It’s the nights that are hard

By Father DAVID EPPS
Contributing Writer

Father David Epps is Rector of Christ the King Charismatic Episcopal Church which meets at 8 and 10 a.m. Sundays at 4881 E. Hwy. 34. He may be contacted at 770-252-2428, or at frepps@ctkcec.org

It's 1:45 a.m. on Sunday morning as I write these words. I should be sleeping because 5 a.m. comes early and that's the time I usually awake on Sundays. On a normal Sunday, I will get up, shower, get dressed, fix a light breakfast, and head downstairs to the small study in my home to pray and put the last-minute touches on the day's sermon. At 6:30 or so, I will head to the church office, pray for the congregation (most of whom will still be sleeping) and, around 7:30 a.m., head to the sanctuary where the worship team will be warming up and the deacon will be preparing the building and altar for the 8 a.m. service.

But not this morning. This morning, I have been waking up periodically to pray. I've been praying for a mother and her two adult daughters who are sitting with the mother's 47-year-old-son in the ICU unit of Jewish Hospital In Louisville, Ky. It's been about nine days since she received the terrible news that her son had a heart attack. She immediately packed her things and drove the 9-10 hours to Louisville where she has been at his side almost continuously. A couple of days ago, her daughters boarded a flight so they could be with her. I've been on the phone with them every few hours this weekend and, about an hour ago, the youngest daughter called to let me know that her brother would not likely live through the night. This mother lost her husband not very long ago and I can only imagine how dark this night seems to her.

I've also been praying tonight for a woman in our church whose 44-year-old-brother had a heart attack yesterday and died on his birthday. I spent some time Saturday afternoon with her and her family as they attempt to come to grips with the numbing reality that has suddenly become a part of their lives.

I was naive when I first entered the ministry as a youth worker of a large church back in June 1971. I imagined that a minister spent most of his time studying the Bible, teaching classes, and delivering well-crafted sermons. I never imagined that I would receive so many middle-of-the-night phone calls nor that I would experience so many restless or sleepless nights hurting for, weeping for, and praying for people that I would come to love and care deeply about.

Sometimes the sleepless nights are spent in prayer for a soldier or a marine in Iraq. At other times, I hold in my heart couples whose marriage is being shipwrecked or families who son or daughter is reaping the results of bad choices. I pray for those who have lost jobs and don't know what they will do next and for those who have received unwelcome results from medical tests. Earlier tonight, before I went to bed, I received a telephone call from a six-year-old boy who was crying because he was sad. He didn't know why, he just was. So, he called me. He is on my heart this early morning, too.

Most people, I think, judge a minister on his sermon and on his Sunday performance. In truth, that's when most of the congregation will see him at his best and those who are visitors will often decide to return or not on the basis of how well the pastor did in the pulpit that day. And, most of the time, the pastor (at least those who sense a true calling to preach the Word of God) shares the belief that the sermon is the high moment, the climax, of the religious week. But, this morning, how well I do in the pulpit and how much I impress the people with my preparation and spiritual depth doesn't seem to be nearly as important as the little boy who is sad and doesn't know why and the two families who, in two different locations, are weeping throughout this long and lonely night.

I should be trying to get some rest, but, after I finish these words, I have to pack. It's a long drive to Louisville and I want to be on the road as soon as the 10 a.m. service is over. I'll miss the noon meal with my wife and my sons and their wives and the grandchildren, but they will understand. By Sunday night, I need to be at Jewish Hospital or wherever these dear women are grieving. And the next day, or the day after that, I need to try to get back for the funeral of the man who died yesterday. I never met him, but his youngest sister, and her husband and two children, are part of my church family.

Sometimes, people will say, "What does a minister do all day?" Usually, I spend some time trying to educate them about the activities and ministries that take place throughout the day. Most people are surprised at all the things that committed clergy do. They often say, "I don't know how you do all that you do!" But, really, the days are pretty easy. It's the nights that are hard.

[Father David Epps is rector of Christ the King Charismatic Episcopal Church, which meets at 8 a.m. and 10 a.m. Sundays at 4881 E. Ga. Highway 34. He may be contacted at 770-252-2428 or frepps@ctkcec.org.]