Several weeks ago, I was approached by a church member who was interested in learning a little more about the history and significance of Iona. She is planning a trip for family and friends that will hopefully take place in the Fall and one of the anticipated stops is to Iona. I took a moment to scan my bookshelves and found one that I had purchased in the Abbey bookstore titled, “Columba’s Iona, A New History” by Rosiland K. Marshall.

As a matter of information, Columba was an Irish monk who made his way to Iona in 563 AD accompanied by twelve fellow monks. From this island three miles wide and one mile long, Columba and his friends shared Christianity with the inhabitants of Scotland. George MacCleod left a thriving ministry at the Old Govan Parish, Glasgow in 1938 with a number of unemployed tradesmen and freshly graduated seminary students to begin the renovation of the Abbey that had fallen into disrepair. Iona is a popular place of pilgrimage with well over 100,000 visitors each year.

Kay treated me to a week’s stay on Iona last summer, which was the time I purchased the above mentioned text. Marshall writes, “The blue green waters, the pebbled shore, the distant blue mountains, the peace of the Abbey church and the memory of Columba himself, however he is imagined, a fierce warrior of friendly presence, merge in a spiritual experience which draws people back, time and again.” (page 172)

The purpose in telling you all of this is that when I loaned my book, I had forgotten that I had written a brief narrative on some of the opening pages about what I was thinking and feeling at the time some of which I share with you now.

“Our God is one who listens, who knows our needs and is ever-ready to render his attention and care . . . but not always to our personal wishes. The crisis of our time is the need to recognize and know his authority in our lives and for the world and to yield to his answers and timing to our needs, aspirations and dreams. God is not inattentive. In Christ, we are his people, the sheep of his flock. The community and world around us is the pasture where God places us to love, work, and bear witness to Jesus Christ and the good news of the gospel.

My visit to Iona had a purpose that Kay has graciously supported. I have shared with many people that we all need places for “soul rest” in our lives.” Iona is that place for me. Like our gracious host Richard Harris on the island explained, “Iona is a special place and it’s hard to put your finger on the reason why.” Yes, it is as Marshall writes, the history and the peace of the Abbey, but it is also the absence of street lights and noisy traffic in addition to the gentle breeze from the sea, the music of the birds, the naa’s of the sheep and the warm greetings from the people of the village. And yet, when we think about it, this can be said about many other places in the world, too.

For me, Iona is the place I hear the call of Christ to come and visit in order to “resettle my soul’s compass,” to remember who I am in Christ, to remember my call to parish ministry and the call to serve and work among you, the men, women and children of the Sea Island Presbyterian Church.

But there is more. As enchanting as Iona can be, what I learned during our stay is that Iona is a wonderful place to visit and have your faith renewed and re-energized, but there is also the call and the responsibility of returning home, the place you know as home, the place where there is family, friends, community and church.

Beaufort is the place that Kay and I call home and it is the place where we are called to serve and work among you in the Spirit of Christ. We, together, continue to be inspired by the image of the Wild Goose (a symbol in Scotland for the Holy Spirit.)” My notes suddenly end here.

Because of the pandemic and its after effects, we will have to wait and see about our planned trip to Scotland and Iona in the summer of 2021. It may be delayed, but if it is I pray for at least one more visit. Until that time comes, the resurrected and living Christ travels with me, above and beneath me, before and behind me, as the resurrected and living Christ travels with you. May we do our best to take care of ourselves and one another as we yearn for the day when we can safely gather in one space to praise and worship the Lord, Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

In the knowledge that we need the fellowship and encouragement of community, and the world needs it, too, like never before, we lift our hearts and pray: God who speaks out of the whirlwind, and hears sighs too deep for words; as we come to terms with what we do not know, a time for return, a safe social distance; as we struggle to make sense of the world around us and imagine what life will be iike, ground us in your kingdom. May a gracious word begin our next encounter, a patient thought accompany our coming breath, so that with little left in our control, we may control ourselves with grace and faith and compassion. In Christ we pray. Amen. +   (from the Iona Community, Prayers for May 7, 2020)

—
Steve Keeler, Pastor

It was a hot, summer afternoon and I was wrapping up yard work when I looked up and saw that several piles of pine straw had collected on the roof of the house. I found the ladder, braced it against the roof in the rear of the house and climbed with a broom in hand. This was before lawn blowers were developed and available to the public.

It has always been an oddity that heights bother me when I’m on land whereas when I was at sea on aircraft carriers and cruisers in my active duty years, I seemed to be okay. As a child, I loved to climb tall trees. I couldn’t resist. I remember getting to the top, however, looking down and wondering, “What did I do this for?”

Every step I took on that hot, summer afternoon, I was mindful of where I was, always aware of what I might do if I happened to slip. What would I do to brace myself and where might be the best place to land. It’s amazing what you can see in your neighborhood from a rooftop. When I finally got to work I’d take a swipe at the pine straw until I was able to make a neat pile close enough to the edge than I would sit down, inch myself as close to the pile as I could and then push it over the side. It always gave me the weirdest sensation and I was always thankful to make my way back safely to ground level. I have a lot of respect for people who can climb ladders and trees, and dangle at the top as the breeze swings you back and forth.

