Then, Now & Forever
- Livinginbetweenall-Terry
- Aug 27
- 11 min read
A Priceless Moment when God intimately responded to my 35 Year Old Prayer.
Prelude Context
A) I cannot deny, nor do i wish to, the moments when God speaks intimately into my life in whispers that resonate like a silent nuclear device exploding within the soul. This last Saturday was one of them. Thank God they are not often.
B) Returning Home to where my early ministry among First Nations Communities had begun with such difficulty, has been a rediscovery of just how 'good' The Trinity of God is.
C) My journey out of addictive deep sin and into health is a Story, written in two books (One Published, One 90% Written and a third one slowly breaking through). "I Failed Jack" was a walk back through core beliefs while focusing on sobriety. "Entirely Christ's...not Yet" was/is a journey of confession, seeking inner congruency; a place beyond obedience. "Waking Up" is writing itself in bits and pieces and cannot as yet begin to predict what's in or out, but am profoundly aware that God is leading, tracking me. This event is one such moment.
Re-visiting a very old Ministry Wound
It was my first family and native American memorial service. My cousin, Marcia (Mitchell) Minthorn's life was tragically taken by domestic violence, her three children so very young, wounded, lost. My ministry as 'presence' was painfully inadequate at multiple levels, not the least of which was failing to know about, enter into and incorporate their life as Native Americans within the heart of the service.
God had even sent a delegation of Native Americans from the Confederated Tribes of the Umatilla Reservation; representatives who—I discovered 10 minutes before the service—wanted to pay honor in druming and song ceremonies. I had no idea what to do, my white prejudice rooted in a hundered 1950's and 60's television shows, refused their kind offer, not wanting to introduce 'another faith' and perhaps other spirits into my Christian service. I simply said to the funeral director, "Please welcome then and when I have finished our 'Christian' service we will turn it over to them". What was most appalling was my refusal to stand at the end in the honor song, as the whole congregation had, quite properly.
When that day was over, all I knew was that 'whatever I did thinking I was protecting Christ' was in fact dishonoring Christ. There had to be another way and so asked God to reveal it to me. Did The Trinity of God ever... by sending me back to school, through my pastoral experience in a church with Native American, Samoan and Filipino tribal families. 1
It was a Wednesday evening when Warren, my cousin, called and told me his son Randy's life had been taken. Given I had married him and Marcia, facilitated her memorial, would I please come and facilitate his son's memorial? My heart cried at multiple levels; mostly at another cost staring me in the face; The result of my self-centric and foolish betrayal of trust as one who had faithfully and loving ministered, until I wasn't, in the end, faithful or loving—hypocrisy surrounding every grace gifted ministry moment. I carefully explained to my cousin that I could not minister and why, commiting that Joetta and I would certainly come and attend. One week later Warren called me back, assuring that his pastor would do the service, but could I do the Eulogy?
Ugh. "Sometimes Alleluia. Sometimes Praise the Lord" Chuck Girard had sung. I wanted to add, "Somtimes it onl-y s____ucks, Al-le-luia." Given what I knew to be a journey that included a young man's wounded spirit, charisms, homelessness,
drugs, and God only knows what else, doing the actual service would have been a whole lot easier, because, in the whole of the service, one can communicate a human story (the good, bad and ugly) and see God's hand. That's a lot harder in the confines of an obit/Eulogy. "Ofcourse," I told my cousin. "I'd be happy to. Thank you for asking."
It is very good, but difficult work taking what would necessarily be a partial image of Randy's story and listening to The Spirit as to how to frame his life within the Creator's love and purposes and within both the Portland Urban and Umatilla Reservation experience.
I then set the date when Jo and I would drive down to Portland and meet with Marcia's children (Randy's sisters), father and an adopted bro. Little could I imagine how God was about to answer my prayer of 35 years previous when I cried out. "God, I don't know if what I did was courageous, perhaps righteous. But one thing I do know. It was not honorable to dis-honor those who came to worship, drum, sing and mourn with their tribal family. Please help me! There's got to be another way."
Once the Eulogy was written I began to actually look forward to going 'Back to my Own Future' by way of a time warp and listening and watching just how The Trinity of God would surround Randy's life, honor the peoples of the Cayuse, Umatilla and Walla Walla tribes, our family, and Randy's many friends reflecting the multiple sides of his difficult journey; in search of God as Mother, really. Nor was I disappointed.
Love from the Four Winds
Early Saturday morning I woke up, dressed and went down to the hotel breakfast area for a surprisingly good meal. Actually, at $190 it probably shouldn't surprise me. After a shower and brief knapp given my 72 years, I headed out the the Glenview Church and enjoyed a couple of hours in their daylight basement with Randy's Native family, aunts, uncles, sisters, adopted bro's, a representative elder from the Umatilla Res some 209 miles away and drummers and singers gathered from urban Portland in honor of The Creator and Ryan's life. All this from within Christ's home, freely open to the city.
