Does Mike Huckabee Know When to Leave?
February 27, 2008
Here’s a fitting final post on the courageous campaign of Mike Huckabee, who gave the nomination a run that few pundits thought he would. Given Huck’s great sense of humor, I thought this would be a good one to end on:
From the “Why What You Think may be Wrong” Files…
February 25, 2008
Two good posts from two different sources. One, why “avoid every appearance of evil”, the KJV translation of I Thessalonians 5:22, cannot possibly be the correct rendering (hint: did Jesus “avoid every appearance of evil”?):
Avoid Every Appearance of Evil?
Two, Os Guinness makes the case as to why as Christians we had better not be in favor of “prayer in public schools” (even though there will always be prayer in public schools, and no Court can ever remove it—and to say otherwise is to misunderstand prayer!):
Lessons from the Life and Death of Rusty Snyder
February 23, 2008
My friend Rusty passed away a week ago today. The shock is still palpable, and there still hasn’t been a day yet when I haven’t at least misted up when thinking about him. As I wrote a week ago through tears, on the evening of Rusty’s death, he was a true friend. The events of the past week have borne that out, that Rusty Snyder was a friend to, what, thousands of people? Not everybody who was Rusty’s friend had it in their power to attend the viewing/funeral, and there were probably 1500 people who attended one or the other, probably more. I want in this final post (well, at least for now) to try to encapsulate some things that I’ve learned over the past week. Again, I’m going for truth, not perfect verbiage, so forgive whatever comes off as rambling.
Never, ever, underestimate the power of a quiet life well-lived.
This has to be the first thing that jumps out at me. Rusty was a guy who was always content to be in the background. Oh yeah, I know, he was a coach, so he was a leader, but it was never about Rusty. Never. He wasn’t a public speaker, though I’m sure if he had to do it, he could soldier through, but he never sought the limelight. In that respect, he was just about the polar opposite of me; many of my friends would testify that it’s hard to shut me up (if any of you post a comment agreeing with that, consider yourself an ex-friend). But Rusty, he just lived his life and did all sorts of stuff that doesn’t make the headlines (well, actually, he did make headlines). And the proof was in the people that came out, and all the things that they’ve said. We’re tempted to sometimes confuse the headline-grabbing with the important. Rusty’s life was lived for the important things. Which leads me to my second point:
Love God. Love people. Everything else is just details.
That’s what Jesus said (Matthew 22:34-40). Now look: Rusty was a sinner just like the rest of us. He didn’t always get it right, and he’d be the first to admit that. And so this isn’t meant as a “glorify Rusty” session here; let’s glorify the Jesus that said those words, that Rusty quietly but so effectively served. But you know, we get all busy doing stuff, working jobs and pursuing hobbies and taking care of business and weeding gardens and…and we let our devotion to God grow cold amid all of our business, and we forget the most important things. Rusty didn’t forget those things. He wasn’t just sitting in his accustomed spot at Shenandoah Baptist, or driving a shuttle bus for the Passion Play, or letting little kids recite Bible verses to him, or teaching adolescent girls to box out on the boards, or laughing at stupid jokes with friends, or talking about UVa sports (another trait I acquired from him, or at least along with him). He was loving God and loving people. How many times did I hear Rusty tell me he loved me? He might have; I don’t remember if I ever heard him say it in those words, but he didn’t have to. Then again, he might wish, if he had it to do over again, that he’d have done the next thing:
We’ve got to tell people we love ‘em. More often. Stop reading this blog and go do it now.
I don’t think I need to explain this any further. I don’t care if you’re not given to saying those words, particularly to friends, for fear it’ll come off as awkward. Grow up, get over it, and tell ‘em. I’d like to live my life with as few regrets as possible. How about you?
I’d give everything I own to bring him back, but if I could choose between bringing Rusty back, and our friends coming to faith in Christ, I’d choose the latter.