Well, on this hot, summer afternoon I was almost done sweeping when I looked up and saw what appeared to be a thunderstorm rolling in from the northwest. Before I knew it there was thunder and lightning. I picked up the pace when all of a sudden a strong wind blew the ladder from the side of the house. There was more thunder and lightning, and then a driving rain. The problem was nobody was around to see me stranded. I started jumping up and down as hard as I could calling the names of Kay! Lillian! Liesle! Laura! Sam!

More thunder and lightning. More wind and driving rain. I noticed two cars driving by with children sitting in the back seat pointing to a stranger jumping up and down on a rooftop during a thunderstorm. Kay! Lillian! Liesle! Laura! Sam! Drenched, out of breath, praying that I wouldn’t serve as a lightning rod in the Mossy Oaks neighborhood, I think it was Kay who finally came outside after the storm to find me. She and the girls found the ladder in the backyard and I climbed down to safety. While I was dancing in raindrops to the rhythm of thunder, I learned that Kay and the girls had been relaxing in the living room immersed in a popular soap opera. I don’t remember where Sam was. It didn’t matter much at the time. I was happy to be back on land!

Moral of the story? Don’t ever assume that people always know where you are (especially when they’re watching soap operas!)

I’ve lost track of the weeks we have been separated because of the coronavirus. As efforts are made to re-open the economy, the Governor has stated his appreciation for churches remaining closed. The gathering of large groups of people in a single space can be problematic especially when there are folks who may be asymptomatic and folks who have to be especially careful because of underlying physical issues.

There is a part of me that would like to jump up and down like I did on a hot, summer afternoon on a rooftop in the middle of a thunderstorm in order to get God’s attention, vent my frustration and demand that things get back to normal as soon as possible. Truth is, it wouldn’t serve a good purpose. Patience, they say, is a virtue. I still find the prayer of Reinhold Niebuhr written at the last minute on a tiny sheet of paper to be quite useful, “Lord, grant me the courage to change the things I can, the peace to accept the things I cannot change, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

Until such time we are able to safely gather as a community of faith, the wisdom of Dietrich Bonhoeffer comes into play. Bonhoeffer recommended the following advice when we face the task of making important decisions. 1. Always use care to visit, talk and listen to other people in order to gain the insight of their thoughts and opinions. 2. Never make a decision in a hurry. 3. Unless there is overwhelming evidence to do otherwise, the status quo always holds.

So, this is what we’re going to do. We are going to be hope-filled in a time of distress, extend compassion to the suffering when and where we can, and pray for the healing of the world. We are going to follow the guidance of our public health officials, medical professionals and health care givers, civic leaders and government agencies. We shall refrain from neglecting the potential danger of a storm that has not yet subsided, Jumping up and down in frustration will get us nowhere. Let us seek to remain vigilant as we pray together –

“O God, help us in this time of calamity to trust your mercy, which never ends. Help us to trust your power, which in Jesus Christ stilled the storms, healed the sick, and provided hope for a better tomorrow. Finally, O God, help us to do our part in bringing an end to this destructive virus. In the name of your Son. Amen.” +

—
Steve Keeler, Pastor

My oh my how much the world has changed. Having returned to Florida to finish my undergraduate work, I attended the Central Florida Community College in Ocala, FL for my sophomore year of college and then transferred to Florida Southern for my last two years. Kay and I had one car, not two. At the beginning of her 17 mile journey to teach elementary school in Crystal River, accompanied by Lillian, she would drop me off at the public school bus station at 6:45 am. While Kay and Lillian were making their way to the west side of the county, I along with about 15 to 20 other students were riding a dated yellow school bus on a 30 mile trip to Ocala where I would attend classes through the day and when not in class, find my place at a cubicle in the library and study, study, study. Married with a child, having served 4 years in the Navy, 22 years old, I rode a school bus to school that had little heat and no air conditioning. It was a humbling experience. Why did I do it? I did it because I had made the commitment to relentlessly pursue my degree in a timely manner without complaint or lament.

Traveling back and forth, I frequently looked out the window (traveling at 40 miles an hour) when we started to pass some of the elegant horse farms in Marion Country. One farm was distinguished among the others. It was the home of a former Kentucky Derby winner by the name of Needles, who made his way around Churchill Downs in 1956 in 2:02. Needles had frequent leg problems in addition to occasional pneumonia. This beautiful horse acquired his name at a young age from the many veterinary injections he received to help him heal.

It is my understanding that the Derby has been rescheduled for the month of September. I hope the schedule holds. People in Kentucky and especially Louisville love the Derby and all the festivities that surround it. During my first year in seminary, the 1979-80 academic year, Kay and I decided to take our 5 year old daughter Lillian and find a spot along the parade route celebrating the 146th running of the race on May 3. The sidewalks and curbs were packed with thousands of people as far as the eye could see. People politely applauded Vice-President George Bush and his wife Barbara followed by the state governor George Y. Brown and wife Physllis George (remember her as a CBS sportscaster?), other dignitaries and celebrities like the original Colonel Sanders and Patrick Duffy from the popular television series Dallas  And then all of a sudden, Kay and I noticed people several blocks away to our left begin to stand and really celebrate. We couldn’t imagine who in the world it might be. As the entourage drew closer, we also stood and cheered as the Louisville Cardinal Basketball team passed by. The team had won the National Championship by defeating UCLA 59-24 only two months before. It was a day to remember.

