Tom Balm was an extraordinary man.
He laughed more than a minister should, at least by 1967 standards,
when he came to our small town Iowa church.

He spent too much time visiting the poor and needy,
too many hours sitting with those too infirm to come to church on Sunday morning,
too many Sunday school classes explaining propitiation to uninterested middle schoolers.

Several times a week, his voice mingled with my father’s
and floated down the hall to meet my brother, sister, and I
when we got home from school.

We walked into Dad’s room where he lay in bed,
Tom on a chair beside him,
both of them chortling and chuckling
until tears ran down their cheeks,
until the loneliness left my father’s eyes,
until Tom said good-bye and took the laughter with him.

I close my eyes and see Tom sitting by our Sunday school room window,
riding herd on a roomful of hormonal middle schoolers,
spreading his arms to illustrate Christ’s crucifixion,
earnestly explaining how the Son
bore the wrath of the Father
for the sins of the world.

Did he use the word propitiation?
I don’t know.
But decades later, when a pastor used the word in a sermon,
I pictured the window and the Sunday school room of my childhood
and Tom with his arms spread wide.

Finally, I understood
the extraordinary love of the God
Tom wanted to share with a group of middle schoolers,

Finally, I understood
the extraordinary nature of a man
touched by the love of God he wanted us to know.

A man with a heart full of laughter.
A man who made a difference in the lives
of a father who could not leave his bed,
and the three children who loved him.

In memory of Reverend Tom Balm, August 14, 1932–November 29, 2012