The first thought hit me almost as soon as I heard of Rusty’s death. The second thought just occurred to me a few minutes ago. We react with such emotion to Rusty’s passing because it was so unexpected, because it was “before his time”, because we look at our own lives and think, “wow, it coulda been me.” But in reality, Rusty reached the inevitable a few decades early, sure, but the older I get, and the more time flies, the more it seems like it’ll be no time until “my time” will come. I’d love to have Rusty back for a thousand reasons, and if I had that power, to somehow pull that off, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But more than that, I’d desire for all of Rusty’s friends who aren’t followers of Christ to come to Him. That’s a hard thing to say, because of my love for Rusty and his family, and I know how much his loss impacts them. But it’s certainly not meant in a cruel way against them (see the first clause), but rather to stress the fact that this “vapor” of a life will soon be over for all of us, and then we’ll all stand before God to give account of our lives, and the only right answer to the question, “why should I let you into Heaven” that we can give to God is the answer Rusty gave: Jesus’ death and resurrection paid the price for all my sins, and my faith is fully in Him. And while eternity with Jesus will be sweeter with all the friends who are His followers there, it’ll be made less sweet with the knowledge that there are some who won’t be there. Rusty wouldn’t trade where he is right now for anything; he won’t have any more pain or suffering or anything for the rest of eternity. And my final word is that more than anything else, I want that to be the future of every single one of our friends. Desperately. And your future too, dear reader, whoever you are.
Want to talk about it? byronharvey@gmail.com
For Those Who Did Not Know Rusty — And For Those Who Did…
February 20, 2008
Here is his obituary, and a face to put with the name:
Rusty’s Obituary
Later today, I hope to publish one final post on some of the lessons I take away from the life and legacy of Rusty Snyder.
Oh, and here’s one of several ironies I found over the weekend: Rusty’s brother, Mike, had his first book published by Zondervan, with the debut date yesterday—the day of his brother’s funeral. What should have been for Mike one of the high-point days of his life turned bittersweet. I plan to pick up Mike’s book today, if I can find it (it’s Karen’s birthday); here’s the link, if you are so inclined:
UPDATE: Here’s Don’s take on Rusty.
Rusty Set the Record
February 19, 2008
Rusty set the record.
As I write this, I am mostly dressed, prepared to go to the church and serve as pallbearer for my friend’s funeral. Pastor Bob Alderman—my pastor for all these years, and Rusty’s—will be delivering the eulogy.
But I wanted to write and let all my readers know, as a follow up to my previous post, that Rusty set the record, at Oakey’s Funeral Home.
The viewing was from 6-9 last night; we made the mistake of getting there at 6:25. Big mistake. We finally got into the viewing room, to greet the family, just a few ticks shy of 9:00. The line snaked around outside, people standing in the cold, and then we came in and sat in the 200+ seat chapel, awaiting our turn to be placed in another queue, to wind through a garage and down another long, long hallway, amusement-park-like, until we finally made it into the viewing room.
When we left at 5 minutes after 10:00, the original line was done, but the chapel, prior to the second line, was still about 3/4 full. If the viewing was over much before midnight, I’d be surprised.
As I was leaving, I sauntered over to the two funeral home guys (what do you call ‘em?) and asked, “have you ever seen a crowd like this before?” The one fellow said that he’d worked there 18 years, and had never seen anything like it. The other fellow offered that Oakey’s had done the funeral for Vic Thomas. Vic was a Roanoke Valley icon, a leading citizen of the city for many years, and a state senator. More people turned out for my best friend’s viewing than did for Vic Thomas.
I’ve got to go now; Karen just gave me the “Byron, it’s time”, and she’s right. But I write this post as a further tribute to the enormous impact of a quiet life lived well, in service to Jesus and to other people.
And when it comes to serving other people, Rusty set the record.
My Best Friend Died This Afternoon
February 16, 2008
One of them, anyway. This is the saddest post I’ll probably ever write on this blog. I got word this afternoon, about 4:00 PM, that Rusty Snyder, one of my very closest friends in life—for 30+ years—had suddenly, with no warning whatever, gone to be with the Lord. Excuse the stream-of-consciousness, but I’m not interested in a coherent post, but rather just my thoughts as they come to me. My first thought is that, for the believer, the homegoing of another believer is a cause for at least an element of rejoicing. “We sorrow not, as others who have no hope”, I’ve reminded countless funeral-goers through the years, and now, I’m finding myself having to remind myself again and again of the truth of the Scripture. It doesn’t say, “we sorrow not”, because if it did, well heck, you could probably throw the whole Bible in the can as so much hooey and nonsense; it hurts, man it hurts.