I was at home, back in my own 18+ year pastoral ministry in Seattle, listening mostly and watching the incredible love pouring out in sign and relation, the
ceremonies and iconic signs giving a healing presence, not unlike Holy Communion or the altar call after services I remembered as a child; where God was close in, inside the confessions and hugs of humans supporting one another.
Soon we were headed up to the Sanctuary for the quote—Christian service. It's too bad that the paradigm I set some 35 years earlier had taken hold in this family.2
The service began, almost on time; urban Portland Pacific Standard time—not Native time. I smiled, a bit surprised. I will never forget speaking with a an anglo-white couple patiently waiting for a Native American weddng to begin. We were about 45 minutes past its start. Quietly I went to them and whispered. "Look, you are welcome to wait with us, but I genuinely have no idea when we will actually begin." We were waiting for the bride who was out buying shoes. I think we got started about 3 1/2 hours late. The couple caved about 1 hour in.
From the beginning—as if a gentle breeze were suddenly flowing in the 102 degree heat of Portland—women would move around the congregation of about 70 hugging, comforting, holding. It was seemly, inter-woven into the natural, human pacing of a service unfolding informally, but with mystical presence surrounding. When the pastor opened the mic for personal memories men and women and healers deepened the winds now brushing our faces, still softly, like leaves falling from trees in the fall. These were the family members, some first nations, others from within the urban homeless community, healers who knew, respected and shared in Randy's life.
When Pastor Stefan first stood, after tracking his spirit for about 30 seconds, I
felt the joy of a family member for my cousin Warren—Randy's father—in the
tenderness of his Pastor's spirit and his keen awareness of the multi-level crescendo of the service from within diverse communities now relaxing into one another in mutual love. 3
I had cheated in the Eulogy by layering Christian and Native American truths, laying a context for the unseen but felt hand of God, The Father-Eternal Son-Spirit, in Randy's life. 4 Pastor Stefan never missed a beat and shared significant and relevant Biblio-human insight into both the moment in front of him and those gathered; all done extemporaneously as was needed from a pastor relating at levels far deeper than I could or would.
Graceful Closure
What gave me the greatest joy in this young pastor was the authenticity, ability to read his multi-cultural congregants in urban Portland and the clear sense of pastoring in an urban enviornment, in a facility old but adaptable, probably more than his parishoners could afford. All that is a guess. Sill, I walked away with a bit of a glimpse of myself 40 years ago; excepting that I was not so quick to read the lay of the land, having had to learn by prejudiced failure. I was extremely grateful that my cousin, Warren, had landed in such a rich/impoverished space and surrounded by a wise, compassionate, gifted preacher. The sheer joy gave a kind of closure.
Four days earlier another grace was given as we (Warren, his two daughters—Rayline and Rachel, my wife and an adopted brother of Randy, Asia) gathered in that same Sanctuary. I've always loved memorial or funeral services. Unlike weddings where the intensity of human love overwhelms the 'sacramental nature' of what's happening, memorial services carry the weight and expectancy of wanting and needing to 'see into eternity,' authentically but in hope.
It was soon apparent that Asia was wiser than his youth or his joyful male bravado, in presence, allowed. He knew the power of under-stating a thing, listening, watching and caring. Everything about him, as I watched throughout the coming weekend only deepened my respect for this young man, father and husband. He obviously shared with Randy a joy of living near the edge and with Randy's tenderness of spirit, loyalty of heart. But there was also in him a 'calling'... I have no other word. He, in my Christian iconic language, has a Divine annointing, like that of a pastor, teacher, friend all combined. Not needing to be the center of attention, he excells at shining the light away from himself and upon the needs around him.
On that Tuesday evening I leaned into 'the hardest, yet funnest part' of any memorial gatherng, meeting the family and getting Randy's story through their eyes. Unlike native tribes that have elongated and rich ceremonies helping to process grief, we fast paced Euro-Americans have precious little time to simply, safely confess. These moments are sacred and I always approach them with a degree of humility and tender joy. Part of my introduction was to simply apologize to my family and to Asia for not agreeing to do the service as a minister, acknowledging the continuing cost of my betrayal. Before that two and half hour meeting was done, Asia, who had legitimately started a bit sceptical of either 'my faith' or 'myself' or both, turned and prophesied—my word. He said, "Terry, now that I've listened and sat with you around Randy's memory, may i suggest you recognize that whatever brokeness caused you to stop ministry, the 'calling' and ability to 'teach' remains." This young man, spoke deeply into my Spirit, from the Creator, than any person of my own faith tradition could. Thank you Asia. Thank you Jesus.
