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| Pastor and "Bunica" (Romanian for "grandmother") |
I cried good-bye last week to a God-sent elder and friend,
Brother Mervin Potteiger.
The first time our family “met” Brother Potteiger was the
day he called the home phone and spoke with Brian for a few minutes in autumn
2005. Brother Potteiger rang all the way from Romania to introduce himself
before he and Sister Potteiger crossed the ocean and caravanned from
Pennsylvania to Michigan to establish yet another new home in the Bethel parsonage.
It was the weekend of my 19th birthday when
Pastor and Sister Potteiger were installed at Bethel. I considered their
arrival a special birthday gift from my heavenly Father. I had asked God for a
pastor who could be a friend, and somehow, I was quite sure He had answered
that prayer even before I met the Potteigers.
After Brother and Sister Potteiger arrived, I knew God had answered my prayer. Their four-and-a-half
years of ministry at Bethel were rich and full. We used to tease Brother
Potteiger because at the end of every month as he looked over the upcoming weeks in his date book, he would say, “Well, it looks like ___________
[fill-in-the-blank with any month] is going to be a busy month!” Every season
was brimming with service and ministry.
Though it took the new pastor most of a year to learn our
names (Amy made him a cheat-sheet for his Bible; the paper was lined with pictures,
names, ages, and a brief description of our current school status/study program
for all the girls between 15 and 25), we knew he cared about each of us “young
folks” deeply. In fact, he used to tell us about specific prayers he would pray,
asking God to raise up full-time ministry workers from our tiny congregation.
He panted for breath and seemed depressed as he talked about
how little he could do now. His body was a rusting shell of the award-winning
athlete and gifted handyman he had once been.
I cried inside after I left, because it’s hard to see
someone you love trapped inside a confused body. I wanted to remember the
Brother Potteiger I knew from our years together at Bethel.
Brother and Sister Potteiger shared their life with us—stories
and insights from their years in New Mexico, Canada, Pennsylvania, Alabama, and
Romania. They showered us with love, and opened their hearts and their home—where there
was always an abundance of dessert! We shared happy times (he officiated at
Joel and Judith’s wedding) and sad times (they walked with us through the
journey of good-byes to our final two grandparents).
One thing I loved about Brother Potteiger was that he was a
real person. Even though he was a pastor, he knew he wasn’t perfect. Rather, he
was a man focused on learning to know God better even after multiple decades of
life with Christ. Sometimes he said things he shouldn’t have. Sometimes he had to
apologize. As he preached and taught our young adult Sunday school, he shared
stories of challenges he had faced, mistakes he had made, and things he had
learned from personal experience (i.e. don’t pinch your wife’s nose!).
He told us about being posted (as head cook) by the Bishop
to the Navajo reservation in New Mexico when he was a teenager. He’d reminisce
about the first time he met Sister Potteiger—he was elbow deep in raw ground
beef! And he told us about his pal Dallas Shelly. In fact, he told us so many stories
about Dallas Shelly we started wondering if Dallas was just a legend and didn’t
really exist! (I have since met Dallas Shelly; he is indeed a real person.)
Brother Potteiger wasn’t afraid of teaching through less-common
books of the Bible—how many exegetical messages have you heard from Song of
Solomon? (yes, verse-by-verse, chapter-by-chapter.)
When he led our Sunday school class through the book of Proverbs,
we Millennials probably almost drove him crazy with our ridiculous
side-comments and snickers. That said, Brother Potteiger wasn’t afraid to have a
bit of fun, or to allow us some giggles at his own expense… or maybe even for
his benefit-?! Kendra’s front-row-pew antics cured him from saying, “I’m simply
saying” repeatedly in his sermons!
One of my favorite silly memories with Brother Potteiger was
the Sunday that each of us girls walked out of the sanctuary and greeted him
with a different religious title as we shook his hand: “thank you
parson/rector/vicar/preacher/reverend…” After about five designations he shooed
us all away.
Another fun memory was the time our congregation decided to
host a yard sale to benefit the church building project. We girls showed up
bearing boxes of freshly baked cookies, cinnamon rolls, and bread for a bake
sale. Brother Potteiger felt obligated to support our endeavors (for such a
good cause too!), and by the end of the day I think he had sampled at least one
of each type of the sweets. I’m sure Sister Potteiger had to put up with a mess
of hyperactivity by the time he finally arrived back home that evening (he went
a bit crazy under the influence of too much sugar).
One of the most ridiculous “Brother Potteiger stories”
happened one fall during deer season.
When Brother Potteiger looked out the
parsonage window and saw a “lady hunter,” he was immediately filled with concern
about her aim. His chief fear: What if she were to shoot in the wrong direction
and send a bullet through the new urinal he had just installed in the men’s
bathroom at church?! Even as he relayed the story to us it didn’t seem like reality
had set in that his worry was quite absurd!
Brother Potteiger was a champion. Not because he was a
perfect man, but because of his constant focus. His deepest desire was to serve
Jesus, and along the way to encourage everyone around him to serve Jesus too.
That’s why I cried last week as I said good-bye to a man who
has been a faithful inspiration in my life this past decade-- a pastor God sent as a special gift to me, to share a little
piece of the road He’s weaving as I walk this journey called life.
2 Timothy 4:7-8
I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing.
