I had never thought I would ever wish for there to be preaching in heaven; two-and-a-half months with Dustin Salter changed that.
My first encounter with Dustin was late one Thursday night at Pizza House, the Greek restaurant in Traveler’s Rest that is home to the weekly RUF after-party. Our current campus minister, Rob Hamby, had informed us about two months earlier that this would be his last year with us. He and Dustin, friends since seminary, had arranged to swap positions: Rob would take Dustin’s position at Texas Christian University, and Dustin would be our new minister at Furman. We were able to chat and meet with him, but the day’s examinations with the local Presbyterian Church in America officers had left him somewhat exhausted. I think we convinced him to try one of the calzones… or maybe it was a gyro. And that was all we heard until September.
To kick off the year, RUF sponsored a barbecue at the Furman amphitheater. It was here that I caught the first hint that the tired, worn-out man I had met that spring was not the Dustin who would be leading RUF that fall. I couldn’t stay for very long, since there was a small matter of the orientation week video that had yet to be edited. Wanting to make sure I made the most of my face-time, I quickly re-introduced myself to Dustin on the way out. I was expecting a response along the lines of, “Hey, thanks for coming, let me add another tic mark to my list of people, have a nice day,” except with not so many words. Instead, as I shook his hand and looked up at him, his face lit up and he enthusiastically thanked me for coming.
But I would not know the full extent of his enthusiasm until the first RUF meeting that Thursday. Like nearly every sermon I’ve heard, I don’t remember the topic. But I do remember the delivery. Grabbing a music stand and raising it several inches, he introduced himself, introduced RUF, and introduced the Bible. He didn’t bother to use the microphone, probably because he paced back and forth behind the music stand, making motions not just with his arms, but with his entire body. Sometimes he would yell, other times he would talk softly, but usually he would yell. And contrary to stereotypes, he wasn’t yelling at us about the dangers of Hell and damnation but of the grace and mercy of God.
As we got further into the term, I began to notice his habits. He would always begin the RUF service with a few sayings. “At RUF we believe two things,” he would say. “We believe you’re never so bad that you are beyond God’s grace, and you’re never so good that you don’t stand in need of God’s grace. Now, because we are a fellowship, find someone you don’t know and introduce yourself.” At this point, I was always thankful for the name tags. He would then begin his sermon with a story of some kind, either an anecdote or revealing some personal detail about himself, such as his desire to see every waterfall within a 25 mile radius of Furman. Before reading the scripture for the night, however, he would mention this, usually in a quieter voice: “This is the word of God and not the word of Man; we are wise if we pay attention.” And then the sermon would begin. He would begin pacing, sometimes yelling, sometimes speaking, sometimes whispering. Every ten seconds, he would return to the music stand and turn a page in his notebook. Sometimes he would say a sentence, turn the page, say the exact same sentence, then turn the page again. I never saw his notebook; some say he had two sentences written on every page, others that it was his entire sermon with different parts highlighted.
It seems trivial to call someone ‘alive.’ After all, we breathe, we eat, doesn’t that make us alive? But when I try to describe Dustin, ‘alive’ is the best word I can think of. He was active, playing ultimate frisbee–our group’s favorite game–every Wednesday and basketball–his game–every Friday. He was passionate as he demonstrated week after week sharing the joy that he had with us. And he was quite exuberant as well, as that joy that he held burst out and infected all of us every week. Even if the sermon wasn’t an easy topic, Dustin never let us leave without knowing the Grace to counter it.
At what would be his last RUF, he had arranged for Toby Woodard, the paster at the local PCA church, to preach at RUF while he would preach at Toby’s church that Sunday. When the time for RUF came and Toby was nowhere to be found, Dustin began panicking. In an attempt to buy some time, he asked a bewildered freshman if he could talk for a couple of minutes on a good book he had read while Dustin furiously scribbled notes onto the back of one of the song sheets. Armed only with his notes, he got up front and asked, beyond hope, if Toby was there. Much to his surprise, Toby raised his hand and yelled from the back, apparently having slipped in during the singing. Dustin immediately jumped three feet in the air and let out a loud whoop, half from being startled, half from knowing he wouldn’t have to deliver his hastily assembled sermon. Such behavior might have scared off a newcomer, but by this point we had gotten used to such mannerisms from the pulpit.
That Sunday, Dustin preached in church about the providence of God; three days later it would be put to the test. I don’t remember many specifics. I have the sermon downloaded on my computer, but I haven’t brought myself to listen to it again. I need to. Dustin talked about how God’s will is sovereign, about how nothing happens to us without God knowing about it. The topic is a particular favorite of mine, since I find it refreshing that I’m not in control of my own destiny. But it was hard to hold on to that belief when the God I so eagerly trust took Dustin away that Wednesday. Actually, the accident was that Wednesday; it would take him four months to finally succumb to the brain damage.
During those four months, and even to this day, all of us in RUF struggle with the providence of God. Everyone expects the jerks, the jocks, the snobs to die; no one expects the RUF minister, loved by all his students at two schools. But as Dustin said, God’s ways are not our ways. And believe it or not, this story does have a happy ending; we just haven’t gotten to it yet. I hope there’s preaching in Heaven, but even if there isn’t, it’ll be nice to share a laugh with Dustin again. It’ll be easy to spot him, standing one head above the endless crowd of his students.