Sunday Parfaits

Savoring Love, on Special and Ordinary Days

One of my fondest memories of my step-grandfather, the Rev. J.K. Parker, Jr., or Pop, was the Sundays we spent together. He never treated our family like a stepfamily, so for the rest of this writing I’ll drop the word step as well.

In the sanctuary of First Presbyterian Church of Boone, North Carolina, my sister, Renee, and I would sit with Pop and Grandmama, taking up most of the space on the fourth pew from the back. After Sunday school and worship, we would climb into their car and ride past the campus of Appalachian State University. The ride often ended at 255 Poplar Summit, where their white two-story house stood at the top of the hill, waiting for our family to spend the afternoon together.

Our Sunday lunches often included Grandmama’s sweet tea, chicken casserole, and strawberry fruit jello salad. Pop sat at one end of the table with Grandmama at the other while Mom, Dad, Uncle Steve, Renee, and I filled the remaining seats. The conversations ebbed and flowed from the morning’s worship service to the news to stories from the past week at Green Valley Elementary School or later at Watauga High School.

Whether it was a special day or just an ordinary Sunday, Pop would invite my sister and me into the kitchen to make parfaits. He set the tall, thin glasses on the countertop while we gathered the ingredients from the refrigerator and freezer. Pop usually scooped the vanilla ice cream and placed the first scoop in the bottom of each glass. Then we added layers of banana slices or blueberries. If there was enough ice cream, he added another small scoop, and then one of us topped it with whatever seasonal fruit we had on hand, like peach slices or strawberries. As the parfaits reached the rim of the glass, we finished them off with Cool Whip, chocolate syrup, and a cherry on top.

Looking back on the twenty years I shared with Pop, the simple parfaits were one of many examples that displayed his steady and constant love throughout our lives. He could have easily made better-looking parfaits by himself in the kitchen. He could have enjoyed a more peaceful afternoon without two sisters arguing over who got to place the cherry on top. He could have purchased a store-bought dessert, especially in the winter when the parfaits did not taste their best. But he didn’t. Instead, he invited us to share life with him. He offered gentle advice and let us create parfaits to our liking. Sometimes we made mistakes like breaking a glass or licking our fingers too much, yet he loved us through each one and kept welcoming us back again and again. Together we created something simple and sweet, and even more than that, we built lasting memories with Pop that I still treasure today.

Like the parfaits, Pop’s life was about being present with people. In a newspaper article celebrating his 50 years as a pastor and honorary title of Pastor Emeritus, he said, “The visiting and the pastoral work are as important as the preaching.” He went on to say that he spent more time in people’s homes than he did in sermon preparation. As a result, he preached 15-minute sermons when 30 minutes was the custom. His father used to preach 30 minutes when an hour’s sermon was the norm. Viewing visiting as of equal or even greater value to preaching allowed him to visit every member at the very least once a year.

Watauga Democrat’s Weekender, Nov. 5, 1986: Parker Celebrates 50 Years As Pastor

As a pastor, he extended care to his congregation with a simple visit. As our Pop, he gave that same care to his granddaughters who loved him dearly. He taught us to play tennis on a court, build frames in his workshop, and even sat with our parents in our family’s den to help sort through disagreements. He welcomed me along on fix-it jobs around the house and planned family vacations to Disney World and Hilton Head Island. Later, when personal computers were just becoming common, we exchanged weekly emails while I was away at college.

At the age of 14, I heard Pop preach for the first and last time, when he was 81 years old. In his sermon, I Need Help!, he spoke about God’s provisions throughout his life and invited us to walk down memory lane with him as a child, husband, father, grandfather, and pastor. Though I only heard him preach once, I witnessed countless sermons in the way he lived and loved. His life defined how service was spent extending the love of Christ into living rooms, sanctuaries, gardens, and everywhere God led him.

On October 6, 1998, we said goodbye to Pop, though in many ways we had been saying goodbye for some time. Before Alzheimer’s stole his memories, he wrote his own obituary, planned his entire memorial service by choosing the scriptures, hymns, and liturgy from beginning to end, and typed letters to his family, friends, and church family.

At the funeral, we heard one of those letters. Pop’s words reminded us of the love he had for each one of us and the love of God that would not let us go. A love grounded in Christ, where neither death nor disease can separate us from God. A love that is fully present on special days and on ordinary days too. A love that sits with us week after week on the back pew of a church, shares a meal around the table, and even joins us in the kitchen, forgiving mistakes, offering advice without demand, and delighting in our imperfect Sunday parfaits. A love that remains with me to this day and spurs me on as a pastor to serve God in ministry, to visit members in living rooms, and to love others well in mission.

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Pop loved poetry. In 1965, he published a book of his poems entitled Sing the Good News. The poem Our Home to Be was read at our wedding on July 7, 2001. Here are the last three stanzas:

His will we will seek to do,
To Him ever to be true,
And in His love we will abide,
As we journey side by side.

He who sent His Son to bless
The home in Bethlehem no less,
Will surely bless this home that we,
In our dreams now do see.

In His presence we humbly bow,
And to each other make this vow:
To live together so that He,
By our lives will honored be.

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Rev. Joseph Kenton Parker, Jr. - Pastor of First Presbyterian Church, Boone, N.C. - 1944-1974

In 1991, the Rev. J.K. Parker, Jr’s preached his last sermon, “I NEED HELP!” at First Presbyterian Church in Boone, North Carolina. He was 81 years old and served as the church’s Pastor Emeritus. Prior to his retirement, he served as First Presbyterian church’s pastor for 31 years.