On the following Saturday, I witnessed a strange phenomenon. The local television stations were on site broadcasting races all day from Churchill Downs leading up to the Big One. One could actually walk in the middle of any major highway that day in Louisville and not run the risk of getting hit by a car. People were either at the race track, a Derby party or at home watching it on television. There was such an air of excitement and enthusiasm.

A student and later a pastor and theologian by the name of Dietrich Bonhoeffer traveled to the United States from his home in Germany in the 1930’s to work and study at Union Seminary in New York City. It did not take long for him to impress his professors. Bonhoeffer writes about attending an Easter Sunday Service in one of the prominent Protestant congregations. As you can expect, the pews were full and there was a lot of energy in the air as men, women and children celebrated the resurrection of Jesus and the Easter faith. The following Sunday, however, he returned to a sanctuary that was less than half full. The energy was strangely absent. What happened to the joy and hope of Easter?

Bonhoeffer eventually attended the Abyssinian Baptist Church in Harlem where he was impressed by the strong preaching, the lively spirituals, and the engagement of the congregation with the surrounding community. It is widely believed that Bonhoeffer’s experience with this particular congregation prepared him for his return home immediately prior to the war. Bonhoeffer confidently and boldly preached the gospel, taught in an underground seminary, led resistance against the Nazi’s and was finally imprisoned and executed by order of Hitler on April 5,1945.

Energy and enthusiasm can quickly fade. As the coronavirus has disrupted our schedules and caused massive unemployment, I think of Bonhoeffer’s faith and inner strength as he and others faced a very unsettling time in human history. Bonhoeffer was able to respond, in the words of Henri Nouwen, to nationaal calamity and a world war by articulating God’s real presence and saying “no” to despair. And that’s what we’re called to do in a time such as this. As I stated last Sunday during the welcome and greeting, we do not know what the future holds, but we know who holds the future.

Wherever you are, may you be safe and may you be well. Peace and Grace. +

—
Steve Keeler, Pastor

This past weekend was a good one for Kay and I as we celebrated Laura’s birthday (our third daughter), worked in the yard thankful for the cool breeze, and enjoyed worship and the peacefulness that comes with each Sunday. Yes, the weekend was a good one with maybe one exception. There was no Kentucky Derby!

As a young teen, I was fond of watching Saturday afternoon broadcasts of the Wild World of Sports with host Jim McKay via the ABC Network. Each show began with various images from the world of athletic competition and words familiar to all sports fans, “There’s the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat.”

Over time, the first Saturday in May became special. I remember watching the Derby in the 60’s and every year since (when able.) There was the year when I was drilling with a Marine Air Squadron at the Naval Air Station, Marietta, GA, a Friday and Saturday once a month. We secured for the day at 1600 (4:00 pm.) I was disappointed that I would be in transit and unable to watch the Derby on television. Driving along Interstate 20 from Atlanta to Augusta, I did the next best thing. I found a local radio station broadcasting the race from Churchill Downs.

Passing the exit to Madison and Athens, GA, one hand on the wheel, observing the speed limit in the right hand lane, I sat straight up in my seat when I heard the following declaration, “And they’re off for the running of the Roses!” I imagined what the race was like on the back stretch and the charge around the final corner when the sportscaster echoed words from races past, “And here they come down the home stretch!” It was a tight race. The more I listened the more animated I became when I suddenly noticed strange looks from passers-by gazing at me rather oddly. What they saw was a single occupant in a vehicle talking to himself, waving his arm madly in the air and if they could have read my lips I was screaming at the top of my lungs, “Go! Go! Go!”. What they didn’t know was I was pulling for a horse galloping to the finish line hundreds of miles away.

A few years ago, Kay and I hosted a little Derby Party for family and a few friends with connections to Louisville and the state of Kentucky. Living in Louisville during our seminary days, we had heard a lot about mint juleps but for some reason had never tried one. The decision was made to mix a few in order to serve prior to the race. I purchased the bourbon and Kay prepared the sugar water and picked the fresh mint, which she had proudly grown herself. The first round was served as the jockeys mounted their horses. As the choir finished singing “My Old Kentucky Home,” a long-standing Derby tradition, I made my way to the kitchen to discover that half the bourbon supply had disappeared. (Had it all evaporated?) I soon discovered that half of the bottle had been used for the first round. When I returned to the living room, I noticed everyone was having an extremely good time. There was conversation and laughter, and hardly anyone was watching the horses and jockeys make their way to the starting gate. However, compliments abounded. Everyone loved the mint juleps and you know why? The person in the kitchen, whom we shall leave anonymous, had misunderstood the directions. Instead of one jigger of bourbon, she had poured three jiggers for one drink! All I know is that when the afternoon was over, the sugar water had lasted longer than the bourbon and folks enjoyed a Saturday afternoon watching what Jim McKay also described as the fastest two minutes in sports.

“What is the point of this story?” you might ask. I have always admired the story about the wedding feast in Cana where we are told Jesus converted 180 gallons of water into wine. I would say that was some wedding reception. There are a number of nuances to the story, one of which is the large amount of wine for the wedding feast. The point is very simple and has played a role in who we are as a community of faith known as the Sea Island Presbyterian Church. Since the very beginning, there are occasions when we have gathered for no other reason or purpose than to visit and share with one another, to laugh and relax as we do the sort of things that help the human spirit to relax and be renewed, again, with moderation.

