#DadsSermon (Final Words To/About #MyDad)

I’m no minister, but I can preach..

I get it from My Daddy..

See, I sat, thinking of a Bible verse that would accurately convey the man that he was and will always be to me, and many others.. Similar to My Dad, I knew the Word.. Again, I’m no minister, but I am a Child of God.. So, I sat and thought some more..

I recounted how I would sneak and watch him develop his sermons for his congregation the following day.. It was something that I marveled at.. His ability to develop a sermon that I KNEW would resonate the following Sunday morning – was second to none.. I let that marinate for a second, and then it hit me..

I looked inside.. To find Him and him.. To find that verse..

I was looking for the wrong type of verse.. Because – suddenly – I felt myself humming the harmony to “Jesus Loves Me This I Know”.. I felt a tear welling up.. It hit me..

See, my Dad couldn’t sing.. I mean, he could hold a note – for sure – but he was no singer.. As my best friend from Northwestern would say, “he was a good choir singer – he’s not going to mess up anything – and you won’t be able to really hear him – he blends well”.. That was my Dad.. He knew his tone – and rolled with it, like he was coming off of a down screen on the basketball court..

I put it together, that song that I was singing was for him..

My Dad Loves Me, This I Know – For The Bible Tells Me So..

The relationship with My Dad was as simple as a sweet song lyric written for the Lord..

He loved music, as much as he loved the Lord and basketball.. He was a maestro in every aspect.. The way he knew how to control the congregation – his choir – to provide the perfect string of chords that would resonate like the a series of F, C and G notes found in every church hymnal.. He was that nice.. His words danced to the symphony of God’s love for us all.. Not to his own..

He was a humble minister, a humble servant, and a poor Pastor with the ability to weave a Biblical narrative that evoked the spirit of Malcolm X mixed with a bit of Moses.. He never used the pulpit, the pulpit used him.. He knew that his voice was not meant to be confined – he also knew that his gift was something that took so much from him.. The exhaustion that I saw from him after a sermon – was worse than his fight over the last 10 years.. And, he willingly put himself through it, weekly, monthly, annually.. It was his walk of life that he cherished and loved like the sweet sound of swish..

He had a cool cadence to him.. He had a swag towel.. Ok, maybe it was a “too much saliva in my mouth” towel – but it’s something that I would eventually emulate without even knowing..

See that’s what was so smooth about him – he had a way of letting things marinate.. Never too high or too low (in public).. Like a smooth Marvin Gaye verse accompanied by a Marvin Sapp, “Never Would Have Made It” breakdown.. If he were a rapper, he would be my homie, Common.. You know – nice with words – ability to go commercial – but susceptible to falling for and wearing some weird outfits that my Momma put in front of him.. I mean, he basically went all “Coming to America” when he became the Pastor – but that didn’t change the man that he was when he ministered..

He converted the marching band atmosphere of Prison Fellowship Ministries into a jazz ensemble of artists formerly known as inmates.. He pied piper’d youth ministries into a cool kid convention..

He was so nice, that the youth flocked to him.. So nice, that he understood that he was nothing – if he was not immersed in the affairs of his people.. So nice, that other ministers started to copy his style.. Trust me, I’m a nerd, and I was “here before”.. I’ve studied all of you – but your secret is safe with me..

But, I’m not afraid to admit that I stole a lot of his style.. He didn’t spend all week writing sermons.. He let it come to him, and then wrote and spoke.. I do the same thing.. A few notes, but it’s pretty much written in my sleep.. Growing up, I kept a towel with me, to wipe my face, the same way he would wipe his mouth when he preached.. I’m on the Board of Directors for the agency responsible for all conflict related issues for one of the largest counties in California, and I’m responsible for the development of a Jail Immersion program to convert artists – just like My Dad did.. Without reading his notes, I wouldn’t know about this work.. I played basketball and stole his shot.. I learned that I’m deadly when I accept periods of solitude – just like My Dad.. I could go on, but that would be me singing the same song to a slightly different tune..

My Dad – Buddy, Uncle Buddy, Russ, Rev, Rev Russ – whatever you call him – just know that he was more than that.. He was My Dad, My Brother, My Mentor, My Maestro..

No scripture can capture our journey more fittingly than a song based on the entire Word.. Whenever I need to think about the love that only the Lord can deliver, I think of a simple song..

My Dad Loves Me, This I Know, For The Bible Tells Me So..

So, when you remember my Dad, Russell Clayton Phillips, Jr. – remember him in praise not in sorrow.. In song, not in words.. You were his congregation and his choir.. Our songs carry our spirit – please don’t let My Dad down.. Let his spirit stay lifted.. Let his work be the start, not the finish.. Let his love be eternal.. I’m not saying that we owe it to him, but he would say that we owe it to ourselves..

Love you Dad.. And no worries, I’m no longer weak – I am strong..

#LetItMarinate