Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6
          NOTICING CHANGES

Now that both Patty and I were committed believers, we had the opportunity to see where the Lord would use us. We were continually learning, and it helped us avoid a lot of confusion when it came to biblical doctrine. Without having an open Bible as the source of truth, it would be difficult to discern between the teachings of the various churches and know what was sound Bible teaching.

     When Duane and I once spoke, there was something that I remember standing out that I know now is not what the Bible teaches. I remember him telling me: “Those Baptists have this idea that says once you’re saved, you’re always saved. That’s not true.” Had we not been taught from and read the truth in God’s Word, I might have believed that. I hope he found the truth later in his studies being he studied often. I believe Duane was sincere in his faith but not taught properly when it came to eternal security. Someone could be sincere in what they believe and yet be sincerely wrong. When Jesus spoke of eternal life, you have to ask the question: how can you be given eternal life and then lose it? How would you know when you’ve lost your salvation, or if and when you’ve got it back? Or for that matter, if you’ve ever gotten it back? That’s confusing, but the Bible teaches that God is not the author of confusion. The word eternal is synonymous with everlasting. The words of Jesus Christ Himself in John 10:27-30 tell us so.

“My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me: And I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand. My Father, which gave them me, is greater than all; and no man is able to pluck them out of my Father's hand. I and my Father are one.”

    That isn’t teaching that we’ll live eternally here on earth. Who wants to when there’s far better promised for us in heaven? We are, however, saved eternally, and as sure as the promises of God are good, we will be with Him someday. Assurance is one of those important things that we have as believers. We know that we belong to Jesus Christ, and no one can take us away from being His. It was good to see that we were heading in the right direction. Not because the pastor or someone else said so, but because the Bible confirms it. That’s what matters most.

     Something else important is that we both now believed the same thing. When we first started talking about going to church, Patty agreed to go with one caveat. She told me: “I’ll go with you to see what it’s all about. One thing though; when we have kids, we’ll still raise them as Catholic.” I couldn’t agree, but I didn’t argue with her. There was no need to disagree about the future when we hadn’t gotten there yet. We had no children then and had yet to set foot in what would become our home church. To quarrel about it would be senseless. Sadly, we found out that we couldn’t have children; those very things you hope and plan for but in some cases aren’t to be. If we bickered about what faith we raised them in, this may have never happened.

     I find it important that our family and friends, the people that we love, understand something about us and our faith. Patty and I have indeed departed from the church that we grew up in. Believing as we do, we’d be foolish to not convert from our former faith to a new life in Christ, but in no way do we elevate ourselves above or find animosity in anyone for their beliefs. We’re here because we have put our trust in Jesus Christ and His teachings.  We don’t turn away from the people who believe differently, but we do from doctrines and teachers we can’t agree with. Isolating ourselves socially would border on cultism. That would mean shunning family and longtime friends, the very folks we love so much. That would prevent people of other beliefs from seeing how we live out our faith and put it into action. Still, we know that we’ll have differences and risk rejection from many. If so, that’s something we accept.

     We hope that everyone understands that Jesus is calling for them. One of the most well-known verses that God gives us in the Bible, John 3:16 starts with these words:

“For God so loved the world...”

      Nowhere in the Bible does God set aside a specific denomination to serve him in the local or universal Church.  Jesus never mentioned a certain sect as holding the title of the true universal Church, but. he continued:

 
“…that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life”.

 

     So Jesus said and John wrote that God gave his Son as a sacrifice for the sins of everyone in this world, and those who will believe in him will not perish in that terrible place called hell but will live with Him forever in heaven. The next verses make it even clearer that you and I must believe in him. Not simply that God exists, but to believe in faith in Him as Lord and Savior and repent of sin. To know that he was sent not to condemn us, but to save our souls.

For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved.

He that believeth on him is not condemned: but he that believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God.

John 3:17, 18

     As born-again Christians, we believe Jesus, and we were later baptized into the church in July 1989, being welcomed as members with the right hand of fellowship a couple of weeks afterward. As we saw more of what the Bible taught, we became more involved, and our pastor was encouraging us to check out the other services. “Why don’t you come by on a Wednesday evening and see what the services are all about? It’s much more informal, you may find them helpful”, he said. After a bit of gentle nudging, we took him up on the invitation, seeing the importance of the midweek service for prayer meetings and Bible study. We found it to be helpful and embraced it.

      Some have asked us throughout the years why we go back to church on a Sunday or Wednesday evening when we were already there on Sunday morning. Understand that we don’t go to worship services or prayer meetings because it’s required of us. We go voluntarily to worship and honor God, and learned to grow and fellowship with others. Don’t “go to church” simply to fulfill a duty. You’ll be wasting your time and you’ll get nowhere spiritually.