Looking down the road, I look forward to the day when we can be together again to celebrate our faith in worship, to share in the ministry and work of the church, and to break bread together on the church campus as we exchange stories, catch up with what’s happening, and relax and rejoice in one another’s company. The stories that are shared via the congregational emails are all true. You have your own stories, too, and our stories all blend together helping us to understand, in the words of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, that the Christian is not a religious person, but simply a human being, as Jesus was a human being, profoundly this-worldly, characterized by discipline, and the constant knowledge of death and resurrection.”

As the sun sets in the western sky and and evening shadows begin to fall, a new day is just around the corner filled with new joys and challenges. May we remain hope-filled in a time of distress, may we extend compassion to the suffering when and where we can, and may we continue our prayers for the healing of the world. Call if you need me. In Christ +

—
Steve Keeler, Pastor

Kay, Lillian and I made our way home to Florida following my discharge from the Navy in the summer of 1976. Kay was offered a contract to teach elementary school in Crystal River, 17 miles from our home in Inverness. Monday through Friday, Kay would make the drive accompanied by Lillian who enjoyed a superb day care not far from the school campus. Not only was there a little girl to love and take care of, there were lesson plans, grading papers, kitchen duty and serving as the organist at the First United Methodist Church where Kay was nurtured in the faith as a child. Needless to say, as we watch the news and see reports of families trying to adjust to the new schedule that includes parenting, teaching and working from home, taking care of household duties and chores, Kay was extremely busy through the week as a single parent. There are only so many hours in a day. Right?

While Kay was parenting, teaching and keeping the home fires burning, I was 90 miles away attending class at Florida Southern College in Lakeland. Kay’s brother Gene had previously served on the faculty as a professor of Military Science and Kay had attended the college for three years before we were married in June of 1973, graduating a year later from the College of Charleston. During the week, I would usually arrive at the library no later than 8:30 in the morning and call it a day when it closed around 10 o’clock at night. Otherwise, I was in class. It was a rigorous and intense schedule, but a good one. After all that time in the college library, I developed a love for libraries and books that exists to this day.

On Friday afternoons I would arrive home before Kay and Lillian who usually rolled in around 5:30 or so. My Greek class was over around 12:30 and I would immediately hit the road and pull in the driveway somewhere around 2. Before going to work (I had a weekend job to supplement Kay’s salary and the GI Bill), I would spend a little time tidying up the house, which I very much enjoyed because it gave me some time to unwind and transition into the weekend and being home with the family. Plus, it helped Kay, too.

There is one particular Friday afternoon that sticks out from all the others. I happened to be gazing out the living room window and saw Kay and Lillian coming around the corner. As Kay was assisting Lillian out of the car I ran outside and startled my beloved wife when I said, “You wouldn’t believe what happened this afternoon.” “What happened?” Kay asked. “When I arrived home there was a deputy sheriff waiting for me at the front door.” Poor Kay. If you could only have seen her face. The concern. The anxiety. The mystery surrounding the whole situation. And this is where I should have stopped, but oh no I kept going. Relating the incident to Kay I said, “When I approached the front door step I asked the deputy if something was wrong.” And the deputy said he had been inside the house looking for Kay’s fingerprints on the vacuum cleaner and couldn’t find any.” I don’t remember what happened next. I don’t even remember where I slept Friday, Saturday or Sunday night. Needless to say, it took me a while to redeem myself.

Kay is a strong woman and I guess that should not come as a surprise especially since she has put up with someone like me for nearly 48 years. There is a passage in Paul’s letter to the church in Ephesus where he makes the point that wives are subject to their husbands, and the husband is the head of the wife just as Christ is the head of the church. There are many Christian households who follow this edict, but this can be a tragic mistake that can lead to significant problems if one doesn’t read further into the letter.

Paul also wrote that a husband should love and care for his wife just as Christ loved and serves the church. We all know how Christ loved and served the church. He was nailed to a cross because he loves us. The point is this. Kay and I have never argued, fussed or debated the subject about who is the head of the house. Through the years we have always enjoyed the grace of working in concert with one another. At this juncture, I think it important to note the counsel of Tony Campolo who advises married couples to practice the 60/40 Rule. Campolo believes that when you have two people in a marriage who are motivated to do more for the other person than what they might expect in return, you have a happy marriage. Married for almost five decades, I believe the rule/formula works. I tease and “cut the fool,” but I’ve never met a sweeter, kind-spirited person in my life (except for a Friday afternoon a long time ago. I never did that again!)

