At Christmas, my mother gave me my father's old wrist watch. When I look at it, strapped onto my own wrist, I see my father's arm. The watch is a vintage piece by now, an Omega, which my Dad bought in the late-60s during one of his business trips to Switzerland. It has a very distinctive strap. And I've inherited my father's hairy forearms. So, that small bit of anatomy looks awfully familiar.

Some of you know that my Dad died the third day I was in the hospital, when I was in the most danger. In fact, I was not told of his death until later. That was the best thing to do, but it has meant for a strange grief journey. Since I didn't see him on a day-to-day basis, without attending the funeral, the reality of his death has been slow to sink in. It has come in unusual ways -- like the sight of his old watch on my wrist.

My Dad was quite a guy. He was always self-effacing and quick to credit others, although his career at the DuPont Company was extremely successful. After retiring from DuPont, he was never happy unless he was involved in a major project. He was invited to help establish a degree program in Marketing Communications at his alma mater, the University of South Carolina. Unfortunately, that involved the tough work of bringing together two academic departments, Journalism and Business. After a couple of years, he grew so tired of what he thought to be petty academic turf wars that he cast his attention elsewhere. By that point, he and my mother had moved to Seabrook Island, SC, and he poured his considerable energies towards the needs of the town. First -- he was involved in getting the town incorporated, which meant setting up its own government of a mayor and town council. Then -- the developer of the island declared bankruptcy. My Dad organized an enormous effort among property owners (many of whom lived scattered across the country, having bought property there for their future retirements) to raise enough money to buy the golf course, club house, and other recreation facilities from the bank. Then -- when ocean erosion threatened some of those facilities, he worked with the property owners and the state of South Carolina to finance and pull off a large beach renourishment effort. Then -- when the first mayor of the town appeared settled into the job for life, my Dad responded to those who thought that mayors should be citizen-politicians, rotating in and out, and he ran for mayor himself! He won, and then stepped aside after only one term. Then -- bored again, he secured financial backing and founded a small newspaper: The Seabrooker, "Serving the people of Seabrook Island, South Carolina."

By the time my father died, new editors had been running The Seabrooker for nearly a year. After his death, the editors devoted the front page to an "In Memoriam" feature, one writer calling him "a giant among us Lilliputians." If my Dad had read that he would have shook his head and said, "That's a bit much." I can hear him now.

But I also listened to him years ago, when I was first ordained. He said, "I've been succesful at DuPont because I've surrounded myself with people much smarter than I am, and I've stayed out of their way to let them do their jobs. Seems to me that's a good way to lead a church, too."

That's what I've tried to do! Maybe that's one reason why St. Stephen has been so healthy during the months of my illness.