     Both of our mothers and my grandmother didn’t take our departure from the only church they knew lightly. For quite some time they had urged us to return. They were traditional Catholics and couldn’t fathom our leaving. My father was apathetic in spiritual matters. He was raised in a Baptist Church in his youth in Tampa, Florida. Every once in a while something sparked his attention, but that interest soon faded away. I remember him finding a tract on the subway about being ready for Christ’s coming. He talked about it for over a week, but it ended there.

     We made friends quickly and built relationships with other church members. Pastor Riggs was an active preacher. He was from West Virginia and must have felt as out of place when coming to South Philly as someone is when coming here from abroad. He adapted somewhat well to this area, but I sometimes wonder if he ever fully trusted living in the inner city. In retrospect, he was the right pastor for someone putting their religious past behind for a relationship with Christ, making us feel right at home at Third Baptist Church. He and his wife Joanne would sometimes host fellowship times at their home where they would invite new members of the church, allowing them to become familiar with those who were there for some time. It was a great way for people to meet one another.

      The friends we made helped us to grow in the Christian life and also got us involved in the church ministry. Russ and Lera Benner got us into helping with Vacation Bible School the next summer. Another friend, Mike Clouthier, asked me to assist him with the teen ministry on Wednesday evening, and Patty worked together with his wife Brenda as well as with Lera. Both men served in the Navy, stationed at the Navy Yard at a time when it was still active in the military instead of commerce. Patty worked with their wives in the Patch the Pirate Club for the younger kids. It was great working with the teens, though some came with intentions to stir up a ruckus, and could be a test of patience. My first year in the teen ministry was more of a learning experience, with me taking the lead after Mike transferred to another assignment with the Navy.

     Things continued, and we settled in. Sunday School classes helped us continue our Christian education. The classes were split between men and women. Joanne taught the ladies, while Frank Yurick instructed the class of men. Frank was an excellent teacher and he knows the Bible like the back of his hand. His son George, a good friend and now pastor himself, told me that Frank would work long hours and then come home and prepare his lessons throughout the week. He spent hours in study and writing everything in notebooks, with no typewriter for help. If you listened and applied yourself in Frank’s class, you would learn a lot. I did, and his knowledge and style of teaching helped me become more confident in learning Scripture. I felt ready when questions were asked, willing to answer or ask them without the fear of flubbing. There should be more teachers like Frank. The church should grow with good instructors, but it still depends on the people. No matter how well someone teaches, if the people won’t respond, the church remains static and could stagnate. To prepare as intensely as he did and have few attend classes had to be discouraging to him, but he never showed it.

     As I became more involved in things, the pastor had me going with him on visits at times, which helped me to learn about interaction with people outside of the immediate church atmosphere. I was the silent partner at first, not knowing enough to be of help, or maybe offer an opinion. It was more listening and learning and in some cases support. Being a Christian is an ever-learning experience. After three decades I’m still learning new things and I expect that I always will be.

     Opportunities would arise as time progressed. In October of 1989, my sister’s future husband Chris told me about a job opening where he worked at a major demolition company doing asbestos abatement. The job paid nearly twice what I was earning. I told him that I was interested and after talking to his boss, he told me that I was in if I wanted it. Sure I did. Financially, it made sense, so I put my notice in that I would be leaving. When I told the boss, he tried to talk me out of it. Although I appreciated that he offered to slightly bump up my wage, it wasn’t enough to match the union wage that I was offered. When I passed on the raise, Armand told me that men working those jobs were a rougher crowd and I would be better off working with those that I knew well. I knew that the type of people would change, but I would adapt to that. His attempt at trying to keep me working was telling me that I couldn’t return to the job if things didn’t work out. I told him that my leaving wasn’t anything personal and that I hoped to leave on better terms. I didn’t want to burn any bridges, but it felt like this one was about to be fully consumed.

     When I got the guys in our department together to tell them of my decision, they were glad for me and wished me well. Some told me they hoped I would reconsider, but I had to move on while the opportunity was knocking. As much as I liked working there, I felt there was little room for growth beyond where I was now.

     One motivating factor for moving was that we bought a home a few years earlier in 1985. We should have waited to do that. The economy had not yet rebounded after the Carter Administration mess, and our mortgage interest was at over 10%. That was reduced from the going rate because of a mortgage lottery the city held at the time to boost new home purchases. We were one of the winners and avoided an interest rate that was over 12%. Although that program was a help, we should have been patient. In a few more years that interest would have dropped further, but we felt that it was time to move out on our own. We first started living with Nick and Mary Ann and their family after our wedding then moved back to my parent's home once Dell and I remodeled the basement. I had the opportunity of learning drywall work to make it into a temporary bedroom for Patty and me while we waited for our own home.