The week is passing quickly/ There are a lot of mixed messages out there about when things might change and get back to some sense of normality. In the meantime, our health care workers continue to work around the clock along with law enforcement and first responders. May the Lord lift them up and give them a resilient spirit. And for the many people who find themselves unemployed and those who fear being furloughed some time in the future. may there be a brighter day around the corner. All of you are in my heart and in prayers. I mean that. Testing, vaccines, new medicines and proper protocol. May it all happen soon. Very soon. And may we soon return to the places where we work and make a living. The places where we experience community and a sense of purpose. Lord Jesus, please take care of family and friends, loved ones and neighbors who are facing a tough time and let all of us tie a knot at the end of our rope and in the name of Christ do the only thing we know how to do, and that’s to hold on for dear life. Amen. +

—
Steve Keeler, Pastor

When I accepted the call to serve the Presbyterian Church on Edisto Island I did so the summer before my final year in seminary under very unusual and unique circumstances. Representing Louisville Seminary as a seminary delegate for the General Assembly meeting in Houston in 1981, I was invited to visit the Edisto Church by a favorite son of the congregation, Jim Murray. When I returned to Louisville I picked up Kay, Lillian and Liesle and we drove to Florida in order for Kay and the girls to visit family for the summer. Enrolled in the Navy’s Theological Student Program in order to serve in the Naval Reserve as a Chaplain, I flew into Charleston on my way to Newport, Rhode Island where I was picked up on a Friday afternoon.

Having visited many of the historical sites on the island, conversed with the search committee and attended the Sunday morning worship service, I was surprisingly offered the call. Even more surprising I accepted on the spot without consulting with Kay. There was no formal paperwork,  promises, consultations with the presbytery or signatures, just a handshake. Kay supported my sense of call from the very beginning. When the summer was over and the Keeler Family returned to the seminary campus, I broke the news. My professors and close friends thought I had lost my mind. From their perspective I had broken all protocol. To their dismay I had accepted the first call without looking and considering other churches. The island was extremely rural with one gas station, a tiny grocery on the beach and a couple of restaurants that catered primarily to the tourists in the summer. That Fall semester the Clerk of Session, Billy Hills, Sr., would call me at the beginning of every month to ensure the Keeler’s were still coming. Before the semester was over, the congregation eventually met, voted in favor of the call, and sent me the terms of call for my “John Henry.” It was one of the best decisions I ever made.

What I learned from the people of a congregation founded sometime between 1685 and 1710 has served me well through the years. We’ll get to that in just a minute. The manse where we lived was a two story rice style plantation home built in 1832 on St. Pierre Creek. When the furnace would go out in winter, usually in the middle of the night, I would grab my bathrobe and make my way through the crawl space to relight it. In and among the many experiences, there was Buster Kizer who would come once a month and pour a gallon of bleach down the well that supplied water to the house. Buster was our Moderator of the Diaconate and quite a character (and a character he was in every sense of the word.)

Buster had served as a submariner in the Atlantic during World War II and retired from the Naval Shipyard in Charleston. Over the years he had learned to live hard, work hard and party hard. I remember the Sunday Buster showed up for church with a number of band aids affixed to his forehead and face. “Buster,” I said, “what in the world happened to you?” He looked at me with a little smile and answered, “Jack Daniels pushed me down the front door steps.” I couldn’t help but admire his honesty. We both laughed.

Then there was the morning I answered the phone at the manse. As I recall it was around 8:30 am. It was Buster on the other end. I extended a greeting, “Good morning, Buster. What can I do for you?” I received the surprise of my life when Buster said, “I’m coming to the Manse to shoot and kill you.” I don’t remember too much conversation after that, but what I do remember is saying clearly, “Buster, come on over. I’ll be here when you arrive.” I announced to Kay that we might have a visitor in the next hour or so.

As the day passed, I never saw Buster. However, I must admit I went about my business  practicing situational awareness. I kept looking for Buster to show up at the Manse or my Study. He never came.

Everyone knew Buster had a temper. It never took much to get him excited and there were days Jack Daniels would get the best of him, but the way I looked at it was through the lens of a pastor who has always tried, in Christ, to know and love my people. I suppose if I had spent a lot of time under the ocean in a submarine praying every day that a torpedo wouldn’t erase me and my fellow crew members from the face of the earth, if I had worked, toiled and retired from work in a shipyard repairing and refitting Navy ships in drydock in hot and uncomfortable spaces, Jack Daniels might have pushed me over the edge on occasion, too.

Down to his core, Buster was a good man, a faithful husband, a strong Christian and an active Presbyterian. Both Kay and I loved him, bleach, Jack Daniels, temper, occasional threats and all and we loved his wife, Wallace, too. If you ever needed someone to watch your flank, Buster was the person you wanted. If he could have maybe learned and incorporated an important word in the Presbyterian lexicon, the word “moderation.” But that wasn’t Buster. It was either full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes, or enjoying a wee drink or two, hardly anything ever in between.

On a mountain outside of Capernaum Jesus offered some life-giving words, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” William Barclay makes the point that one of the ways we can understand this particular Beatitude is in the context of people like us who yearn for the holy presence of God in their lives. Because of who we are, we can’t survive without that holy presence. Buster and I never talked about that early morning phone call and the threat he made. In all likelihood, he was so under the weather he probably never realized he made the call in the first place. All these years later, I’m glad I was the one Buster sought in that early morning hour. I felt he was most probably blowing off steam and needed someone to talk to and take his heat. And that is one of the reasons I could always count on seeing Buster sitting in a pew with Wallace on Sunday mornings. In the words of Jesus, he yearned for the holy presence and love of God, the grace of Jesus Christ, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit. When we are honest about ourselves, who we are and what we do, in our good and bad moments, we all need that presence, too, don’t you think?

