Praise the Lord and pass the biscuits
Remembering Mr. Jack, who spread sunshine everywhere he went
I have seen the sun come up over the St. John’s River. I have watched it raise its head over the tall pines at Fort Benning. I have held a coffee cup in my hand as the dawn’s early light arrived on dew-dropped lawns, sandy beaches and the tops of mountains.
But I probably never would have witnessed a sunrise service on a country road in Telfair County had it not been for Jack Lowery.
I could always expect a phone call from him at least once a year, inviting me down on a Saturday morning to the prayer breakfast at the Midway United Methodist Church at the crossroads halfway between McRae and Milan.
I would find myself rolling across the railroad tracks along Third Avenue in McRae, then heading out of town on Temperance Road about the time the roosters were clearing their throats and warming up their vocal cords.
It was with great sadness I learned that Mr. Jack died on June 15, the Saturday before Father’s Day. He was 92 years old. He was a farmer. He raised goats and tended to his chickens. He held jobs driving a milk truck, working at Armstrong and a local sewing plant and grocery store.
That is how he made a living.
These words are how he built a life.
“Jack was a godly man who loved the Lord and served faithfully for many years,’’ his obituary read. “He was known for his kind-hearted nature, sweet spirit, and love for people. He was a steadfast, dedicated husband and partner to his wife, as well as a thoroughly dedicated, loving father, grandfather, great-grandfather, great-great grandfather, and friend. His unwavering love and devotion to his family was on display at all times.’’
It was somehow fitting he died on a Saturday since that was the day for which he will most be remembered.
Mr. Jack lived less than a mile from the doors of the Midway United Methodist Church. The sacred ground was his home, too. He had been a member since he was a boy. His grandfather, Andrew Lowery, built a brush arbor church on the property in 1893.
He started the Saturday prayer breakfasts in a cinder-block room about the size of a walk-in closet in February 1995. Although he was a man of great faith, it was coupled with great trepidation. He was shy, and never comfortable about speaking in public. There was a slight stutter in his voice.
"I had no idea who was going to show up," he once told me. "I knew I might be the only one there, but that was OK. I would eat breakfast, pray and sing a song."
Eight men attended that first Saturday gathering. He went to work and recruited folks from the nearby towns and rural communities of McRae, Milan, Workmore, Cobbville, Cooks Still and Poplar Hill.
It wasn’t long until folks from dozens of local churches soon began stopping by on Saturday mornings for the food and fellowship. Attendance tripled by the end of the first of the year, and church members soon were knocking out walls to expand the fellowship hall to accommodate the growing numbers. When the space was expanded for a third time, the room was larger than the sanctuary where everyone worshiped on Sundays.
Over the years, the prayer breakfast was expanded to include women and children. At one time, almost two dozen denominations had been represented at one time or another. Mr. Jack loved everyone who walked through the door.
His daughter, Kathy Lann, described it as “non-denominational and open to everyone,''
“There is no color in heaven,’’ she said.
It was a time to gather and pray for each other, for those who were sick or going through difficult times. The prayers were never scripted or rehearsed. They were heartfelt and open, asking God to look after the missionaries and to guide the country through uncertain times. There were prayer requests to bless the crops in the fields.
The menu rarely changed … a simple country folks breakfast. Scrambled eggs. Grits. Biscuits and red-eye gravy. Fatback, smoked sausage and bacon. And coffee, of course. His wife, Buena, often would bring some of her fig preserves.
I attended for the first time in August of 2000 at the invitation of a friend. A few of them chuckled and told me if I filled my plate, I would become a “full” member. It did, so I guess I was.
At every breakfast, the coffee-stained sheet music to the old hymn, "I Want to Be There at the Roll Call" was passed around the tables. It wasn’t really necessary, though. Most everyone already knew the words.
Until his health began to decline in recent years, Mr. Jack was constantly in motion. He also cooked and provided meals for the residents at McRae Manor Nursing Home and the Telfair County football team.
He was a servant leader if there ever was one. He would talk about “planting seeds.’’ He believed if he could feed people physically, they would be nurtured spiritually.
Praise the Lord and pass the biscuits.
Thank you, Mr. Jack for all those sunrises. You spread sunshine everywhere you went.
Awesome!
Beautiful!