     Now it was time for us to move on. Once we bought the home, we were locked into that rate. No one would refinance for us later because we hadn’t built up enough equity. Making more money was a way to help us start paying more on the principle, so I had to go for it.

     One of the workers in my department saw my leaving as a positive move. One of the men in our crew was a Muslim, and although we couldn’t agree on spiritual matters, our beliefs were never an issue and we respected one another. He knew that I had struggled with letting go of using foul language. “Look at it this way”, he said. “It’s a fresh start for you. You’ve been trying to shake the cussing. Maybe working with new people will help you.” If only it were that simple, but what he said had me thinking. If he was bringing up my trouble with using obscenities, what were others saying about it? I wasn’t using them nearly as frequently as I had in the past, but they were still irritatingly a part of my vocabulary. The change had to come from me, not from my surroundings.

     On my final day at Recon, Armand told me to step into his office, which for that brief moment in time was the men’s room. “Remember what I told you when you said you were leaving, about not coming back? Forget it. I said that to try to keep you here. If things don’t work out for any reason, come and see me. You’ll have your job back.” I was grateful and thanked him for that. I didn’t know what to expect when I first gave Armand notice. Some guys did in the past and he fired them on the spot. To have the boss tell me that was a relief and I saw that the bridge would not be incinerated.

     I had already obtained my PA asbestos abatement license before putting in my notice by taking a week-long evening training course. Various schools made big money with these courses at that time. A license was required by law and you couldn’t work in that field without one. It proved that you understood the laws about removing and disposing of the fireproof carcinogenic mineral and that you knew how to work with it safely.

     My first job site would be working on the old Walnut Street Bridge, removing asbestos from the steam pipeline that ran underneath from Center City to the University City area before that main was removed by the wrecking crew, who later demolished the bridge. That aging ornate iron span would be replaced with a modern steel and concrete version. We removed foot-long sections of asbestos every twelve feet. The wreckers would come afterward, using acetylene torches to cut the pipeline. It would be transported to the company’s yard in Sharon Hill where we would remove the rest of the insulation in a containment area built there from an old storage shed.

     Although I left the job for more pay, I found that I would be working in a much more hazardous environment. I would also be working in extreme weather conditions, including winter ice and summer heat without the benefit of climate control. It’s amazing the things we’ll do to earn more money. It wasn’t a big deal to me until we had to work over the Schuylkill River. Working at heights was not a problem. Water was an entirely different thing. Being I can’t swim and have a fear of deep water, the bridge wasn’t the ideal site to get started. “Don’t worry”, someone said. “From this height, you might not survive the fall if you do hit the water.” We all laughed, but mine was more of an uncomfortable laugh than the rest. They handed me a life jacket, but it was uncomfortable to work in, so I ditched it after one day. Besides, once you walked out on the 18-inch wide aluminum picks and climbed up into the enclosed scaffold, you couldn’t see the river because of the containment around it. It didn’t help that I was experiencing a bout of vertigo around that time. Whenever I bent my neck back, the world around me spun. Thankfully, the medication that the doctor prescribed helped and it subsided in a bit over a week. I was working in the evening with my cousin at the time, silkscreening jerseys. The doctor suggested that it might be the quick-drying ink causing vertigo.  I’ll never know whether it was stopping that work or the pills that helped me. Maybe it was both. You can trust me when I say that this was not the place to be when experiencing such things. I never told anyone on site about it, fearing that I may be out of a job as quickly as I started.

     Things progressed well. One of the reasons that they hired new people was that they bid on a job at the Penn Mutual building in Center City after a devastating fire there. What I wasn’t told is that if the company didn’t get the job, we would have been laid off after the bridge project ended. Being new at the union hall gave me no possibility of landing another position. It became a non-issue: the contract was awarded around the time we finished the existing work and was great timing for us. The company I was working for won the bid, and we worked on that site for well over a year.

     Opportunity is there for you if you grab it, even if it’s unintentional. On our first day at the Penn Mutual building, all of the new union hires from the hall and those of us who had been employed for a while were seated or standing in the hallway waiting to learn where we would be assigned. Being I had done some work stocking supplies at the company yard, I was familiar with the equipment and supplies that we would be using. I found out where the tool room would be located, and while everyone sat around chatting, I moved the pallets of supplies into place. Everything would be ready when work commenced. No one told me to do it; I just didn’t want to sit around wasting a day.

