Since March, three of my former pastors have gone on to be with the Lord, and I want to tell you a little about each of them.

The first is Pastor Ray Johnson (1948–2020). We lost him on March 1 at the age of 76.

A few months after being born again, I began attending John Abbot College in Ste-Anne-de-Bellevue, Quebec and joined the Inter-Varsity Christian Fellowship (IVCF) there. Christianity was new to me, and that group of students was my first Christian community. We had an IVCF worker who would come to check on us occasionally, but for the most part, we were left on our own. But one pastor would visit—Pastor Ray, from West Island Baptist Church. He had two daughters at the college. At the time, it struck me as odd that only one pastor reached out to us college kids.

Pastor Ray liked to laugh, joke, and eat, but he could also be somewhat abrupt. I remember asking him, “What does ‘Christ’ mean? Was that Jesus’ last name?” He looked at me like I was an idiot and replied, “I’m not telling you! Look it up yourself!” I didn’t appreciate that answer then, but it reinforced that I could not be lazy but needed to study the Bible for myself (which was his point).

A few years later, I became a member of West Island Baptist, where I got some of my first opportunities to preach in a congregational setting. My sister and grandmother also joined. Now, Nanny has never been good with names. Before addressing any of us grandkids, she’d usually have to run through all the names before getting to the right one. She could never remember Ray’s name either. She thought she did. She inexplicably called him “Tom.” At first, Pastor Ray was a little annoyed, but Nanny kept making the same innocent mistake over and over again that it became a running joke with him, and he finally accepted his new name. In fact, one day, when Nanny finally remembered to call him Ray, he was almost offended, saying, “No, I’m Tom!”

When West Island Baptist sold our building to another ministry, Pastor Ray invited me to his office, pointed to his bookshelves, and said, “Take whatever you want!” It was a dream come true. I still have his Spurgeon’s Expository Encyclopedia. He loved C. H. Spurgeon.

After Pastor Ray had a stroke that left him struggling to speak, we had to get a new pastor. But during sermons, Ray would excuse himself, go to a backroom, and pray for the service. He couldn’t preach, but he could be a prayer warrior for the preacher.

Pastor Ray taught me about faithfulness and cheerfulness through suffering. He also taught by example that prayer is fundamental to ministry, because ministry is not so much us working for God, as God working through us. And God worked through Pastor Ray in my life.

The second pastor I lost was Luis Rodriguez (1941–2024), who died on April 14^th.

Sometime around 2011 or so, Abby and I moved to East Dallas to be near Baylor University Medical Center, where she works. At that time, I was reading Zane Hodges’s Absolutely Free, when I noticed the flyleaf said he was pastoring Victor Street Bible Chapel. I looked it up, and it turned out that Victor Street was about two or three blocks from my apartment, so we went to visit.

Victor Street was a tiny church with about 30-40 people, but it was also a tightly knit family community. I learned that Zane had died a few years before (in 2008), but I met Luis Rodriguez. Although Victor Street was supposed to be an elder-led congregation, there was no question that Luis functioned as the pastor.

I remember talking to Luis about Dallas Theological Seminary, which was nearby. I asked him why no DTS students were at the church. I thought that would be an easy relationship. He got very serious and explained that Victor Street was founded as a mission to English-speaking Hispanic people and that they did not want “Anglos” coming and running things! That was a little jarring, but with the church’s mission made clear, Abby and I passed the interview to share in the Lord’s Supper, which we began to do. Luis was kind enough to give me some opportunities to teach at Victor Street. But he also told me not to mention Zane Hodges in my sermon. I suppose they had had a problem of people over-emphasizing Zane in the past. He wanted it to be about Scripture and Jesus.

Luis preached grace, and he preached it simply. He connected to people with everyday stories and illustrations—a good example for an academically-minded person like me. In that sense, Luis’ ministry was very incarnational. What I mean is, Jesus left the glories of heaven, became flesh, and ministered to ordinary people in ways they could understand. So did Luis. He started a soup kitchen for the poor before the City of Dallas regulated it out of existence. Instead of aiming for the ivory tower, Luis wanted to reach the least and the lost with the good news, which he did in both Dallas and Mexico.

One of my fondest memories of him was how he gave my daughter, Daphne, her favorite stuffed animal. She carried that beagle for years and years, and it always made me think of him.

Last year, I contacted Luis to have lunch with him. We were supposed to set a date, but things kept coming up until a year flew by, and I heard he had died. I regret not breaking bread with him one last time, but I rejoice that he is eating with Jesus in heaven.

The third pastor is John Robertson (1948–2024), who died on April 27^th.

After moving from Dallas to Denton, I began looking for a church. My second visit was at Gateway United Baptist Church, and I was immediately welcomed with such love that I could not help but stay. I became a member, was licensed and ordained there, and briefly pastored a contemporary service.

I do not remember what John’s official title was, but he was effectively a combination of executive pastor and music minister. He had retired from the corporate world and pursued his true calling as a music minister. He handled the finances, managed the properties, and led worship on Sunday mornings with his excellent singing voice.

In my limited experience with John, he was a mixture of someone who could be a little scary and yet who lived sacrificially in secret. One week, I could get chewed out for holding a meeting at the church after hours without asking for permission first, and the next week, new screens that I was told we could not afford would suddenly appear in the sanctuary because John paid for them out of his pocket. I kept hearing stories from people about John doing things like that. I remember a time when a member fell ill and could no longer work, and I heard that John was secretly paying her rent until she went into a memory care facility. He would never say it. But the people he helped shared their stories.

John reminded me of the Holy Spirit in the sense that the Spirit sometimes convicts people of sin, but mostly, He works behind the scenes, secretly accomplishing God's providence while we merrily go about our lives. That’s what John did. He helped keep the church running behind the scenes and, what’s more, ministered to people in ways most would not even realize.

God gives the church pastors and teachers to help us grow. They each have their own personalities, virtues and quirks, strengths and weaknesses, and God uses them all to accomplish His purposes.

If you’re my age, your pastors are getting older and many of them will be going home soon. Let them know today how much you appreciate them.