A Tomato Sandwich Gala and a Sacred Invitation

How a BLT became a burning bush opportunity

We were invited last night, to a Tomato Sandwich dinner at a friend’ mountain home. The only thing being served was a “Bacon, Lettuce and Tomatoes Sandwich” or as it is affectionately called in the south: a BLT! Eveyone gathered to make their own delicacy out of the gorgeous display of very fine foods.

Gwen and I called it a “Tomato Gala”.  We were invited last year by the same friends even before we moved to our new mountain town.  Last year, at THIS same event, we met folks that we sensed just might be our people group. They gave us hope for a place we could settle with like-hearted folk! They were kind; asked quesitons and were initially loving. One year later, now, we are becoming a part of the little community here as we re-set our lives. There’s a sense of belonging. There’s a sense of friendship. And, we were invited again this summer—just last night. We had been looking forward to going for several weeks.

 In the south, tomato sandwiches become something of a main staple: red ripened and juicy tomatoes sliced just the right width; green leafy lettuce, fried bacon and just the right amount of mayonnaise on toasted, sour dough bread. It is an incomparable delicacy. Trust me. To call the BLT a “staple” is not really the right word. For how could something so, so delicious be called a “staple” when it feels like a gift of heaven to partake?

At the Gala, a couple dozen friends gather on the deck facing the golden, setting sun over the hazy, Blue Ridge mountains. It was a gathering worthy of the cover of a magazine. Candles. Table clothes, flowers in the vases and quiet conversation. We sat at tables set up with loving care on the deck with friends enjoying the summertime conversation and the blessing of mountain life.   What happened next though is my point in this pondering.

The pastor of the church we are attending sat at our table. I had no more taken a bite of my sandwich, when the question was posed, “Steve, how would you feel about preaching for me and the church on September 3? I’m doing two funerals on each side of Sunday and I’d like you to help me if you felt you could.” 

I felt honored to be asked. But, the question threw me. I wasn’t prepared. We have so enjoyed sinking our roots into this church but, I was there to enjoy a quiet night of good food and good people. I perked up and knew I needed to pay attention—to seriously consider what was being asked of me. It felt—well, it felt huge for me for reasons, I’ll explain.

Knowing that this new church for us was liturgical, more formal and more traditional than we were accustomed, I took pause. It was a thankful pause—it was really a pause like Moses did, when he took his shoes off and approached the burning bush on the backside of his mountain. Here I was now—on the backside of my mountain and I just “knew” something was up—something bigger was brewing. I just knew it. I was not wrong.

With great curiosity to see more closely what was happening, I was attentive to my inner world and alert to the invitation just given me.  Trust me, this does not always happen. But, last night, for what ever reason, the stars aligned; the bush lit up in plain sight and I knew something was “up” for me. For whatever reason, I took a “Moses pause” and immidately chose to be curious about this gracious invitation.

 In the Episcopal church and other liturgical churches, the Scriptural texts are not chosen randomly or haphazardly selected.  There is a beautiful order I’m discovering, and a way of having an Old Testament, Psalm, New Testament Epistle and Gospel reading which somehow have a theme—a current of nuance and a touch of commonality to them. We all stand up when the Gospel is read. I love this—I love giving priority, respect and attention to the words of Jesus. To be honest, we’ve never attended a church that reads more of the Bible in the worship servies. Normally, a couple of verses are read and the preacher delievers their message. But, not here. It’s refreshing for us after all the many kinds of churches we’ve visited and spoken in over the years.

I responded: “I might be interested if the text for that particular Sunday wouldn’t require massive study, preparation and research.”  I smiled and picked up my BLT for the first bite. For me, saying that, was something of a victory—to put in a pause—a way out if I needed it or wanted it. This pause seemed like a good idea and it’s been a good discipline for me to learn to never say an immediate “Yes” to invitations of any kind.  I’m already prepping for the fall ramp up. I have taken this marvelous summer “off” of all my responsibilities. No Spiritual Direction. No Podcasts recordings. No speaking. Just enjoying the life of the mountains. It’s been so wonderful—a  part of my greening that I’ve written about. Saying “No” was my way of saying  a kind and loving “Yes” to myself to green, transition and rest after a transition season of moving here.

The pastor pulled out their phone to check the texts for that Sunday. (Yes, there’s an APP for that! ) I felt all the eyes of my table upon me. Would I know the text when the references were read between the bites of the bacon, lettuce and tomatos sandwich? Would I be embarrassed if she said some hidden text that I was not familiar with at all and then I’d have to say, “I haven’t a clue as to what in the world that text is about…help me with it.”

She said the Old Testament reference—“It would be the story of Moses and the burning bush in Exodus 3.”  I felt my heart leap inside me. I think I said, “You have got to be kidding me.” I guess it was dead give-a-way that I’m not Episcopalian. My Moses like curiosity was already in disbelief. I knew already, I was on holy ground on that wooden deck ladened with two tables of friends—all eating a Eucharistic Tomato sandwich.

The pastor continued, “The Gospel lesson would be Matthew 16:26”…and she read it as I put my BLT back down on the plate. I could not take another bite. My soul was immediately filled to the brim. I felt a mysterious sense of ‘awe’ fall upon me.  My BLT? Well,  it was now dripping with mayonnaise running out of all four corners of the sour dough bread. I plated it and sat now in a bit of shock: “For what will it profit a man if they gain the whole world and forfeits their soul? Or what shall a person give in return for their soul?”  My friend seated immediately next to me, kind of moaned, not in indigestion, but at the weightiness of this sacred text. 

But me?  I just sat back, not in relief, but in utter disbelief and dismay.  Why?  Simply because Matthew 16:26 is the core message of the ministry that Gwen and I founded twenty three years ago in 2000, when we first pioneered “Potter’s Inn”—a ministry devoted to the soul care.  The text says: “What will it profit a person to gain everything but lose their soul in the process?”  It is my life’s theme verse. It is the single, most important verse in the entire Bible that describes my own story—of gaining a ministry in the church world—but losing my soul in the process; almost losing my marriage and nearly losing my four sons out of my obsession and addiction to be a ministry super star. Out of this verse and a few more, the birth of caring for one’s soul was launched.  There’s not another passage in the Bible that I have studied more; spoken more about and shared around the world that this one. Perhaps this might help you understand the gravitas of that Tomato Sandwich Gala.

I looked at Gwen and we both just smiled at each other—sensing the Sweet Providence, Sacred Blessing and Kind Invitation (all words are worthy of my capitalizaation) of me sharing this text to our church.  This message is my sweet spot. It’s my lane that I feel God has asked me to travel in to recover my own life and the lives of many others. It’s THE message of all my books, podcasts and off ramp for myself in a ministry that has lasted over 45 years.

I said, “Oh me…the answer is YES! A Thousand times YES!” 

Mind you, I’m still new to my pastor. We’ve only had a couple of conversations in the six months of our attending. I’m not sure at all that our pastor knew my fluency in this language of soul care; Moses’ burning bush experience and Jesus’ own urgent appeal for his followers.  Maybe the pastor had done some due diligence on me. I don’t know and I don’t care. What I care about today is the gift of the Tomato Sandwich Gala and the opportunity to share a message that can transform a person’s soul like it has my own.

( I suppose many of you may not really “get” or understand me writing about this. But for many of you who have heard me, read me or been with me, you’ll understand this very holy moment—even the BLT!)