Epilogue in Context
There is a creative tension between Urban and Reservation Natives Peoples. Much like the Pharisees of Israel's tribe it is the indians of the Res that are often seen and see themselves as the keepers of the faith, the cultural norms, the language and stories. Though there was nothing less than reverence and respect flowing, i picked up a hint of that vulnerable awareness listening and watching these Urban drummers and singers minister in song and ceremony as the elder from the Confederate Tribes of the Umatilla Indian Reservation looked on and supported them in spirit.
As the elder of my counsins family, during the service, introduced the Tribal Elder from the Reservation I was pleased that first, it was felt by my family, as appropriate for a service of Christ. It is and certainly should be, as it was not by me 35 years earlier.
Unfortunately as the Elder of the Tribe came forward, so did other friends, healers and bro's from Urban Portland to continue sharing their depth of love for Randy, memories and appreciation for the love that surrounded him from the Urban and Res tribal community, healers and Christ's church.
I know that those who continued to share simply failed to understand, that when the Tribal Elder is introduced his voice is last, a final Song or Word. As the emotional sharing continued I thought I sensed a bit of discomfort in his body language and was hoping we would soon be asked to stand and he would then say and probably also sing and drum the last Prayer of Honor.
What instead happened resulted in a dualism of feeling among those gathered, if I read it correctly. For my tribal family and anyone familiar with the Reservation I'm sure his Words were taken as a 'ceremonial ritual' eliciting mourning and helpful toward healing; but for those unaware it felt like a contradiction on all the hope that had been communicated—as if the Principle just barged into a school class party, forcing all to their seats. For about three minutes he simply and with an edge in spirit communicated reality therapy. "Randy is gone. He is not here. He is not coming back. His corpse, if present, housed no spirit. Know this, feel its emptiness and the sense of being lost. Comfort one another and return to your family and tribes for the help you will need."
I was angry and suddenly on the opposite side of the inward battle I surely must have created for the Tribal Community that came from the Res some 35 years before. I wanted to walk out in silent protest. Had I, all that God had been teaching me over the last 3 and half decades would have been washed away. I'm not sure if it was The Spirit or my own will, but from deep within I thought. 'Terry... No, you will not dis-honor this elder. Think. If we were on the Res this would be one brief ritual of release living inside the 'incarnate' grace of God surrounding everyone in the days of preperation, practice, feasts, and ceremonies leading up to this ceremony and it would make perfect sense in experience, if not in thought.' So I stood and prayed and waited.
God was not done with my own subtle and too self-assurred knowledge; humility be damned. Just as the luncheon was wrapping and as Joetta and i started to make the rounds, giving our last affirmations and respects I was quietly approached by a good and Godly person of integrity who was wrestling with the fact that neither I, nor the Pastor had assumed any reason to doubt Randy's final destiny. He knew Randy well and was aware that his journey was a mixed bag. His spirit was honest, tender, open, troubled theologically.
In our too brief conversation I should have said. "Listen, I really do appreciate your heart, your spirit in wanting to see the whole of truth honored; even when its difficult. I sometimes wonder the same, especially when I consider God as having wrath... Please know that in my own journey I have come to believe that God's love certainly doesn't end at death, nor ever. God's purpose, especially in judgment, is to alllow the human spirit to feel the cost of our sin and so return home to God." Then I should have re-iterated appreciation for what he wanted to protect and talked about getting together next time I come down to Portland.
Truth is, I said most of that, but the spirit of my response was 'teaching' instead of walking along side. I blew it. Sad.
So God allowed me to feel a bit of Terry at half my age. It was as if God were saying,"Terry, so much still to learn no matter which side of the debate you are on."
Joetta and I made our rounds, careful to greet in appreciation the Elder from the Confederated Tribes of the Umatilla Reservation as the last greeting before leaving the room.
Blessings! Terry :) 08/27/2025
1 That journey is told in my book "7 Faces of Jesus", chapters 1 & 2
2 Almost all Native American Plains and Western coastal tribes have come to know God as Creator and Spirit. A very strong minority and sometimes majority—depending on the Tribe—also know the
revelation of God in Jesus, of Nazareth, the Incarnate Eternal Son.
It has been a genuine joy to watch how 'God's Goodness
and Glory' is revealed differently when a community begins with The Spirit, or The Creator, or The Son.
For more fascinating stories of The Trinity of God's revelation to Native Tribes long before the coming of Euro-White persons, take a look at these two books:
A Story for Older Children of Jesus coming to the NW tribes of North America.
3 Pastor Stefan at LifeCity @ Glenview Church
4 Eulogy for Randall Mitchell
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