On My Father's Robe

This past Sunday, wearing his robe, reminded me of who my Dad was above all other things, and why he made a difference in the lives of people.

For years, I have battled so many things in so many ways as part of a struggle to write a book about my father.

Lack of time. Job changes. Family issues. Helping friends. Combine all of these things with my overwhelming tendency to procrastinate, and it means I have not gotten very far with this idea. Occasionally, I am ready just to give it up and admit that it will never happen.

Then, there are days like today.

Preaching at Oakland Baptist in Rock Hill, SC, I wore my dad’s ministerial robe, the one I received after my mom passed away in 2022. My hope was his robe might be a little cooler and comfortable than the robe I received years ago after graduating from Pittsburgh Theological Seminary.

It wasn’t. I still felt broiled, even in an air conditioned sanctuary.

When the book idea first popped up in 2018, it was a way to memorialize my dad for his character, ministry, and long list of giving to others, sometimes well beyond his capacity. I was grieving, hurting, missing the man who shaped everything that I am. I was also dealing with my own guilt over not spending enough time with dad because I was “too busy” for a phone call or to stop by the house. While writing about him at that time would likely help me, it probably would not make a good (or honest) book.

Time changes a lot of things, including our perspective on the people/events of our past. Yes, my admiration for T. Spencer LeGrand Sr. remains unchanged. But a little distance from something can drop an avalanche of perspective.

Dad a FEW years before he became a pastor!

My dad was great in a multitude of ways. He committed himself to making sure people did not go hungry, if he could do anything to stop that. He poured thousands of hours and thousands of dollars into caring for people in need. His ethical standards stood at a height that few of us could possibly reach. He made political choices not based on his own good, but on who he believed would make the biggest difference for others. He spoke up for people who could not speak for themselves.

And yet…

He was not a great teacher. He was all about getting things done, and did not always have the time or patience to teach others. He had a bit of a “Superman” complex, believing that he could do whatever necessary in just about any situation. At times, he spoke up when his thoughts were not wanted. He had an innate need to be needed. And he offered help to others while refusing to ask for help himself. (For those who know ME, is any of this sounding familiar?)

For an honest and more helpful account of my dad’s influence, the good must merge with the “bad.” In other words, it must recognize my dad as fully human, despite the tendency to idolize those who are no longer with us. And here’s the thing: Spencer LeGrand Sr. would want it that way.

Would he argue with my assessment and commentary? Yeah, probably. But in the end, he would not want any memorial that made him more than what he was. His integrity would not suffer a “fluff” piece about his life.

I do not know if I will ever finish this project or complete an entire book about my Dad. However, this Sunday, wearing his robe, reminded me of who my Dad was above all other things, and why he made a difference in the lives of people.

T. Spencer LeGrand was a pastor. Beyond everything else, he was absolutely convinced of his calling to be a pastor. And he lived his life exactly as he thought a pastor should live. He was not perfect. Yet, with few exceptions, he was the same man at home as he was in front of everyone else. That consistency is rare and exceptional, particularly in modern American Christianity.

He did not wear that robe very often–weddings, baptisms, maybe a funeral if the occasion called for it. Every time he wore it, the purpose was a pastoral function. And it reminded me of both the promise and the problems, the hope and the hardship of such a calling.

I never believed that “pastor” was my permanent calling. But when I am called to shift into “pastor mode” for one situation or another, his example is the one I follow.

My friend, colleague, and renowned author Joseph Moore served as an intern at East Park Baptist Church, under Dad’s supervision. Joseph often said he did not remember any sermons that Dad preached or studies that he taught. What he remembers is the encouragement Dad offered, the commitment to visiting the hospitals/nursing homes/homebound folks, and the diligent service to people in need. Dad’s last request of me was to visit a homebound person that my parents helped for many years. Before he died, he wanted the assurance that she knew what was happening.

Preaching on Father’s Day is an honor, as it takes me back to the man who guided me in so many ways until the day he died–and in all the years since September 2018. Hopefully, I can muster up a tenth of that commitment and patience towards the people I encounter.

At the same time, I still struggle to recognize that I am not him, and I do not have to be. Even now, I occasionally cope with the sense that I cannot live up to his standards. Maybe we all have that sense with parents or other mentors in our lives.

Dad told me that he always saw my life’s work going in different directions. Not quite as many directions as it has the last eight years, but he sensed that “pastor” was not lifelong. On those days when I preach–especially wearing his robe–I am reminded of all the good things that he passed along, and all the life lessons I can carry with me, wherever I go.

Maybe it’s time to finally move forward on that book.

The last picture of me and my Dad together.