about a blue Kentucky moon

“Ever had fried bologna preacher boy,” said the greasy long haired cook in the kitchen of the mission camp in Bowling Green, Kentucky. “Nope, but I’ll try it as long as you all eat it with me,” I said smiling. They sliced the bologna off the slab, fried it up, and we walked outside with our paper plates stacked with slices of this strange after dinner treat. The moon was bright and appeared so close that if you threw a piece of the bologna at the moon it would stick. Two slices into our stack, Roy showed up out of the shadows of the back woods of this town whose high school had been transformed into a missionary village. He walked to us slowly dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and black southern bow tie. He had an Abe Lincoln beard, salt and pepper hair, and was smoking a pipe like a chimney. He stood 6’ 5” tall with every movement deliberate and slow. His words were careful, speaking thoughtfully with his Appalachian accent and smile. He looked into our faces and with a profound sincerity with his deep brown eyes and a somber tone he said, “Children of the Lord, doin’ God’s work will be repaid a hundred fold for their labors when the Kingdom comes. Ya’ll got any bologna to share?”

Most of the time Roy spent his afternoons on the steps of the Dairy Queen. He was easy to spot and was a colorful treasure of the community. Roy had past, like most folks do, and his past had been played out in public like reality television. He used to be the town’s most influential preacher and had a growing church. Then he fell from grace, took to drinking and gambling, and lost his family, church, and part of himself. Roy wasn’t really homeless, but he didn’t have a place he called home, and the only clothing I saw him wear was his preacher’s uniform. He moved from apartment to apartment helping anyone at any time. After eating a couple of slices, he peered out at the moon, and said to me, “Preacher boy, that is blue Kentucky moon, and there ‘aint nothin’ like it in the whole wide world. You remember that when you’re ministrin’ to other folks … just love ‘em where they’re at with what they got.” Fifteen years later I’m still trying to figure out what the moon and ministry had to do with each other; and it all seemed to make sense on the porch eating fried bologna. Roy began telling us about a family, the Weiler family, who lived on top of a hill overlooking the valley in an old gutted school bus they had backed into a hole. Roy’s heart was visibly broken by their plight, and he offered to help them with electricity if we would help clean the place up a bit and make it more “like a home.” We all agreed to help, and I asked if we could find them an apartment. Roy simply pointed to the moon and shook his head side to side with a face that said, “Did you hear me earlier?”

Roy’s directions were hard to follow. He didn’t use street names or mapping terms like North and South. His directions, like many people in this town, were historical and handed down through an oral tradition. “Just go down three streets and turn right, then head up to old Charlie’s place and turn left, then after three dirt turns on your right, go left for about a ½ a mile.” After searching for almost three hours we found the Weiler’s house; if you could call it a house. The side door of the bus, was the front door to their “mobile” home and when you walked in, the drivers area had been turned into the kitchen with a wood burning stove. There was an eating area in the center of this bus with a card table and four small children’s chairs with a lace table cloth covering it. There were bunk beds for the boys on the left side of the bus and most of the windows had been replaced with aluminum siding. On the right side of the bus hung the kid’s clothes on a laundry line and changing area with a plywood divider so the boys could have some privacy. The back housed the master bedroom with a double bed, a dresser with a mirror, and a shower curtain dividing the bedroom from the rest of their home. What struck us so comically, in the midst of this tragic poverty, was an old ceiling fan that Mr. Weiler had hooked up to the bus battery. He was proud of the fan and he showed us how it worked three times while we were there. You had to sit down when it was on or it would take your hair off. Their gracious hospitality captivated me as they offered us a place at their table sharing some potato chips. Mrs. Weiler said they did not get a lot of visitors, and they were “happy to have us.” They said times were hard, and “We all’s doin’ just fine, and with hauling water two times a day, we can can keep the clothes clean and everyone fed and warshed." We sat together at their table for a long time. I asked if we could help shore up the bus and try to get some electricity for a refrigerator, or for the fan. They were happy with our offer and Mr. Weiler cautioned, “Aint no way to git ‘ lectricity up here.”

We left with a mission that afternoon to help them, and back at the Dairy Queen, we shared what we had learned with Roy. He smiled and said, “Y’all bring lunch tomorrow and the refrigerator, I’ll bring the eelectricitee and juice up that bus.” The next day we found a fridge, packed a lunch for the family, as well as purchasing groceries. When we came upon the bus there was a truck from an air conditioning company parked out front. Roy and this young man were standing together with Roy puffing on his pipe. The boy looked nervous. When we got out, Roy nodded to the young man who said in one breath, “I fixed up the battery that ‘ol fan was on and cleaned it out so it wouldn’t short any more. I wanted to hook up the fan for them, but Mr. Weiler got all mad seein’ he’s all proud of what he’d done. I’ve put in some outlets and left some extension cords and duct tape.” Roy filled in the rest of the story with a huge smile as the boy drove away. “This youngin’s father owed me some money, and the deal we made is that the Weiler’s are gonna’ git eelectricitee on account of a generous donation by his company.”

We stayed with the Weilers until the sun set, getting the fridge leveled and playing with the boys. We talked about politics and Jesus. We gave Roy a ride back to town and offered a room for him with us at the mission camp. He was grateful. We thanked him for his help and he pointed to the moon, now coming up, and said, “Thank the Lord, boys, thank the Lord.” We talked well into the night about salvation, hope, fear, and stumbling in our faith. He never looked at me. He always looked into the sky, waiting for me to ask another question. I did. He loved Kentucky and he loved God. His heart broke for the Weilers and all of the other families who were left with nothing when the coal mines shut down. He felt it was his mission to care for the people as he could. When it was time for bed, he pointed again to the moon in the midnight sky and said, “Preacher boy, remember, that is blue Kentucky moon, and there ‘aint nothin’ like it in the whole wide world. You keep ministrin’ to other folks … just love ‘em where they’re at with what they got.”

Dietrich Bonhoeffer said, “God did not give him to me as a brother for me to dominate and control, but in order that I might find above him the creator.” (Life Together, 1954, HarperSanfrancisco, pg. 93) Paul, one of the writers of the Christian bible, says, "If then there is any encouragement in Christ, any consolation from love, any sharing in the Spirit, any compassion and sympathy, make my joy complete: be of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others." (Philippians 2) It was good to find God above Roy and the Weilers, and I hope they found God above us.

Just a Thought,

Pastor Tom