     When our boss arrived at the site later, he saw the tool room was ready and asked Chris, “What’s this? Who set this up?” Chris told him that I was bored and jumped on it. I heard them talking as I walked out. “That’s good; we're ready to go. He’s our tool man.” Taking that initiative earned me a slight bump in pay. It also meant that I would spend little time in the containment areas and not have to wear a respirator and non-porous suit except when having to check on a tool that didn’t function properly. That was a bonus, especially when summer came. It was worse in winter when having to shower out in an unheated building. Often there was no climate control and being dressed in that gear left you feeling rather uncomfortable. I remember wearing just long johns under those suits on the bridge in subfreezing weather. We would have to dry them on a hook in the shower trailer to wear again for the week then replace them. I believe the Lord now put me in a place where my willingness to work was noticed and that didn’t last long.

    The job worked well because it didn’t interfere with Sundays, which meant no worries about missing church services. When you’ve just started growing, you don’t want things standing in your way, even when that thing is your job. It’s even harder today for new employees. There were once Blue Laws that would keep everything but non-essential services closed on Sunday. These days, almost everything operates seven days a week. It shows how far we’ve gotten away from God and Christian service in a post-church age. At least for now, that wouldn’t be a problem. At that time, it was easy to balance work and worship. What I didn’t count on was that even though it was a big job, it wouldn’t last forever.

      After Penn Mutual ended, there ­­­would be plenty more work to come. While we were wrapping up, there was another destructive fire, this one a 12-alarm blaze at One Meridian Plaza in February 1991. The building was a thirty-eight-story high-rise across from City Hall. It’s said that a group of workers cleaning paneling with linseed oil-soaked rags left them in a pile when they finished on Saturday evening. It seems they intended to dispose of them upon finishing the next day. It was a bad plan. Instead, the rags spontaneously combusted in the early evening hours, and it became known as the worst high-rise fire in the nation’s history at that time. Three brave firefighters died while battling that inferno. Way back in grade school, we learned that oily rags could easily start a fire and they needed to be stored in airtight, fireproof buckets. This crew worked with them often. They should have known that and cleaned up when work finished for the day.

      Our company won the bid to remove hazardous materials from the building and subcontract the work to structurally secure it. The company paid for our training in hazardous materials handling after they had confirmation of the winning bid. Word was that the major demolition companies were all gunning for the work, their executives submitting bids curbside while the fire raged on.

     This was the first time since becoming a Christian that I faced working on Sunday. We would work six days at twelve hours, with Sunday being an abbreviated eight. Suddenly, I had a moral and spiritual dilemma and I wasn’t sure how to handle it. Sundays were The Lord’s day. I didn’t mind giving six days for the job. But Sundays? There were no exclusions; it was an all-hands job with no time off.

     Every one of us on site had to sign a waiver stating that we understood that conditions were hazardous and there was the potential that the building could collapse without warning. Fantastic! I started work in the sub-basement, pumping water remaining from the firefighting effort out of an elevator shaft. There wouldn’t be much left of me if it all gave way. Few if any men told their mates about the conditions. They would be worried sick.  It was just a formality after a few weeks. Ironworkers started to support the building with pole shores on the burned-out floors after the fire was extinguished and it was deemed safe for entry. For a few weeks though, there was always the wonder if it was stable enough, or if we would all be buried under tons of rubble should the structure fail. The World Trade Center 9/11 attack some years later showed that it could indeed happen.

     The Sunday before the job started, I approached one of the deacons to tell him of my concerns and to ask his advice. Frank Yurick told me that the job wouldn’t last forever, and I had to take care of myself and my wife and pay my bills. I had a steady job, why give it up for a temporary setback? To drive the point home, he took me into the office to meet with the pastor and our other deacon, Russ Benner. They both agreed with what Frank said, and with the eight-hour day on Sunday, I would still be able to attend the evening service. That eased my mind, but from February to May of that year, I had no time to myself, for church or anything else.

     My father was gravely ill with oral cancer at the time. This meant rushing home right after work and picking up Patty and Mom for short visits to the VA Medical Center. It was an overwhelming time for all of us. I was grateful to Pastor Riggs for his visits with Dad. Even though we talked about Jesus and he knew about salvation from childhood, he didn’t put his trust in Christ, not even considering Jesus in his failing state. I was thrilled and relieved when the pastor called me one Friday evening to tell me of their visits. He said that in time, my father had come to trust Jesus as his personal Savior. He said that Dad told him things that he was too embarrassed to tell anyone, and seemed sincere when he said that there were sinful things that overwhelmed him. He repented of them and trusted Christ that very night they spoke. What my father didn’t know was that our family had clues of those things that had now become a shame to him.

