Roy Exum
I went to a funeral not that long ago where a childhood friend, Charlene Cook, was beautifully remembered by Joe Novenson, the pastor at Lookout Mountain Presbyterian Church. Charlene had few relatives, she wasn’t a member of a church, and had lived a large part of her life elsewhere so – what? – maybe less than 50 of us in the chapel. But it was in that setting Joe told one of the most wonderful stories I believe I have ever heard.
Marti Corley, a member of Joe’s flock, approached him with a sad story. Marti explained Charlene had no family close and few people to visit her as she lay in intensive care with terminal brain cancer, this after undergoing valiant but unsuccessful surgery. Marti told Joe, quite specifically, that Charlene was not a Christian. “Char” had maybe dabbled a bit in Buddhism. She excelled in everything she ever did with the exception of picking out a guy – soul mates can elude the best of us.
Charlene was arguably the best female swimmer in Chattanooga’s history – this before females were awarded scholarships – and she was a gorgeous stewardess for Delta with class and manners and glamorous looks long before the airline industry fell prey to “flight attendants” and their shopping carts.
It is my belief that Joe Novenson, who calls himself a “humble Polish pastor,” is instead one of life’s biggest heroes. I cannot name a person I admire or respect more than Joe. One day in 2008 I was so sick with infections I could hardly lift my head. My phone rang and Joe, up until then just an acquaintance since I was a church member elsewhere, asked me how he could find my house.
“You’re so nice, Pastor Novenson, but I am a little past entertaining visitors right now,” I replied. I was so sick but Joe would not be deterred. “I will not stay over three minutes but I am coming now. It would save me time if you would tell me which house on this street is yours…”
Well, I did, and he did … every day for about four or five weeks until the doctors could do more surgeries again.
Joe is legendary. One night his ‘perfect wife’ Barb was having a milestone birthday. Joe and Barb were seated with her mother, the three just starting to eat a quiet supper when there came a knock at the door. Glory, it turned out to be one of Barb’s closest friends when they lived in another city “and I just thought I would come by to wish you a happy birthday!”
The reunion, as you might guess, was exquisite with laughter, tears, squeals and hugs all happening at once. But … wait … another knock at the door. Joe answered and in came Unexpected Guest No. 2, who also was a dear friend to both Barb and Guest No. 1 way back when. Now things really liven up but … what’s this? … in 15 minutes there is another knock. Another lifelong friend.
Barb is now wise to Joe … she realizes he is giving her the greatest birthday party of her life. His reply? “Come, Grow old with me, the best is yet to be.” As everyone dabbed tears of such immense joy … Knock! Knock! was again at the front door. On and on it went until 10 or 12 people who had meant the most to Barb during her life, mind you, were gathered in the living room with Barb just bedazzled. Don’t you see? Joe knew what was to come, Barb did not, and – yes, indeed – “the best was yet to be.”
Now “a quiet dinner” was mysteriously moved to the garage where a sumptuous feast that had been set in elegant fashion for a party galore. Many of Barb’s friends at the church had stealthily cooked and decorated. There has never be anything like it and Joe, who arranged the whole thing, simply promised the love of his life, “Come, grow old with me, the best is yet to be.”
That said, my childhood chum Charlene never knew what hit her when a gentle man stood meekly beside her bed in January. Charlene and I got to become friends over 50 years ago in the Chattanooga Swim League when we were both around 12 and I had no idea she was so sick.
But what mattered was this total stranger appearing at her bedside. “Charlene, I’m Joe. I am just a Polish pastor who has heard you might like a friend. Please, am not here to force religion on you or tire you in any way. I will leave immediately if you want me to go…”
Charlene, hardly a dummy, said okay, that she would like a friend. “Then let’s become great friends,” Joe said with his eyes warm, “but I am afraid we’ve got to hurry. What can I possibly do that would help you … what can I go get, who can I call? I am here for you. If you can think of anything, I’ll be back tomorrow and the next day … until you tell me to leave.”
Wow! Now let me tell you how ‘great’ got cemented into the friendship because it is an illustration of a glorious life lesson in compassion. Joe Novenson knew that almost 50 years ago Charlene was a standout student and standout athlete at GPS. So with a loving Christ surely as his guide – no mortal man could ever be this cunning – Joe got a 1967 Kaleidoscope, which is what the GPS yearbook is called.
In it he found some of the girls he could identify and made a series of calls to find out who Charlene’s best friends were back then and any email addresses they might lend. In the twinkling of an eye, he had a bundle of email addresses so the pastor sent out a “blast,” informing them of Charlene’s terrible predicament.
The email, which I have not read, went something like this. “I’m so sorry to tell you Charlene is in intensive care, with little time left, but I would humbly ask that if you could send me an email note, with maybe a funny memory or a word of encouragement, I in turn will take it when I visit her, and read it to her … this might help.”
Are you kidding me? Barbara Simmons Eustis, now in Bronxville, N.Y., and Barbara Gott Bush now in New Orleans, and every other classmate in between, swamped the ecstatic Joe with emails. Now during their visits Charlene and Joe would both glow over the love that poured out through those notes. As Charlene soon began to slip away, she had moved Joe Novenson from “great friend” to “one of my very best of all time.”
Then there is just this: Several scant days before Charlene died, Joe had read several emails, talking softly, before starting to leave. He told Charlene he would see her tomorrow. Charlene, in turn, asked Joe if he was ‘really’ her friend. “Then tell me about believing in God and the promise of Everlasting Life.”
He did. And she did.
1 Corinthians 15:15 reads, “O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?” but I am thinking this time there is a bit more. When the last of those emails was shared, Joe had allowed a dying Charlene to see for herself what it is very, very true: “… the best is yet to be.”
royexum@aol.com