Don Dennie, my dad, talking to parishioners at Olive Branch UB church in Lakeville, Ind.

Photos – Page 1 | Photos – Page 2

Yesterday, July 2, my parents retired…again. It was their last day pastoring the Olive Branch United Brethren church in Lakeville, Ind., just south of South Bend. Pam and I drove up for the service. We had attended their final service at Third Street UB church back in 1998, the last time they retired. This was a tremendous day, and I felt so grateful for the way this congregation showered love and appreciation on my parents.

Mom at the piano (for the last time?). A photo of her Sunday school class sits on the piano.

My parents originally came to Lakeville in 1989, just a few months after the previous pastor and his wife, along with two young daughters, were shotgunned in the church parsonage. Mom and Dad moved back from Arizona to serve this shattered congregation, and over the next five years helped bring a great deal of healing. They then moved on to serve three years at the Third Street UB church in Fort Wayne, Ind.–the predecessor of my current church, Anchor. Next came a brief interim stint in Convoy, Ohio, and then they, uh, retired.

And got bored. Four years ago they returned to Olive Branch in an interim capacity, were asked to throw their hat in the ring during the pastoral search (which they did somewhat reluctantly), and got voted in. But this year, my parents felt it was time to move on. Or, to move back to their home in Fort Wayne, and then figure out what the next chapter of their life will hold.

It was great seeing Mom and Dad in action once again, doing what they do best. What they were designed to do. Before the service, they both flitted around the sanctuary, shaking hands and talking to people with genuine warmth. Dad wasn’t running around with last-second preparations, but was totally with his flock. They were the same way in 1973, when our family entered the ministry (I was a high school sophomore then).

About 70 people attended Olive Branch on this Independence Weekend Sunday. The small church was filled, probably more than I had ever seen it. This is a small white country church, not unlike gobs of other small white country churches. Mom and Dad have navigated the same tangle of relationships and interpersonal dynamics common to these types of churches. Not everything is hunky-dory. There have been clashes and resistance, and I’m sure there are people who are not unhappy to see them leave. Churches like this can easily frustrate today’s young seminary graduates, trained not as shepherds but as leaders and vision-casters and mini-CEOs, and cause them to declare the church hopeless. But Mom and Dad are great with this type of church. They know how to come in and love, serve, give, encourage and, yes, bring about change. And the Lakeville people can be wonderfully warm and loving. I enjoy being with them.

Yesterday’s service started with everyone saying the Pledge of Allegiance to the flag, and by singing the national anthem. Mom played the piano and sang along. The people sang “Happy Birthday” and “Happy Anniversary” as people came forward to deposit their money, probably a cent for each year (Dad got hit twice for July). There was an extended greeting time, with people leaving their seats and trouping around the sanctuary to shake hands with fellow parishioners. Old-time stuff that those of us from “progressive” churches consider quaint, but which I kind of miss.

Mom teaches a children’s Sunday school class with about six kids. Four of them sang a special song, using taped accompaniment, as Mom stood to the side helping them along. Two girls, sisters, held cordless microphones, while one little boy clanged a triangle in no particular beat and the other boy shook a maraca. They did a second number, with Mom singing as the kids marched in place while waving flags. After these songs, the kids excitedly brought Mom and Dad some gifts they had wrapped. They gathered around Mom and Dad on the platform as they opened the gifts. It was neat.

Dad walked into the center aisle to invite prayer requests. He has never been one to stay in place; he uses the whole sanctuary as his “platform.” The prayer time turned into an appreciation time, as people stood and thanked Mom and Dad for their ministry. It was nice for a son to hear. Then Dad asked the Personnel chairperson and several other leaders to come forward. They all laid hands on the Personnel chairperson, who will represent the church in finding a new pastor, and Dad prayed.

Mom had been asked to play her accordion one more time, so she did. She played “Mansion Over the Hilltop” (I was afraid she would do the “Beer Barrel Polka,” which she has also done at church events), while Dad worked the overhead projector and people sang along.

Olive Branch is blessed with a large group of men. Dad asked all of the men to come forward for one final “men’s choir” number. They all gathered across the platform, 26 of them, and sang strongly as Dad directed them.