Rusty was a member of the first graduating class of Roanoke Valley Christian Schools; I was president of that class. If memory serves me, the vote that was taken for that position, in the first week or two of my senior year, was very close, and I think I won on Rusty’s vote. He didn’t much care for such things, and as I recall, the whole “election” consisted of some school official sticking his head in the door and saying, “hey, don’t forget to elect a representative to student government”. But nonetheless, Rusty cast a deciding vote (verbally) for me.
I’d met Rusty playing baseball. He played for Williamson Road Rec, and I played for Wilmont, and the only reason I recognized him from baseball—when I began to attend the church his family attended, Shenandoah Baptist—was because he had long, straight, jet-black hair. Nobody else had hair quite like that, and it gave him an appearance—well, I’ll be kind to him now and just say it was “different”. Didn’t really know him, but when I started at Shenandoah, there he was, and we recognized each other and hit it off. Later that year, we each played school ball, he first base for Ruffner Junior High, and I second for Lucy Addison. Each team went 7-3 in the regular season, tying for the championship and necessitating a playoff to determine the Roanoke City Junior High championship. We kicked their butts, no small source of enjoyment for me through the years.
Then Rusty and his family moved to Virginia Beach, and our budding friendship was put on hold until just before our senior year, Rusty and family moved back to Roanoke, and with a couple other guys from the church joining me, we managed to persuade him to enroll for his senior year at RVCS instead of Fleming.
Little did I know that his decision to do that secured our friendship for life.
I got the call from Tim this afternoon that Rusty had been out raking leaves today, had chest pains, and died at the hospital. The words hit me like an avalanche. I was so stunned that I didn’t know how to react, until the end of the phone call when I started getting emotional and, well, I’ve shed more tears this afternoon and evening than I have in a long time.
It wasn’t supposed to be Rusty. He was the picture of health, in better shape than myself; when I called WebbieDude Paul, another Class of ’78 friend, to tell him, Paul’s remark was, “I was supposed to be the first to go” (WebbieDude Paul needs to shed a few…well, OK, more than a “few”). We spoke on the phone for a few minutes, and Paul shared a couple of reminiscences that actually caused a laugh.
One of the best things that Paul said about Rusty is that, after high school, when Rusty and I went to Salem Redbirds minor league baseball games, and Paul would be there drinking beer with his “Rowdy Ridge” friends (they had a reputation), Rusty didn’t mind at all going over and talking to Paul, and acting like a friend, unlike me, stinking Tennessee Temple Pharisee that I’d become. Paul didn’t add that “Pharisee” part; I did. Ouch.
But see, that’s the way Rusty was. He was genuinely a friend. Yeah, I know you’re supposed to say that after someone is gone; that’s happy-talk that you always say, even if you don’t mean it. But I mean it. Rusty was a quiet, unassuming guy, but he let me know, in many ways through the years, how he felt about me as a friend.
I remember, back when I had more Pharisee leanings than I hope I do now (but I’m not pronouncing myself cured; spiritual pride is the worst kind, the most insidious kind, the nastiest, most disgusting stench-ridden kind), I really wasn’t sure Rusty was much of a Christian. After all, he had a rock music collection that’d be the envy of most any 70′s teenager. I, of course, didn’t listen to that stuff, because no good Christian ever would, you know. Oh, I walked the Olivia Newton-John fine-line, because she was “pop” or even “country”, not rock-and-roll, which would send everyone to hell who listened to it. Which Rusty did. Openly. Not in-your-face, but not hiding it either. And of course I judged him to be less than “spiritual”; sure, he was a Christian, but, you know…
But then it gets interesting. A family began attending our church, a fractured family, fractured because the dad was an abusive drunk kind of guy. Two teenage girls, both of whom are friends to this day, and two little kids, a boy and a girl. Boy couldn’t have been more than 5 or 6. Boy didn’t have a dad, or a big brother; just all those women in the house. And who was it that took little David under his wing, acted (for years!) like the dad he didn’t have, or the big brother (I don’t know all the details of the relationship)? Was it “spiritual” me, with my whitewall hair cut and my Bible college plans? No…it was Rusty. And the reason I know almost nothing about his relationship with David, other than the fact of it, is because Rusty didn’t talk about it. He just did it. He just loved that little boy and helped him here and there (the lack of specifics, again, is because he didn’t talk about it), and that little boy grew into an upstanding young man, who went to Bible college himself and got a youth ministry degree.
