Kem Meyer was my favorite speaker at the MinistryCOM conference. She is on staff at Granger Community Church, just a couple hours west of me near South Bend, Ind. That’s a fascinating, innovative church of 5500, and Kem is a remarkably engaging, competent person. I took gobs of notes from her keynote session and from a seminar.

In the keynote, she said that whenever someone comes to you wanting to do a brochure or website, you need to ask three questions.

1. Is it a tool, or is it just cool?
2. What problem is this solving?
3. What will happen, or won’t happen, if we don’t do it?

All of this addresses the matter of purpose. Over the years, as we’ve created new ministry groups at the denominational level, they (very predictably) tend to want to create whatever communication tool is in vogue at that time. In earlier years, they always wanted a brochure and a newsletter. They didn’t necessarily know what they wanted to do with them, but just thought they should have them. So I would design a brochure and a newsletter.

Now, they’re more likely to want a website and an email list. A few years ago, the Youth Task Force asked me to develop a website for them, so I did. But they never gave me anything–I mean, not one thing–to put on it. They thought they should have a website, but more because it seemed “cutting edge” than because it accomplished a purpose for them.

Currently, to be really cutting edge, you need a blog. It’s the cool thing. A blog is a huge, huge commitment which people don’t realize until they start one. I’ve created three blogs for the denomination. One I never implemented, because I didn’t feel the group would be committed to making it succeed. One I discontinued because it wasn’t living up to its original purpose, and I combined it into the third blog, which was struggling, but is doing fine now that we’ve expanded it. A fourth blog request I simply said no to.

We really need more intentionality about our communications pieces, making sure they accomplish our purposes. Since I’m the communications guy, I guess I shouldn’t throw stones.

Ron Cook is pastor of the Salem United Brethren Church outside of Chambersburg, Pa. That’s where we held the Day of Missions last Saturday. Ron has pastored UB churches in Pennsylvania since the 1960s. My first memory of him comes from Rhodes Grove church camp. We spent many weeks there one summer when Dad directed the food service. Ron Cook was a new minister. I remember Dad saying to my Mom, “That Ron Cook is a really good young guy.” Or something like that. Hey, it was 40 years ago. But the gist was that Dad liked Ron, for whatever reason. And, therefore, I liked him. And always have. Imagine if Dad had given me a different first impression by saying, “That Ron Cook–I can’t believe the screwball thing he did today.” My young mind would have formed a different lasting impression. But thankfully, my view of Ron molded around the “good guy” label.

Even after what he did to me.

At Intermediate Camp (that’s what they called it back then‚Äîthe next camp after Junior Camp), we played Capture the Flag. Ron Cook was a counselor, I was an impending 7th grader. They divided the camp in half, with a chalk strip going between a row of cabins and bisecting the tabernacle. All of us hung a colored strip from our pants, a different color for each team. The goal, of course, was to grab the other team’s flag and get it across the chalk line into your own territory.

Most guys formed raiding parties of three or four and played chicken with the other team, trading feints. I went solo, wandering inconspicuously into enemy territory, starting from the hilltop where the guys’ cabins were and meandering along the fence to where two guys guarded the enemy flag. The guards didn’t pay me much attention, instead watching the action elsewhere.

I got fairly close, and then made a running lunge for the flag. I grabbed it and sprinted toward the chalk line, probably 50 yards away. Those incompetent guards screeched and pointed frantically at me. And scores of kids began chasing after me.

I aimed for the middle area between the guys’ cabins and the middle row of cabins. Teammates stood on the other side of the chalk line, cheering me on. I was no more than a couple yards from the line when, from my left, Ron Cook zoomed from between two cabins, plucked my flag, and skidded to a stop about ten yards further down.

I was so close to being a hero. I’ve always kicked myself for not throwing the flag over the boundary line. I could have done that. But instead, they recaptured the flag and took me prisoner.

I’ve often resented Ron Cook for denying me my moment of earthly glory. But my resentment always fades because, after all, as Dad told me, Ron Cook is a good guy.

Burt Lange (right) with new UB missionaries Jamie Fiedler (left) and Anna Geivett (center).

This past weekend, the Day of Missions that Pam and I attended was held in Chambersburg, Pa., which is the most densely UB-populated place on earth. Six UB churches have Chambersburg addresses, nearby Greencastle has four churches, Shippensburg has three, and I’m sure gobs of surrounding towns yield additional UB churches. People talk about Huntington, Ind., as being the UB “Mecca.” Well, my vote goes to Chambersburg.

