Pray for the Stauffers

In the small town of Edson, Alberta, Canada 14-year old Emily Stauffer was murdered as she walked along a partially wooded pathway near a quiet residential neighborhood on September 27, 2008. The beautiful, flaxen haired girl didn't stand a chance against her much larger attacker, an unknown assailant believed to be in his early thirties.

Although the attack happened in the late afternoon in broad daylight, the assailant managed to escape and vanish completely. Two young boys happened upon the scene and reported that a man jumped from the bushes and grabbed Stauffer by the throat and began choking her. The terrified boys ran to a nearby home to seek help. The stunned neighbor at first had difficulty believing the boys' story. After all, the town of 8,000 people rarely experiences violent crime. But the neighbor quickly became convinced the boys were telling the truth because she could see them "vibrating" with fear.

To date, the attack appears completely random and unprovoked. It is believed that Emily Stauffer was taken by surprise and was very quickly subdued and overwhelmed by her attacker.

It's always difficult to make sense of a seemingly senseless tragedy such as this. It becomes harder when there is a personal connection. Although we did not know the family well, my husband and I have had the privilege of working with Emily Stauffer's parents on a number of occasions. Dad Terry is the Pastor of Edson Baptist Church, a small and close-knit body of believers. Terry and his wife, Juanita work within the same organization of churches, the Fellowship of Evangelical Baptist Churches of Canada, that my husband and I work with. Terry, Juanita and family have spent years as Fellowship ministers in various churches throughout Western Canada.

Our connection to the family came when the Stauffers worked in Barriere, B.C. just a short drive from the city of Kamploops where my husband pastored for four years. The Stauffers remain connected to many people in both the Barriere and Kamloops area even though they've been away from that particular post for several years now.

The Stauffers were closely tied to Sunnybrae Bible Camp in Tappen, B.C. just west of Salmon Arm. Both Terry and Juanita served in various positions, both professional and volunteer, within the camp for many years. In fact they continued to return to Sunnybrae summer after summer even after they left B.C. for Alberta.

It is with great sadness that I write this post, in memory of Emily Stauffer and in condolence to Terry, Juanita, and their three remaining children. This news has left many communities, churches, and an entire camp in a state of shock and grief. It is with bittersweet sadness and hope that we cling to our faith in a God who chose to call His beautiful little girl Home to be with Him despite her desire to grow up, get married, have children, and pursue a degree in music. Heaven is surely a much brighter place with her shining smile casting a reflection upon the golden streets.

It is my desire that all who read this will take just a minute right now to stop and pray for the Stauffer family.

Read more about the Emily Stauffer murder.
Read Terry Stauffer's blog, including a tribute to his daughter.

Opportunity in Death

After 16 years in ministry, I think I'm only just beginning to come to understand the significance of funerals as evangelistic opportunities. Church boards, committees and ministry teams spend hours trying to come up with ways to get the unchurched and unsaved to darken the door of a church. We plan events, outreaches, dinners, musicals, kid's clubs, day camps and scores of other contrived (pardon me if that word sounds a little offensive. I hope that you'll come to see what I really mean as you read on.) Sometimes these things work, sometimes they don't. Sometimes they fail miserably to attract any crowd other than those same people who come every Sunday and come to every event simply because the church doors are open.

Yet, when people are faced with the death of a loved one, often the church is the first place they flock to. There's no cajoling or coaxing. There's no fanfare, no fancy catered dinner, no flashy program. There is simply the sudden realization that death raises questions that they cannot answer on their own. Granted, there are many who are hardened to the notion of a so-called "loving" God who would "allow" a loved one to pass away. But even they are often much more willing to listen to the plan of salvation even in the midst of misgivings and bitterness.

This year has been particularly filled with deaths of people within our own church family and extended church family. Some were prominent church members. Many were the result of tragic illnesses like cancer. One was a suicide. Others were relative unknowns to the congregation at large, but were extended family of regular church members.

Though the circumstances varied, one common denominator rang true for each one: unsaved people, some of whom had never attended church at all or hadn't considered religion in years began to reach out to clergy members for answers and a shred of hope amidst the pain and suffering. Many of these people may not ever have otherwise entered a church or questioned their own eternal destiny if not for reasons of death. It wasn't a carefully crafted and long-planned outreach event that drew them in. It was their desire to find the answer to the question of their own mortality or that of their loved ones.

Don't get me wrong. Outreaches are wonderful ways to reach out to the community. They are often successful and meet both the felt and the spiritual needs of a world in darkness. But how many times do we have opportunities to minister to large groups of seekers simply fall into our proverbial laps? Frequently, funerals make up the bulk of those unexpected and unplanned but highly effective opportunities to sow good seed in very fertile ground.

Jesus & Java

I've entitled this blog "Church Coffee....." because, well.... I bet you know what I'm talking about. Church coffee has been the butt of many a joke throughout Christendom's years (at least since the invention of the coffee maker.) It's either so watered-down you can barely distinguish it from untreated tap water, or it's so strong that you need a jack hammer to drive your little plastic stir stick into it.

No offense to you faithful volunteers who get up early every Sunday morning to come in before the rooster crows to crank up the old community coffee brewer. I complained about church coffee myself until the first time I actually had to make some for a fundraising dinner. See, at home I use one tablespoon of fine grind for every eight ounces of water. I have always done this because that's what the instructions said on the first coffee pot I ever got after my husband and I were married. It turned out a bit on the strong side, but I quickly discovered that both me and my husband preferred it that way.

So when I was assigned coffee-making duties for this particular event, I simply followed the same directions I was used to at home. I converted my tablespoons into cups and poured in enough grounds for eighty eight-ounce cups of coffee. Just before I hit the "start" button I looked at the two pounds of grounds in the basket and thought to myself, "Hmmm, that seems like a LOT of coffee grounds." But then, who am I to question the instructions of Mr. Coffee, he of the original home coffee brewing appliances?

What I failed to realize is that industrial coffee makers are different from the home variety. It turns out that two pounds of coffee grinds was a little too much after all. Having been busy with preparations for the fundraiser, I hadn't actually had time to sample my own brew. But when people began to choke and gasp and drop their coffee cups, I started to suspect that perhaps something was amiss with my recipe. I sneaked off to the coffee table and poured a cup for myself and quickly discovered that brewing coffee at home and brewing coffee at church were two completely different culinary experiences.

After the first twenty or so cups had been dispensed, word must have gotten around because the coffee table wasn't touched for the rest of the evening. At the end of the night I briefly considered pouring the remainder into my gas tank, certain it was probably strong enough to get me home and just might be the next great thing in fuel innovations.

I don't criticize church coffee anymore. Though admittedly, I still poke fun at it like everyone else. It just wouldn't be Sunday morning (or Saturday night, or some other night of the week, depending on when your particular church meets) without good old church coffee. Let's face it, how else would we all manage to stay awake through the sermon........