I've had the privilege of being a pastor at the American Protestant Church since September of 2008. But, my connection with the church goes back a bit further than last year. I was born and raised in The Hague to Henry and Maria Blackmon. My Dad was the Minister of Music here for well over forty years. This meant that my two brothers, David and Paul and I, grew up at the APCH. I mean this in the most literal sense possible. We spent a lot of time at church. At an early age we were “invited” to join the youth choir. I use the term "invited" ever so loosely because it inevitably involved a seesaw between duty and delight.

Our life revolved around the church. I remember having my first moment of transcendence here. It happened when I was asked to be an acolyte, lighting the candles for Sunday worship. Back then, this meant you had to wear a neatly ironed, sparkling white supplice (think of it as a little white dress for boys), but somehow, I had a sense on my heart that this was a holy moment and a holy place.

Also, during this time, I enjoyed my first stint of employment at the APCH. For several years I was the custodian and groundskeeper here.

I grew up in a wonderful home and enjoyed this unique church community immensely and there are two memories that really stand out:

During my freshmen year in high school I was mesmerized by a beautiful little Bible I had seen on the Church's book table. There was just something about the pretty leather cover and the handy pocket size that called out to me. There was one problem: I didn't have any money to buy it. But, my eye saw that it was beautiful and I had to have it. After considering the options, I decide to steal it. Of course, I felt deeply guilty over having done this and in an attempt to get rid of the guilt, I started reading the little leather Bible in search for relief. 

After some time, the little book began leaving a mark on my life. Not long after this I surrendered my life (and my kleptomania) to God and felt like I had become a new person. I still have this little Bible and it serves as powerful reminder to me that everything I have, do and am is a gift from God. I often take it with me when I visit people in their homes or in the hospital. It reminds me of what pioneer missionary William Carey wrote to one of his sons on his seventieth birthday: 
"I am this day seventy years old, a monument of Divine mercy and goodness, though on a review of my life I find much, very much, for which I ought to be humbled in the dust."   That little stolen bible is a reminder that I am “a monument of divine mercy and goodness". Only a few months after the mysterious disappearance of the little Bible from the church's book table, I was baptized. Soon after my baptism I was offered an amazing and surprising opportunity. Our youth pastor, Rev. Sam Rodenhizer, invited me to preach on a “Youth Sunday.” I still remember the conversation vividly. As soon as he asked me, without any forethought, not even spiritually savvy enough to offer the customary "Let me pray about it", I just said "Yes, absolutely."

I had several months to prepare for this big day. I got some coaching from my uncles, most of whom are ministers as well. They instructed:  "If you run out of things to say, just say them again, repeating it all, but just a little louder." This advice has served me well ever since.

On that day, at age 17, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I longed to serve God in this way for the rest of my life.