     I was sad that I couldn’t be with him when he attended worship services on the one weekend that they allowed him to leave the hospital. I still had to work with no way around it. He did tell me all about what he learned that day when I saw him the next day. He looked forward to going back, but it wasn’t to be. Later that week, he developed intense chills. He was told he had the flu. What Dad had was sepsis; a hospital-borne infection that he acquired during his extended admission there. They said they couldn’t treat him because he was allergic to penicillin, and said they were the only types of antibiotics that would fight the infection.

     With nothing to battle with, Dad died in late June of 1991. He was saved for approximately two months. When you consider the timing, I’d say he was saved by the skin of his teeth. Praise God that Pastor Riggs watered the seeds that Patty and I and I assume others had planted along the way. God gave the increase and got the glory. Dad passed away less than a month after the seven-day workweek ended, making it possible for us to spend a little more time with him.

     While we were working on that job, something stood out to show me the changes that the Lord was making: changes in me that I could in no way make on my own. I’ve already mentioned my struggle with foul language. One day, one of our co-workers that I became friendly with nicknamed Rock said something while we ate lunch, “You’re different than when I first met you at Penn Mutual. You don’t talk the way you used to.” When I asked him what he had meant, he mentioned that he “hadn’t heard me utter an obscene word like the rest of the guys do here.” “Something’s changed you!” It allowed me to tell him about how I trusted Jesus. I hope it was a help to him.

     My brother Mark and I both became somewhat friendly with Rock and his brother Paul, who put me to work painting a sign for the business he owned while we were laid off. Paul asked if I knew of anyone in the sign business, and I told him, no, but I’ve been reading about it and think I have it figured out. It pays to learn about new things. Paul liked it, even if it wasn’t the most professional job. You can’t learn unless you try, and I gave it my best shot.

     In early 1992, I was approached by Mary Cacciola on a Sunday evening about a nomination. Mary was a decades-long member of the church. At that time, she was a member of the nominating committee. She asked if she could speak with me and told me they had met and asked if I would accept their nomination to the office of deacon.

     I was humbled and noted that there were other longtime members who I believed deserved nomination to the office. She replied, saying, “I appreciate that, but we’re asking you.” Not only did I feel humbled, but also a bit startled. I told her that I would pray about it and would let her know of my decision. Mary told me she would appreciate it if I did that soon, as I assume they would have to make another nomination before the annual business meeting had I declined.

      Being an officer of the church comes with some responsibility. The most important was living up to the qualifications of that office, and that would include my wife in many ways. In 1 Timothy 3:8-13, Paul laid out those qualifications. I studied them to see if I met them and what I would have to live up to. Being grave, not double-tongued, not heavily drinking, not greedy, blameless. Not being remarried after a divorce, raising our children well.

     This was a lot to consider. If my mouth were still a problem, the answer would have been an instant no. No church needs that embarrassment. We had no children, so that wasn’t an issue as far as the way I raised my family. The requirement regarding excessive drinking was also not a problem for obvious reasons. Despite my sense of humor, I knew that being serious was more important so I toned it down. I knew that it would take the Lord’s leading to fully live up to the qualifications.

     We prayed for guidance. Patty and I had to know that it was God’s will, and we also didn’t want to be a disgrace to the church by living inappropriately. We all have heard gossip in the past about some Christian that was caught doing whatever.  I didn’t want to be that guy, and Patty understood her behavior was important, too.

     When it came time to make my decision, I didn’t find the Holy Spirit restraining me from accepting, nor did I find myself to be confident to be the best person to ask. But as Mary said, they were asking me, and it was because of things they saw as being fit. I understood and told the Nominating Committee that I would accept and was approved by a vote of the church as the newest deacon at the annual business meeting.

     There would be much to learn. The two senior deacons were outstanding examples and I learned many things from them. I started to get involved in other things too, as there’s always something that needs to be done. The pastor can’t possibly do everything required to run a church, not even close. Christians should understand that the Church isn’t a building, it’s them, the people. We worship in a building, but it’s the people who are the church and help to make things work. It's been said of most churches that twenty percent of the people do one hundred percent of the work. That needs to change. If you’re a physically-able member, you should be involved. There is a place somewhere for you, whether it’s preparing food for a fellowship dinner, ushering, or distributing gospel tracts. Considering that Jesus paid it all for us, giving our service to Him should never be seen as a burden for us who are saved. It should be a pleasure, a privilege, and an honor.