2 Things
1. You should read the first installmen, George the Middle before reading this.
2. I apologize for the length. If you knew how bravely I cut it, and how it hurt to do so, you might forgive me.
George the Beginning
In 1996 an AIDS patient in our local hospital had a delirious vision. He was medicated and in deep pain when he saw Jesus standing by his bedside. The man's name was George.
At that very moment, a chaplain, who happened to be a close friend of mine, walked into the room.
George had left Christianity behind, along with his dead father and a lot of other bad memories. He would have asked the chaplain to leave, but the vision shook him up a little, and he felt like talking to someone.
Over the next few days, George asked her some pretty tough questions. She said, "I know someone you might like to talk with."
That's how George and I ended up meeting at the Subway sandwich shop. All I knew was that a guy named George wanted to talk to me about God. All George knew was that I was a pastor who supposedly didn't mind questions.
By the time we met, George's Jesus vision had faded, and he was asking himself how the hell he got into this. Meeting ministers for lunch was not his idea of a good time.
He showed up ready to do battle. He hit me with his toughest questions and a lot of anger. Religion and abuse had gone hand-in-hand with his father, and he told me all about it. He was talking so fast I was starting to slip into a coma.
I'm not above a good fight, but I was so tired. I'd been fighting fundamentalist Christians for 20 years, had left my denomination, and had washed ashore with the only congregation that would have someone like me as their pastor. I didn't have any fight left in me.
So I said the first thing that came to my mind.
"Fuckin A, man. Fu-Kin-A."
I have found over the years that with some people, a well-placed "F-bomb" is the best pastoral move I can make. It's like a conversational "Ctrl-Alt-Delete". If nothing else works, just reboot and start over.
George, who had never heard a preacher say the "F-word", started to laugh. Then I started laughing too. We couldn't stop and the pimply-faced Subway guy thought we were out of our minds. I guess we were, kind of.
And so it began - a real live friendship. We discovered we had much in common. We both loved astronomy and movies and junior physics, having both read "Dancing Wu Li Masters" and Stephen Hawking, but nothing else. We both loved Science Fiction. George was hooked on sci-fi classics while I liked the zippy new stuff, but we agreed that "Foundation" kicked ass.
Mostly we shared a sense of humor and a way of looking at the world. George was a kindred spirit. You ever meet someone like that? It's amazing when it happens.
We always met at Subway. George was in very poor health, and for some reason their sandwiches didn't make him sick. We talked about life, and facing death, and AIDS, and God, and grief, and fathers, and every other thing you can imagine.
I sure do miss him.
One day George said, "I wish I could believe in God. I really do. I'd like to go to your church, and sing hymns, and be a part of something bigger than myself. I'm at the end of my life, and I don't think I've made a real difference in the world. My life hasn't really mattered to anyone. But, I just can't believe in God, so…"
You should never tell this preacher you don't believe in God.
"You don't believe in God? So what. Sometimes I don't either. The important question in life is not a question of belief. What's really important is whom you serve. I think it's serving God that makes life meaningful."
"You mean I could go to church, and sing, and do stuff, and all that, without believing in God?"
"Hell yes. I hope so, or else I better find another fuckin job."
"You don't believe in God?"
"Well, I do now, mostly. I still have my bad days. It's complicated. Belief comes later for some people, for people like you and me."
"What would I do? How would I get started?"
"I don't know, I guess just come to church and sing."
Understand that this preacher NEVER asks people to become Christians. If anything, I shoo people away. I consider Christianity to be a pretty stiff commitment, and I don't ever sugar coat it.
If someone is seeking a spiritual path and wants to journey with me, I'm fine with that. I'll shoulder my pack, help get his adjusted, and we'll move on down the road together. I don't really give a shit about making converts. That's not my business. I will walk with people though, if they want.
That's really all church is about anyway. We're a bunch of rag-tag pilgrims sharing the road and taking turns shielding each other from the wind. Sometimes we carry each other's packs for a spell. We share maps and provisions and friendship. We serve God by serving each other.
It ain't no big deal, and it is a big deal, if you know what I mean.
George came to church every Sunday after that. He just listened at first. Later he prayed some. He loved to sing. George was 5' 6" and weighed about 110 lbs., but he had the richest baritone voice you ever heard. Jesus, that guy could sing.
I wish you could see George the way I remember him. Black tennis shoes, faded jeans and a flannel shirt with a tie. Sometimes suspenders too, I shit you not. Singing his heart out.
After awhile I noticed everyone wanted to sit near George so they could hear him sing. People stayed around after church to talk with him. He would sometimes stay late and help me put stuff away. That was George's spiritual program. Come. Listen. Sing. Pray. Help me put stuff away.
A visitor once grabbed me after church and said, "Who is that little man with the beautiful voice?"
"That's George."
"There's something almost saint-like about him."
"Yeah."
I don't know if it was because he was facing death, or because of all his new friends, or because God was working in his life, but there WAS something rather saint-like about George. It's hard to explain.
George did become a Christian. It just happened somewhere along the way. Somewhere along the way he made his peace with God. I'm not saying he always believed, but he made peace. I don't know when, and I don't mark that kind of thing on the calendar. He found what he needed. You could call it belief or you could call it faith.
I baptized him in a swimming pool. The whole church turned out for the party. We had a BBQ. After George came up out of the water, a lot of folks jumped in and went swimming.
That was a good day.
About 6 months after George was baptized, we needed to elect a new deacon. At our church, deacons are servants. They have no power. They look after the sick, greet people, help put stuff away, that kind of thing.
I got a shock when I started reading the ballots.
George
George
George
George
George
When I asked him if he would be our deacon, he was stunned. "Why the hell did they vote for me? All I ever do is sing and talk to people and put stuff away."
"Exactly," I said.
He shook his head, trying to figure it out. "What does this mean?"
I thought for a minute and said, "I think, George, it means that you matter to these people. I think it means they see something good in you. I think it means George has made a real difference at our church."
And he was OUR deacon all the days of his life.
The Preacher
6:47:01 PM 
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