Reflections On Grace: My Grandparents’s 62nd Anniversary

Reflections on Grace: The 62nd Wedding Anniversary of My Grandparents

By The Rev. Rian Adams

Today my grandparents, both alive and in good health, celebrate their 62nd wedding anniversary. I learned many lessons about grace as I watched and reflected on their relationship.

I woke up early this morning intending to work on my dissertation that, ironically enough, focuses on a theology of mercy. That’s when it hit me; a great way to understand mercy is to reflect on how amazing people have lived their vocations together these past 62 years. Their love has modeled compassion and mercy to me and countless others. They were both pastors, and as I look back over their relationship, I realize they were pastors to one another too.

Not long ago they were in Asheville, “just to visit.” (By the way, that’s code for “We needed to see that grand-baby.”) During that time my grandfather said something so profound I have quoted his spiritual approach to forgiveness in my doctoral work: “You can never understand grace until you’ve needed it. The problem with the church is most folks have never truly needed it.” 

When I’m around them I tend to revert to my country dialect, so I said, “Now ain’t that the truth.” The part of the quote I decided to leave out of my dissertation, which is probably the best part, is the third sentence, “There ain’t no need to be a horse’s rear end in the name of God.”

That’s better pastoral theology than I can write.

Growing up with grace

I was fortunate enough to grow up in their home, so I have the inside scoop on what shared grace looks like. That grace was extended to a young boy who was five years old, afraid and needed to be loved past some of the trauma of his first few years of life. As I’ve gotten older, I cry more when I’m alone. Often when I reflect on their mercy toward me, my eyes fill with tears and I let them roll down my cheeks.  I’ll forever be grateful that a couple of empty nesters, who loved their freedom to travel, welcomed the responsibility of raising a little boy.

Grace… to stoop in kindness…  it’s the one word that defines how I understand them. Grace is also the one word that described their approach to raising me. I can recall numerous instances where I messed up and didn’t meet expectations, yet I was not met with rebuke, violence, or bible verses. The notion of “tough love” didn’t exist in the hearts of these two people because their world view was shaped by the Beatitudes of Jesus.

Looking back I don’t think I got away with nearly as much as I thought I did. Now that I’m a parent I see things a bit differently. They knew all along what I was up to; they just decided that mercy was more important than justice. That is why they let most of my shenanigans go. Mainly, they knew that life could teach me more than punishment ever would. Punishment would have fostered resentment and motivated secrecy whereas their grace taught me to give mercy to others because I first received it.

Education, common sense, and grace

My grandparents pushed me to get the education that was never afforded to them. But it didn’t stop there because they made sure common sense accompanied my education.

Riley taught me how to wire a breaker box, fix a car, frame a house, and repair a home heating system. He taught me how to stand up for myself against bullies, how to talk about difficult subjects and not ignore them, how to ride a bike, and how to preach a sermon for the congregation, not at the congregation. I’m particularly thankful for that lesson because out of all the classes in homiletics that I have taken; most view the pulpit at a top-down educational tool instead of a table filled with soul food.

When I was 14, he bought a classic Chevrolet Bel-Air so we could restore it together over the following two years. He worked hard, running his heating and air business while serving as a church pastor. However, he never sacrificed our relationship on an altar of ministry.

He always had time for me.

Erlene helped me with my math homework by learning it during the day while I was in school so she could teach me in the evenings. She taught me how to play the guitar, how to sing, how to think critically about biblical stories and how to study. She fostered my love of music and purchased numerous instruments for me. If that wasn’t enough, she taught me the important lesson that “The Lord wants us to love people.”  She carried herself with grace and exuded a kindness that made time for everyone. One of her great lessons was that my morning should start slowly with a cup of good coffee and some quiet time.

They were always kind. Once I made some media and was mocked on Episcopal Church social media sites. Guess who was there to show me grace before anyone else? My friend, mentor, father, and pastor. Riley. His words of wisdom were simple and true, “Ah… son, don’t worry about it. Anyone with half a brain knows the news is all garbage these days. That mess lost its credibility the moment journalism became a 24 hour a day cycle.”

Some History

I’ve often wondered if grace was the byproduct of transforming a problematic early life into a spirituality of mercy and love. The more I contemplate their lives, the more it is particularly evident.

Riley quit school in the 5th grade during the second world war to support his mother and four younger siblings because his father was hours away in a hospital ward suffering from tuberculosis. To ask an 11-year-old boy to be a man is asking a lot. However, there was only one option, go to work at the sawmill.

One thing that inspires me about him is his work ethic. To this day he keeps himself occupied with physical activity. An active life is probably why he’s still strong.

I love the story he tells about how he met my grandmother.

He claims he fell in love with her the moment he first saw her. Call me silly, but I do believe in love at first sight. He drove down the street and looked out of the car window to see Erlene sitting in an open door of a house. She was smiling. That was the moment he says he knew. After some inquiries, he learned who she was, and he landed a date with her. The rest is 62 years of history.