The event was held at the Salem UB church, which I’d never before visited. It’s a stately brick building; “stately brick” seems to be a common architectural motif of UB churches in that area.

I spent a lot of time in Chambersburg when I was a kid. We lived in Harrisburg for 3.5 years ,which corresponds to my grades 4-7. The conference campground, Rhodes Grove, is located just outside of Chambersburg. Dad directed junior camp for two summers, and he ran the food service for one entire summer (which means we stayed on the grounds most of the time).

On Saturday, Burt Lange and former missionary Aldean Saufley played an outstanding prelude–Burt on the piano, Aldean on the organ. Burt is an incredible, incredible pianist. He hooked up with Tony Fontaine during the 1960s when Tony did annual revival services at my church (Devonshire UB in Harrisburg), and Tony began using Burt in other meetings. They even performed together in the White House. Every summer at camp, Burt entertained the crowd with his piano-comedy bit. He’d have us all in stitches. Burt still possesses that amazing sense of humor.

But I remember Burt Lange for another reason, as well. He was the evangelist for junior camp in 1967. Under his preaching, I went forward and dedicated my life to Christ. I walked to the altar with my head bowed and knelt at the altar across from a counselor whose face I didn’t see. After a few seconds, I heard the counselor weeping, which seemed strange. I looked up…and it was my Dad, a last-minute counselor that year. Dad’s first words were, “Steve, do you know what you’re doing?” I said I did, or at least thought so. Dad talked to me, and I responded, though I can’t remember a bit of that. But in the end, he led me in a prayer of salvation. So that was pretty special.

A couple years ago, I ran into Burt Lange at an event in Chambersburg and mentioned this to him. He said, “I can’t take much credit for that. With your background, somebody would have got you.” And he’s right. I grew up in a strong Christian home, and it was only a matter of time. Burt just happened to be working the harvest fields that particular day. It could have been somebody else, but it was him. But that doesn’t diminish the place Burt has in my heart.

Roger and Marilyn Reeck were in town today. They are Wycliffe missionaries in La Ceiba, the third largest city in Honduras, situated on the north coast. I wrote a book about the life of Marilyn’s father, Archie Cameron, who basically started and built the United Brethren ministry in Honduras, which now has over 80 churches. An amazing man. That was the best, and most rewarding, piece of writing I’ve ever done.

Both Roger and Marilyn are graduates of what is now Taylor University-Fort Wayne. Back then, it was called Fort Wayne Bible College. Marilyn attended Anchor, my church (then called Third Street United Brethren Church), while she was in college. An interesting connection.

In writing the book, I made three trips to Honduras, during which I spent many hours interviewing Archie, but also traipsing across northern Honduras with Roger interviewing other people, missionaries and nationals, who could tell me something about Archie’s life. The interviews were usually bilingual, which made it interesting. And having Roger translate made it especially interesting, because he’s such a fun guy. Roger knows over a dozen languages, and has been integrally involved in translating the Bible into the Zapotec and Garifuna languages. Now he’s working in the West African country of Guinnea Bissau (though still living in Honduras), working on translating the Bible into a language there. What could be more rewarding than that?

Pam and I had breakfast with the Reecks this morning (Pam accompanied me on one of those trips to Honduras). Roger told about being in a remote village in Guinea Bissau. All they had translated was the story of the Good Samaritan. The villagers gathered, and the story was read to them in their own language. “Read it again!” they said. So they read the story again. “Read it again!” This happened over and over, and they kept re-reading the story. Roger told me that the people are starved for God’s Word, and by hearing this single story over and over, they would be able to remember it well enough to repeat it to others.

Archie Cameron died last fall. He had lived in Honduras since 1952. He was a pioneer, and part of the dying breed of missionaries who are “lifers”–who make missionary service in a foreign land their career. It was a great honor to do the book. Roger and Marilyn have told me that the book has been a blessing to other missionaries in Honduras, who value not only Archie’s testimony, but the background information I give about the country’s history. They mentioned one man who leads work teams to Honduras, and he always gives a copy to team members (and he’s not even United Brethren!). The book is used in teaching at the UB high school in La Ceiba.

Tio Archie has been translated into Spanish, and the Spanish people of Honduras are eager to read the book, but they don’t have the money to print it. Seems like, out of our American abundance, we should be able to come up with the money to make that happen. Because the book is really the Hondurans’ story, not an American story. (Archie, I should also mention, was Canadian.)

Roger and Marilyn are on their way to Florida, where their youngest daughter (of four) will graduate in May from Pensacola Bible College. I trust they have a joyous time.