The “Peacemakers”

I have only attended two Easter Sunrise Services in my life. The first was at Carbondale Assembly of God on Easter Sunday (duh…), April 6th, 1969. The second was at the infamous church I worked at in Georgia. I find it interesting that neither one of them ever did it more than once. Once was so enough.
However, on that auspicious day in 1969, there was a lot of time in between the sunrise service and Sunday School. So, several of us younger folks were wasting time in the “fellowship hall.” Someone had found a youth choir book, so Phil sat down at the piano while the rest of us stood looking over his shoulder. Before long, we were making some pretty good sounds. All of us read music well enough to read the parts, and soon we decided we might have something. Here are the names of the five youth who formed a new ensemble that morning, in alphabetical order: Paula Hale, Roger Sharp, Phil Taylor, Jeff Taylor, and Zelinda Warnock.
We performed a few times. Once even outside of our church, but I don’t remember where that was. People were impressed, primarily because we were so young. I was 13 and the youngest. But Roger was the oldest at only 16.
Ultimately, the three of us guys got together and had a serious conversation about the future. Because we were so young and also because we had some pretty big dreams, we decided that involving young ladies in our big plans might eventually end in disaster or at least drama. (Sorry, girls. In case you never heard the truth, this is it.) So the mixed quintet became an all male trio.
My dad had been a part of a group called the “Peacemakers” for a very short period of time. They already had business cards and stationery with my home address and phone number on them. So “Peacemakers” was as good a name as any. Better than most. Plus, now we had stationery. And cards.
These three guys—Roger, Phil, and Jeff—could never have imagined what they were forming. This was an alliance, a partnership, and a friendship that would last a lifetime. And the music we would make would take us all over the world. April 6th, 2009 will be our 40th anniversary as a group. We are still performing together after all these years. In fact, we just traveled to Russia where we performed in several major cities in beautiful old “opera houses.”
Over the years, we all traveled different paths. There were even periods of years when we didn’t perform at all. But our paths have continued to cross because of the one constant in all of it—our home: Carbondale. Where we grew up, where we met, and where we continue to connect.
So, you will have a hard time imagining what a thrill it was to be asked to come home to work in the church of my childhood.

No Place Like Home

Before I get into 1992, let’s go back to the beginning—my beginning—in 1955. (I know. It was like 3 years before the car was invented.) Like the starting phrase of a bad novel, it was a dark and stormy night, literally. And it looked like I wasn’t going to “pop out” anytime soon. So they sent dad home and kept mom. These were the days when dads had to sit in the waiting room anyway, so they thought he ought to sleep in his own bed instead of loitering in the lobby all night.
Dad was a little nervous, I think, so instead of giving the hospital his phone number—just in case—he gave them his boss’ number. So sure enough, in the middle of the night they called Hildred Tucker’s home and said, “Your wife is about to have a baby.” Hildred informed them that his wife Mary was lying in bed asleep next to him. Well, it didn’t take long to figure out what had happened. Hildred gave them dad’s number, and dad rushed up to St. John.
That night, the newest, youngest member of Mom’s OB/GYN staff was on call. Dr. Cohen delivered me early that next morning. (As a side note, that same Dr. Cohen, as the senior member of the same group, was on call almost 28 years later and also delivered our first daughter Whitney.)
By 1959, my family had moved to West Tulsa and we started attending a little church at the corner of West 48th and South 30th West Avenue. I grew up at Carbondale Assembly of God. In fact, I don’t remember anything prior to Carbondale.
In October of 1967, the congregation moved to its current location on West 51st street. I barely remember that. But in the previous summer of 1967, my favorite cousin Phil had moved from Muskogee, Oklahoma to Tulsa. That I remember well.
We were born seven months apart in 1955—he in May and I in December. But we loved one another like brothers from the time we were little. In fact, before they moved to Tulsa, anytime one of us would visit the other we would cry when it was time to go home.
“Why do we have to live so far apart? It’s not fair.”
So, it was a glorious day, the day they rolled into West Tulsa to live. And, while they were building a house in Berryhill, they rented a house a little over a mile from ours. That summer, we would walk to and from each other’s houses, because we could. It was 1967. (Cars couldn’t go more than 10 miles an hour that far back, I don’t think.)
One day, we were walking up 51st street on the way to our house and passed the home of an older boy from the church. He was out mowing his lawn. Roger Sharp was three years older than us. I was getting ready to go into the 6th grade. Which means he was getting ready to start the 9th. I was so nervous. I didn’t even know if he would know who I was. In fact, I still don’t know if he did. But I was determined to introduce my cousin to him and vice versa. I probably wanted them both to think I was cool.
Roger stopped his riding lawnmower, acted like he knew who I was—even if he didn’t—and couldn’t have been kinder to me and to Phil, the new kid.
From that summer to this day, Phil and I have been almost inseparable. People who have known us for many years think of us together. Many of those people believe we are brothers, when, in fact, we are closer than that. But in less than two years we would add another one to the band of brothers. That kid on the mower would form a fraternity with us that would take us all over the world together.

Three Pastors

Following my “Saul” experience in Georgia, the next three pastors I worked for were good men. I can’t tell you what a pleasure it was to work for honorable men who felt a tremendous sense of responsibility not only to their congregation and to their calling but also to those whom they had called along side to help. I learned so much from each of them: patience, loyalty, compassion, and diplomacy… and patience.
Having been in corporate work for several years, I was coming from a much more black and white and “secular” perspective in my approach to people and to situations. I was much more the “Barney Fife” nip-it-in-the-bud kind of guy. But, these men taught me that this seldom works in your favor with people.
There’s a standing joke among preachers that doesn’t often get spoken aloud. The joke is: Pastoring would be a great job if it wasn’t for the people. Of course the irony is that pastoring is, of course, a people job. So, it is also a job of learning for a lifetime.
I remember reading a short phrase in the original Life’s Little Instruction Book, and when I read it, it was a revelation. I suddenly understood what these three men had been trying to teach me. Here it is.
“Never cut what can be untied.”
For some of you reading this, it will be inconsequential. But when I read it, an immediate bright halogen headlight turned on. I suddenly understood that my natural inclination was to cut, slice, rip, nip, and hack—leaving behind an unusable piece of yarn. But in the actions of these men I saw, time and time again that prayerfully left alone, most things work out “on their own,” without someone having to be the bad guy. Or perhaps, given enough time, God works things together for his purposes, so long as I don’t try to force it and screw it up.
Once I learned this principle, it didn’t mean that I didn’t get impatient. Actually, it often drove me crazy. But it has paid off, and it has gotten easier over the years.
Of the three men I worked for after we left Georgia, the best one was family. In March of 1992, I returned home.