The day is almost done. Until tomorrow, stay safe and stay well as we remain calm in a time of distress, extend compassion to the suffering and pray for the healing of the world. In Christ +

—
Steve Keeler, Pastor

There were two activities I especially enjoyed about the Spring during my high school years, one was playing baseball (my favorite sport) and the other was running track, my specialty was the 800 meter race. Training was rigorous. I would practice with the baseball team for about an hour and a half and then run the oval track around the football field until the sun went down.

On Friday afternoons, I would take a ten mile jaunt around a nearby golf course and then run the fire trails of a heavily wooded area, which was home to wild boar. There were a number of times I found myself running as fast as I could to either find a tree with low lying limbs in order to escape or as the coaches at the University of Alabama would scream at Forrest Gump, “Run, Forrest, run!” My lungs were good and strong.

Then there was the assignment with the Second Marine Air Wing. When I was stationed at the Marine Corps Air Station, Beaufort, we would run our PFT (Physical Fitness Test) every morning at 6:30 am, a regimen of sit ups, pull ups and a three mile run. I was proud of myself. I never scored lower than first class. I wasn’t much on the pull ups, but I could do the situps and keep pace with the rabbits in our unit. Sadly, those days are gone.

Two summers ago, Roy and Katie Nicka made the trip to Montreat, along with other parents, to watch the Friday evening Concert sponsored by the Worship & Music Conference in Anderson Auditorium. They were there to watch Jack and Lucy Mae, and the other children and youth, and listen to them sing in their respective choirs. It was a packed house with over 1,200 in attendance. It was a night of beautiful and glorious music. What I remember about the next morning is Roy running before breakfast all the way through the Montreat community up to the staging area where hikers begin their trek up Lookout Mountain. Roy ran up the mountain, down the mountain and back to our residence on Tennessee Road, a distance of well over 5 miles. He was hardly out of breath, I was impressed and envious!

A church member visited with me in my Study years ago, a gentleman who in his earlier years had jogged regularly and even ran marathons. I gathered he harbored growing concern about my developing sedentary lifestyle, sitting at my desk too long without getting proper exercise because he loaned me a book titled, “Deconditioning.” It is unfortunate that I didn’t treat the subject more seriously. As time passed, my daily runs fell by the wayside. I surely can’t keep up with Roy!

Finding myself at home more than usual these days, Kay and I have begun walking each day, something we enjoyed doing together years ago before daily responsibilities and obligations began to dominate our schedules. We walked over two and half miles at noon time with Laura and Keeler walking with us. Six hours later, I’m sore. No longer able to really jog and beat the pavement, I’m finding our daily walks to not only be good for us physically, but good for us socially as well as we visit and talk along the way. We are noticing more in the neighborhood, too. Things we haven’t noticed because of the hectic pace of life that we all fall prey to.

The point of all this is to simply share a word of encouragement that we use care in how we practice our spiritual disciplines during this time of staying home and social distancing so we do not decondition spiritually. I frequently make reference to the teaching of the apostle Paul about running the good race. (1 Corinthians 9.24) Paul understood that constant training for an athlete enables him/her to compete against the best. Let us be careful to discipline ourselves as we tackle our home schedules and chores “decently and in order,” and let us be diligent for the right reasons as we seek to be still during some portion of the day and know that God is God, as we read from the Book, as we offer prayers of adoration, thanksgiving, confession, intercession and supplication, and listen for the still, small voice that gives guidance and direction, comfort, reassurance and hope.

Until tomorrow, may you sleep and rest well and welcome the new day in the peace and security of Jesus Christ. +

—
Steve Keeler, Pastor

Over the last few days, my thoughts have turned to the island of Iona (off the western coast of Scotland) the Abbey and the Iona Community. As we continue to sort out what life is going to be like for the balance of 2020 and beyond, I have resonated with the Iona community owing its very existence to the continuing conviction that Christian community is not an abstract utopian vision, but is to be discovered , pursued and celebrated at street level and in the very midst of life. As one of the community’s prayers puts it, new ways are sought “to touch the hearts of all.” (Celtic Prayers from Iona, J. Philip Newell, page 93)

Unable to gather as a congregation for worship and other forms of ministry, this is our task at the present time: Seeking new ways to touch the hearts of all. Never did I ever give any thought that worship services would be pre-recorded and provided for viewing on Sunday mornings and neither did I ever imagine that Session Council and Diaconate meetings would be conducted via Zoom! Our children and youth in addition to the Youth Council continue to meet and communicate on a weekly basis by way of Zoom. The advantages of technology are helping us to stay connected.

And yet, I look forward to the day when we will be able to meet face-to-face. hear one another sing, lift our voices in prayer, share the peace, shake hands and embrace one another in the spirit of Christian fellowship. I would much rather dodge our children running through the hallways than do what I’m doing now, walking around from one space to another “in the sound of silence.”

Kay and I enjoyed an entire week on Iona last summer for which we are grateful. Following a few days in Edinburgh, we boarded a train for a 4 hour trip by rail to Oban where we spent the night. What a beautiful place. Oban is known as the Seafood Capital of Scotland and for its fine whisky. We couldn’t resist and tasted both. And then it was off to the Isle of Mull and a short ferry ride to Iona.

