I often remember the people who have graced the congregations I serve. I’ve been thinking of Barbara lately.Its been years since here funeral, but like many others, she has a special place in the way I live my life.

Just a little bit about her. You didn’t really visit Barbara. It was more that she granted you an appearance. Even when she was a resident in a nursing home, I didn’t appear unannounced. I would call ahead and after she was no longer receiving her own phone calls, I’d stop by and give the staff a “heads up” before I entered the room. If I were to have shown up, as I did a couple of times, I was instructed to wait in the hallway as Barbara was prepared to receive me. Even at the very end, Barbara would be dressed in a gown and have her hair done up just right. When her own hair failed to satisfy her, she wore a wig and had it combed and arranged.

Barbara would tolerate a few minutes of “small talk” about the weather and local events, but soon would be wanting to get to other topics. She would ask about how things were going at the church and by that she means how was worship attendance, what new music our choirs had been learning, and what I had discovered in my studies of the Bible. Then she would ask me what books I had been reading. She wanted more than titles, she wanted a bit of a book report and my opinion about the quality of the writing and worth of the ideas presented.

In one of my early visits, after discussing the books I was reading, she said, “That is fine for prose. What poetry have you been reading?” I stammered that I didn’t read much poetry to which she responded, “But you must read poetry.”

I made sure that I had something of a poem to report at my next visit. I think I picked something by Emily Dickinson or Walt Whitman. She was immediately familiar with the poem and wanted to discuss it though I really hadn’t learned that much about it and didn’t have much to say.

I was better prepared for my next visit. After a while she began to ask me to bring a poem when I visited. Some days it was a bit of a scramble. Often I would do an Internet search at poetry.com or there poetry foundation, searching by topic or occasion. I subscribed to the Poetry magazine podcast and started listening monthly to editors and authors discussions of poems.

I had never been much on poems before. Other than appearing in a couple of high school plays, my artistic focus during my years of schooling had been music. Even my music took a back seat when I got to graduate school. There was just too much serious reading that had to be done. College and seminary were academic challenges for me. I didn’t have time for fiction or poetry in those years. I was, no doubt, influenced by my father’s German work ethic. Although he was interested in culture and did occasionally attend a social event, the core focus of his life was his work. He had goals to meet and things to accomplish. He was always a bit suspicious of people who spent too much time reading poetry or attending concerts or plays. I only know of one opera that he ever attended and that was in Sydney, Australia. His report of the opera focused on the architecture and construction techniques of the magnificent Sydney Opera House and I don’t remember what opera they attended. I do remember his raving about the acoustical properties of the building. I suspect he couldn’t have named the singers by the time he got home.

My father did love to discuss complex ideas. He found a hearty discussion of the morning’s sermon with the preacher to be a great Sunday dinnertime activity. I suspect that the preachers didn’t particularly look forward to his invitations, which were frequent. And when he encountered an engineering challenge, drawings and discussions dominated his conversation until the problem was solved. He once purchased several truckloads of 2x2 pine boards that had been spilled in a railway accident. The price was very low. He proceeded to design trusses to support a single-pitch open span roof for a 48’ x 120’ feed warehouse. The building is still standing and the roof has no sags after half a century.

So we didn’t recite poetry in our house unless we were complying with a school assignment.

Barbara’s request - and her insistence, “You must read poetry” - was a challenge with just the right timing for me. I began to read poetry. I took a look at some of the famous poets - Frost and Dickinson, Poe and Pounds and Whitman. I giggled a bit with E.E. Cummings. I practiced reading Shel Silverstein out loud and was deeply inspired by Langston Hughes and Maya Angelou. Last year I spent then entire year with Rainer Maria Rilke reading a poem a day for the entire year. I started 2014 with Billy Collins - a distinct departure from Rilke. After Collins, I invested a couple of months in an anthology titled “100 Poems that Make Grown Men Cry.” It wasn’t particular tear-inducing for me, but there were some pretty good poems and a list of poets I intend to pursue has arisen from the book. Currently I’m reading Laura Kisischke - poems that require me to read out loud to get in touch with their unique rhythm and cadence.

I’ve even done some exploring with my own poetry, writing sermons in poetic meter and delivering them with piano accompaniment by Justin Speck.

My interest in poetry may be more a product of my age than of Barbara’s inspiration, but her request came at exactly the right time in my life. She challenged me to read and I responded.

And frequently when I go through my daily routine of reading a poem as the coffee brews, I think of being received by Barbara. I miss her. I miss our visits. But I am also aware of how much she is with me each day.

Being a pastor is like that. We get filled up with interesting and fascinating people. And sometimes they bubble out in our sermons.

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