They are people of compassion. In Latin, the word misericordia is often translated compassion. It means to have one’s heart (cordia) at one with those in need (miseri). I’ve watched them transform their suffering and struggles into compassion for one another, the poor, and those in need.

They have three children buried in Pine Memorial Cemetery. I’ve often wondered if, somehow, God’s grace transformed that pain into a willingness to hold the pain of others and not shy from it. Like skilled therapists, they can take the light of compassion and shine it on difficult circumstances. They can put themselves in another person’s shoes before making judgments. Are they perfect? They would instantly say no. But what makes them who they are is their compassion for each other and those around them. They knew a secret… when you live out of kindness, most issues are minimal in the grand scheme of things.

Travels

They taught me a love for travel. On their last visit, we examined a map and realized that we visited 38 states through our travels together. In the 1990s they took a sabbatical from church, and we traveled from Florida to Alaska and back. I’ll never forget Riley working on Houston Lolley’s truck on that trip… The fuel pump malfunctioned. He worked on it for an hour or so and finally lost his cool. He hit it with a hammer. The fuel pump started running and remained in perfect health for years. He claimed God did it. Maybe God did…

We toured the Middle East together. We visited the Rocky Mountains, California, the Great Plains, and the Smokies. They were there when I fractured my ankle roughhousing with Ben (rest in peace my dear friend) in Texas. They were there when I had altitude sickness mountain climbing in Colorado. We’ve watched the sun rise over the Atlantic in Florida and watched it set over the Pacific in Oregon. We rarely took the beaten path, and when we did, we didn’t stay on it very long.

They made sure that I traveled enough to know that the world was bigger than my small town context.

A working man’s theology

Neither was raised in religious settings. That’s probably what made them a good fit for ministry because they didn’t have to unlearn anything to love people. My grandfather had a reputation for being a hell-raiser in his younger days, so his youth gave room for compassion. He knew he needed grace and mercy and that made him a good pastor. They both came to Christianity a little later in life and soon after they discerned calls to ministry.

These were the days long before women were accepted in ministry (women are still banned from ordination in many denominations). Those rules didn’t stop my grandmother. Her quiet tenacity kicked in, and she followed her calling anyway.

She didn’t care if the majority of the Christian church had no room for her at the time; she knew Jesus had room.

She didn’t care for “clothes line preaching,” finding it shallow and missing the message of the Beatitudes. Erlene knew the Gospel was good news, not another political rant. In a time when their conservative denomination looked down on jewelry and hair dye, she dyed her hair and wore jewelry anyway. That strong woman never caved to a religion that based its spirituality on behaviorism, persona, or contemporary social standards. She preached grace, not only in her sermons but with her life. I’ve only heard her speak ill of people on two short and private occasions… One a president, the second, well… that’s between her and me.

They were always kind to people with different ideas and theologies. When I was ordained a priest, my grandfather was there, and at the invitation of the bishop, he joined the other priests in laying hands on me. I was ordained to the sacred order of priests with his hands on my shoulders. He understood grace, so did that bishop. Interestingly enough he never mentioned his opinions on Anglicanism to me even though I knew he differed. On the contrary, he supported me wherever my vocation took me.

Another example of accommodation, they were Pentecostal and did not baptize infants. When I baptized my son, they were there with love and support. Riley stood with me and participated by placing his hands on the boy to offer a pastoral blessing. He put his theology of infant baptism aside and participated because being right took a back seat to the importance of relationship. 

Riley also officiated my wedding. My only regret was that he couldn’t be my best man at the same time because he was both my friend and my pastor.

Legacy

As I conclude my thoughts, I’ve asked myself about their legacy. I figured the best way to ponder it is through the eyes of a child. So I asked their great-grandson, who’s eight now, for help. I said, “Hey Brody, what’s the most important thing about your great grandparents?” He said, “Wow, I’m not sure where to start. They are nice and kind, and generous. They have always been with me for all my surgeries and granny gives the best hugs.” His experience of them is the same as mine… Grace.

There is a strong message there: Trust the people who give you heartfelt hugs in your times of need. 

They also accomplished something that is quite rare these days; they showed the same amount of attention and love to my spouse as they did me. They always spent as much money, or more, on Amber for Christmas and birthdays. While I was deployed to Afghanistan, they constantly checked on her and treated her like a daughter. In many ways, she was a spiritual daughter. Riley baptized Amber in the same sandy creek where he baptized me.

In honor of the grace they share and the compassion they give I have written this poem, titled Grace, for them. You can read it by clicking here.

On a personal note

To them specifically, if by chance they read this, I say… Erlene, Riley… you’re still who I want to be when I grow up. Thank you for showing me what love is by loving one another with a grace that endured all hardship. I adore you both, and as importantly, I respect you. I hope to celebrate 63 with you in person next year. Happy Anniversary.

Yours Always,

Rian