And Mom played the piano. Mom says one of the hardest parts about leaving the pastorate will be not having an outlet for her music. Throughout their ministry she has directed children’s choirs, played the organ and piano for congregational singing, organized Christmas musicals, accompanied hundreds of special numbers, sung in duets and quartets and solo, entertained with her accordion, and encouraged and coaxed people into singing who, otherwise, would never have done so. One man mentioned that during the ‘tribute” time–that without Mom’s encouragement, he would never have gotten up front to sing (Mom says he’s really good). Her musical gifts will be greatly missed at Olive Branch. But even more, Mom will miss the chance to use those gifts, because it gives her so much joy.

Dad preached, of course. I always enjoy hearing him preach. He’s energetic, funny, straightforward…and just good, speaking as a highly-biased son. Before entering the pastorate he taught school for ten years and earned his Masters degree in education. To this point, Dad has studied at around 19 different colleges (Mom has the list somewhere). He’s certainly no dummy. I remember the Sunday night services back in Pixley, Calif., when he would do straight teaching from the Old Testament. That was some of his best work, just plain teaching.

The service ended with everyone singing “God Bless America.” Dad led, in his old-time directing style–energetic, arms flying, pumping people up as they sing. He’s always been a good songleader. And then the service was over.

The previous Thursday night, the Olive Branch congregation held a going-away dessert event at the church, and 49 people attended. But they weren’t done. After the church service, we all headed to Christo’s, a fabulous buffet in Plymouth. They had made reservations for 20 people, but 41 came. Parishioners hung around for a long time after the meal, expressing their appreciation with hugs and words, and saying “final” good-byes. I thoroughly enjoyed watching it. I was blessed. One little girl wrote her full name and phone number out on a piece of paper, gave it to Dad, and said, “You can call me if you want.” Isn’t that great?

At Christos.

Mom and Dad served ten years in their first church–years which saw dozens of people find Christ, just really exciting years for that church. Nine good years, anyway. During the final year, much dissension arose from the old-timers in the church, particularly as these many new converts rose to positions of leadership. Mom and Dad realized it was time for them to leave. A final service was set. But the week before, there was one last blow-up from the church patriarch, and my parents had to just up and leave unceremoniously. There was no going away recognition for them, no appreciation shown for their ten years of faithful service. They were just done. Stuff like that should never happen.

And then at Third Street, Pam and I attended the congregational meeting during which they would vote on closing in preparation for a restart by a core group from Emmanuel Community Church (of which Pam and I were a part). Dad suggested that they meet for one more month, then have a closing celebratory service. But someone (who was preparing to go on vacation) moved that they just close that day, with that meeting, and when it came to a vote, that’s what they did. So again, there was no good-bye for Mom and Dad. They were just abruptly done. (We all laugh about how that happened.)

And that’s partly why I’m so grateful to the Olive Branch church for how they treated my parents. Mom and Dad were able to end their ministry on a very high note. And it blessed me to watch.

The Lakeville parsonage.

After lunch at Christo’s, the five Dennies–my parents, Pam and me, and my brother Rick–sat in the parsonage dining room one last time. Most furniture had already been moved out, either given away or moved back to their home in Fort Wayne. All that remained was odds and ends that could fit in their stationwagon.

It has been a great home–twice–to my parents. Mom and Dad put birdfeeders outside the double glass doors in the dining room, and we enjoy watching the colorful finches, bluejays, cardinals, and other birds which the feeders attract. We know where the four bodies layed for about 18 hours in puddles of blood, but we hardly think about that. When Mom and Dad arrived in Lakeville 17 years ago, parishioners wondered if anyone would ever want to live there. But my parents went out of their way to let parishioners know that they loved their home, and this went a long way in bringing healing.

As we sat at the table (which would stay in the parsonage), Mom pulled out her attendance chart, a lined graph with the names of each family. They were essentially done at Lakeville, and would drive back to Fort Wayne the next day. But Mom said, “I’ll take attendance one last time.” She went down the list, making notations. “Seventy-one people,” she concluded.

I have vague memories of Mom doing this every Sunday 30 years ago, in our first church. (Notice I said “our.” I’ve been on my own for decades, but I still think of the church my parents pastor as “our” church, a family thing.) I’m sure Mom has been doing this throughout their ministry. She notes the people who weren’t there that day and sends them a bulletin with a note. Thirty-three years of this.

“I don’t know if anyone will continue doing this,” she said. “That’s for somebody else to decide.”