And then there’s the fact that Rusty worked for, what, over 20 years in the AWANA Sparks ministry. He didn’t talk about it much; along with his wife, he just did it. And how many hundreds of kids have been influenced for Christ through the years by this guy who didn’t talk about it; he just lived it.
And then there’s how he loved his family. His three girls, all roughly corresponding to the ages of my kids, were his life. He coached each of his girls (I assume he coached his youngest) in basketball, and softball, and who knows what other kind of ball, and he coached other kids, too, a ton of them, in soccer as well as the other sports; I couldn’t keep up with how many teams he coached. And I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he did it right. Not only well, but right, teaching them all the right lessons, not only about sports, but about sportsmanship and teamwork and all of those things that stick with us for a lifetime because of people like Rusty.
And then there was the time a few years ago when we sat in his basement and he told me the story of a stand he took, in a situation he was in, that demonstrated to me incredible integrity. Not that I was surprised, mind you, but I was just beaming, listening to this guy who “wasn’t spiritual” tell me about how he was faced with a choice of compromise or taking a hard stand, and how he’d done the hard thing, because it represented integrity. I told him in a subsequent email how proud I was to have a guy like him for a friend, a guy who’d put it on the line to do what’s right. He told me how he bragged to people about me being a pastor, and how happy he was to have me as a friend as well.
You know, those kinds of conversations are the kinds that we ought to have with all our friends, before it’s too late, because now, Rusty is with the Lord, and I hope he died knowing how much he was loved. I love him, and I will miss him dearly. I can barely see to type. Would you pray for his wife, Sherry, and her daughters? Would you pray for his mom, Jane, and his dad, Russell, all of whom must be experiencing grief like I can only imagine. It’s killing me sitting here in Georgia, three states away, and I can only imagine. Pray for Karen and I as well; we’ll leave after church tomorrow, and I want to do whatever little bit I can to ease the pain for the family of this man I loved so much.
Finally, and maybe I said this already, forgive me: let’s tell our friends more regularly how we feel about them. I’m glad that Rusty and I had a couple of conversations where we said those kinds of things; I really, really am. You just never know, do you?
Oh, and one other thing; sorry, this is my post, and I’ll write it as long as I please. When I got the news, I drove over to the Speech and Debate Tournament my kids were in, and that Karen did hospitality for. The closing event, where the awards were handed out, was finished by a song and a prayer. I have no idea why this song was chosen; it doesn’t seem to me to “fit” with an event such as a Speech and Debate Tournament. But the song was,
When peace, like a river, attendeth my way;
When sorrows, like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
Needless to say, I couldn’t sing, but I listened as those time-worn words took on fresh meaning. We sorrow not as others who have no hope; it is well with my soul.
While Our Congress Sweats Roger Clemens’ Butt…
February 15, 2008
instead of renewing the Protect America Act (thanks to Nancy Pelosi, D-Pyongyang), al-Qaeda is burning people alive in the name of their phony “god”:
Purported Al-Qaeda Video Shows Prisoners Burned Alive
There are zillions of evil people want nothing more than to send us “infidels” to gruesome deaths, and Congress is worried about whether Roger Clemens is lying or not (by the way, he is).
How, how, how did we manage to elect these buffoons?
This phrase comes from the 1978 "Jonestown massacre" in which most members of the Peoples Temple cult, blindly following their leader Jim Jones, committed suicide by drinking cyanide-laced Kool-Aid.
Osborne: A Contrarian's Guide to Knowing God
Schlossberg: Idols For Destruction
