and more a reality that we would be invited
to come begin a new work in Albuquerque, NM.
The challenges at Immanuel Presbyterian Church have captured my imagination
and I have begun to imagine myself interacting with store keepers and neighbors
and other ministers, and university students
fully immersing myself in life and work in that new place.
Like Paul says, I feel my body, my mind, and my spirit straining forward.
You, on the other hand, probably feel abandoned.
Sure, you’ve been kind to say nice things and be encouraging,
but let’s face it, I’m forcing this on you.
Though some of you may have been secretly HOPING I’d leave already
the fact that I’m going means I’m leaving you with some hard work to do.
I’m leaving you with uncertainty about your future,
forcing you to face significant change you’d probably rather not face.
Some of you have family stress, some are facing illness,
some of you are dealing with end-of-life issues for yourself or someone you love.
You need pastoral care and I, your pastor, am getting ready to dissolve.
Come Thursday I’ll turn back into a pumpkin and you’ll be left holding my glass slipper
wondering, “Where did he go? We danced so well together!
Wasn’t he having a good time?”
While I’m pressing on, straining ahead with Paul,
You will need to be curled up in God’s lap with the psalmist.
I don’t mean to get melodramatic here,
but you need comfort,
like a weaned child that’s left wondering “Where did that wonderful breast go?”
you need to grieve a loss and rest on God’s lap and be quiet.
But here’s where the paradox of Christian life comes in.
Here’s where the challenge of following Jesus grabs our imagination
and stretches us to go beyond what we expect or what comes naturally.
I am pressing on, but I am grieving, too.
I have this great feeling of energy for the future,
but unlike Paul, there’s no way I’m forgetting the past.
One of the first people I met after moving here ten years ago was Jan Fitch.
She came into my office as I was unpacking boxes and stared at me, frowning.
I don’t’ remember her words exactly,
but basically she let me know pretty abruptly that she was prepared not to like me.
It wasn’t exactly the welcome I’d expected.
But then I learned that David and Tandy Taylor, the ministers before me,
had bought property from her and built a house next to her –
that they had had two children while here,
children who learned to call her “Gran Jan.”
Jan was grieving, but it wasn’t long before she was stopping in frequently
and we became friends.
Jan died before my second year was up, and I think of others who have gone on
in my ten years here, those who are now part of our “cloud of witnesses”
who sit in God’s stadium and cheer us on as we continue the race.
I’m hesitant to name names because I know I’ll miss some,
But I think of Bruton Darden and Ken Winfield who were our leaders in stewardship,
and Clara Sheffield, our oldest member, who at 91 still sang for me.
I remember Verne Paulsen, the southern gentleman, Chuck McGatha the historian,
Portia Lawson, so full of vigor,
Orville and Lillian Karicofe, Jim and Mary Ammons,
and Monty and Elizabeth Purviance
who taught me that laughter is ageless.
Of course we recently said goodbye to David Carr and Elaine Venn much too soon.
I remember them and I give thanks for them.
I also remember trips to Mexico and Montreat,
Hikes up Humpback Rock, Christmas caroling, and craft making events.
I remember Global Markets and Pavilion picnics and Bible studies and Lectio Divina.
I remember the Men’s Lunch on Thursdays.
I remember unsung saints who have fixed toilets and weeded flower beds
and painted walls.
One thing I remember most and will carry forward with me into my next work
is the absolute dedication you have to caring for this community.
You are second to none in reaching out to those who hurt or who are in need.
Backpacks in the Fall, the Children’s Food Pantry, the Care Bear Tree –
Thanksgiving boxes, Easter baskets, Senior Lunches.
I have been honored to be associated with your generosity.
To you much has been given and so you give much in return.
Beyond all these things, though, I will remember our worship together.
You have taught me how to expect more in worship than simply to talk about God.
Through your singing, your prayers, and your attentiveness
you have help me negotiate the turmoil of midlife,
endure national crises,
and rise above the occasional hurt feelings that go with life together.
By your willingness to give yourself freely in worship,
allow me time with your children,
and to forgive my occasional clumsy and ill-considered words from the pulpit,
you have helped me experience God. \
You have taught me grace.
I am pressing on toward Albuquerque and the new work God has in store for me there,
yet as I remember our life together, I also need to sit on God’s lap.
I need to be held close and comforted.
I will miss you.
And as I sit while pressing on,
the circumstances of my leaving call you to faithfully press on while you sit.
Over the years you as a church have proven yourself fully capable
of choosing pastoral leadership that fits who you are,
of finding women and men who thrive here.
This is a sign that you are a healthy congregation with your priorities straight.
There is no reason to expect that will not continue.
Every time there is a change in pastoral leadership there is hard work to be done,
but you’ve always done it.
You’ve risen to the occasion.
You’ve taken the rudder and kept the sails trimmed and the keel even.
There’s no reason to expect this time will be any different.
If you are fairly new to this congregation or if you’ve been one to sit back
this is the perfect opportunity for you to step forward and get involved.
There will be plenty for everyone to do.
If you’ve been working hard and need a rest, take it, but then re-enter the fray.
In all the pressing on you and I will be doing in these days ahead,
and in all the quiet comfort we’ll be needing,
Paul reminds us that one thing is still our primary goal.
The future of Rockfish Presbyterian Church and Immanuel Presbyterian Church
is not up to us. It is ultimately in God’s hands.
Our primary calling, Paul reminds us, is to know Christ;
to be willing to share in his suffering and to find hope in his resurrection.
Our calling is to resist the temptation to wallow in the past
AND to resist the temptation to think the future of the church rests solely on our efforts.
Our calling as brothers and sisters, as those who are together children of God
is to trust in the mystery and the love and the grace
of he who is our cornerstone, he who is our peace.
Copyright David Cameron 2010
| Sunday, July 11, 2010 |
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