Last summer was our third visit, but the first by ourselves. For seven days we moved about at a leisurely pace, laid down in open fields and shared simple conversation, sat on the beach and read for hours at a time listening to the waves roll in and the seagulls sing. took long hikes and visited with the inquisitive sheep, picked beautiful flowers and wondered what this special habitat looked like centuries ago as monks made their living off the land and sea.

I am frequently asked why Iona is so special? And I would say that it’s more than the natural beauty and the rich history that surrounds Columba (563) and the Abbey. It’s the draw of Celtic spirituality and how George MacCleod described the island as a “thin place” where the veil is thin between this world and God’s. And this is what I now see as a major focus for the work and ministry that is conducted here at the Sea Island Presbyterian Church. In this period of change and transition, may we know that this is a “thin place,” too, where the veil is thin between this world and God’s. The Sea Island campus, her sanctuary and courtyard, the Columbarium and outlying meeting spaces, is a reminder that our faith in the risen Christ brings meaning and a sense of purpose to life.

In closing, allow me to let you in on a little secret. A cross made of walnut was carried to the Abbey last summer. Kay took a photograph of the cross on the Lord’s Table from where the Lord’s Supper has been celebrated by pilgrims from Africa, Antarctica, Asia, Austrailia, Europe, and North and South America. Literally millions. I then picked up the cross, stood on my tiptoes and placed it in a window sill located in the ancient chancel. The cross now rests behind a model of the ship that Columba used to sail from his home in Ireland to Iona in 563 AD. The cross is out of the eyesight of the public. Kay has a photograph of this, too. Why do I tell you this? Because I look forward to the day when Kay and I, and a number of Sea Islanders return. I hope to stand on my tiptoes one more time to see if the cross is still there. Everyday I think about that cross, a piece of Sea Island in the Abbey of Iona and with us who have been to this island, a piece of Iona at Sea Island for the sake of Christ and the Glory of God.

Evening Prayer from Iona
This day and this night, may I know, O God:
The deep peace of the running wave,
The deep peace of the flowing air,
The deep peace of the quiet earth,
The deep peace of the shining stars,
The deep peace of the Son of peace. Amen. +

—
Steve Keeler, Pastor

One of the things I have always admired about the work of Jesus is that the needs of people always took precedence over rules of religion, which seemed to cause controversy and often times trouble. He healed people on the Sabbath, drew close to the outcasts of the world, and his disciples were observed plucking heads of wheat and eating them when they shouldn’t have and with unclean hands at that.

The phone rang yesterday morning in my study and I of course answered it. On the other end of the line was a desperate father who explained that his daughter’s wedding was scheduled for this weekend, but a list of problems had developed. His daughter and fiance are currently living in Charleston where they are thankfully employed and working. The family has membership and are members in good standing of a Presbyterian congregation in a nearby city located in Georgia. The couple had successfully completed their pre-marital counseling and made appropriate plans for a church wedding and reception when the arrival of the coronavirus complicated everything. The pastor who had conducted the pre-marital counseling was reluctant to conduct the ceremony. Wedding guests, sadly, had to be dis-invited.

As I listened and learned more about the circumstances of the situation I remembered another telephone call I received while I was visiting active duty personnel in their work spaces in hangars along the flight line at the Naval Air Station, Oceana in Virginia Beach. I was serving as the Chaplain for the F-14 Tomcat community at the time. The person on the other end indicated that a squadron was preparing for deployment and personnel were preparing to board a C-130. Problem was there was a sailor on the flight line with his pregnant fiance. I was asked if I might be available to marry the couple before the plane took off.

I quickly made my way to the flight line and introduced myself. Surrounded by a host of sailors, I asked the groom to stand to my left and the bride to stand at my right. Because of time constraints, the propellers were turning, I shortened the liturgy for the wedding ceremony. In maybe 10 minutes the couple exchanged vows and I pronounced them man and wife. They kissed to the cheers of the squadron, signed the Marriage License, thanked me for doing the service and kissed one more time. I’ll never forget the new bride watching her husband board the plane, both of them with tears in their eyes waving goodbye knowing they would not see one another for at least 6 months.

For your information, before I consent to do a wedding I normally conduct a minimum of four pre-marital counseling sessions.The couple gets to know me and I get to know them, and for a period of weeks we visit and talk about all sorts of things. You know why I consented to do a wedding on a runway, not knowing the couple and not having completed the necessary pre-marital counseling? I learned that the bride-to-be was pregnant. It was not the optimum of circumstances, but I made the decision to do that wedding because if I had refused, a soon-to-be mother would not have been eligible for the Navy to provide prenatal care or insurance coverage for the birth of their child. In addition, if something, God forbid, had happened to the sailor and pending father, there would have been no insurance or benefits for mother and child. Jesus whispered in my ear, “Steve, we’re not going to let that happen.”

Tomorrow afternoon, at an undisclosed destination, a bride and groom and preacher will practice social distancing and as I shared with an excited bride-to-be a few moments ago the ceremony will last 20 to 25 minutes, not too short that it’s disrespectful and not too long that it’s oppressive. Parents and grandparents will be there, but I will practice the discipline of no touching and no hugging in order to protect Kay and other members of the family. The last thing I shared with a person I have never met was this, “You’ve got to understand one thing. When I do a wedding, I do my best to tie the knot as tight as I can.” She laughed and said she would have it no other way.

Where is the church in times of crisis? The church is with God’s people, taking care of them in times of difficulty and need just like Jesus did. Many times, family and friends thought Jesus had lost his mind when in fact he had not lost his mind at all. He was just doing what Abba Father had sent him to do. Be with the people when they need you. I will be careful tomorrow. I will keep my distance and wash my hands, and I will rejoice in God’s gift of love that believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things. Love never ends and of all the gifts that God has given the human creation, those of faith, hope and love, the greatest of these is love.

In closing, I often think about a young couple I married on a runway and pray I tied that knot real tight. I pray their marriage is a happy one and their child is healthy. I’m already getting excited about tomorrow. It never, never gets old for when I look into the eyes of two people preparing for a lifetime together, I remember my wedding vows and the promises I made to Kay. I will do so again tomorrow evening at sunset for the sake of Christ and to the Glory of God. And all God’s people said, “Amen!” in Christ +

—
Steve Keeler, Pastor

This has been an unusual, strange and sad day. I received word a while ago that the Rev. Dr. Barry Van Deventer, former Executive Presbyter of the Charleston Atlantic Presbytery and personal friend, was welcomed into the loving arms of his Savior earlier this morning. Kay and I were youth advisors for the junior high youth group at the First Presbyterian Church, Beaufort when we met “Barry” for the first time on the front door step of the Fellowship Hall on a Sunday evening.

Barry was instrumental in my coming under the care of the presbytery as a ministerial candidate in October 1976 following my discharge from the Navy. Compared to the requirements that are necessary today to become a ministerial candidate, this was a most unusual move. Why? Because I still had three years of undergraduate work to complete before I could enter seminary. Another interesting dynamic was that First Presbyterian, Beaufort was my sponsoring congregation. For six years, FPC, Beaufort and Barry Van Deventer made sure that I stayed on track.

Barry supported my first call as a Minister of Word and Sacrament in service to the Presbyterian Church on Edisto Island, where Kay and I, and the girls (this was before Sam) were involved in the lives in the people of Edisto for six years before my recall to the Navy, this time as a Chaplain. Following Desert Shield/Storm, I excused myself from the SAN JAC following the early morning muster on a Monday, the day after Easter 1991. I was granted permission to cross the quarterdeck and walked down the pier (Norfolk Navy Base) to a telephone booth where I placed a call to the presbytery office in Charleston. When Barry answered the phone I made the following request, “Barry, I want to come home. At my age, it’s not right for me to leave Kay by herself with four children for long periods of time and besides, I miss parish ministry.”

And this was Barry’s response, “Steve, you wouldn’t believe what I was doing when I answered your call. I was about to pick up the phone and call Washington DC in order to find your location and phone number. I’m hoping that you might be interested in a New Church Development we’ve started in Beaufort.” I couldn’t believe it. The rest is history.

Barry was loyal to the Presbyterian Church (USA) and in his position of leadership was a visionary. He initiated a Capital Campaign within the churches of our presbytery and raised enough capital to support five (5) New Church Developments, one of which was the Sea Island Presbyterian Church. Christians sitting in the pews of Presbyterian congregations throughout the lowcountry provided the funds to purchase the 6 acres where our buildings now sit and financially supported our operating budget for five successive years until such time we could stand on our own two feet. Nearly three quarters of a million dollars was invested in this community of faith, all the money coming from people who were not members of this new church family.

You may remember a congregational email a week or so ago when I shared my admiration for the Rev. Dr. Richard Cushman, organizing pastor of the Dorchester Presbyterian Church, Summerville, Honorably Retired. I’ve known Richard since 1965. When I learned of Barry’s death, I called Richard who is currently a patient at MUSC, Charleston. Richard is suffering from advancing dementia. I was surprised he was able to answer the phone. I introduced myself whereupon he said, “It sure is good to hear your voice!” I explained that I had heard that he was not feeling well and wanted to call and say hello. I let him know that I had shared some of our history in a congregational email telling everyone how we were long-standing friends and how much I admired and respected him. At the end of our visit, Richard said something I will always remember. Regarding his dementia, he said that our faith brings us comfort and strength in times of trouble, but our faith never protects us. It never protects us. I said goodbye telling Richard that I will keep him in my heart and prayers. He thanked me and replied, “I’ll pray for you, too, if I can remember your name.” We laughed, but as I hung up I knew what he said was true. If he could remember my name.

Barry Van Deventer and Richard Cushman. Two faithful saints of the church. What a tandem. What friends and mentors they have been for people like me. Hard-workers, serious-minded but not too serious, funny and deeply committed to the Jesus Way. The “Old Guard” begins to pass away. Looking forward, thankful for their lives and witness, the Lord Jesus will always remember their names and I will, too.

It’s been a heck-of-a-day. Life continues. There is a pandemic to fight and ministry to do. In the words of the apostle Paul, “We press on.” Good night my friends as we pray for those who are suffering from today’s severe weather and pray that each of us will be safe in the heavy rain and blowing wind. May the Lord bless and keep you. In Christ +

—
Steve Keeler, Pastor
Sea Island Presbyterian Church