One by one his congregation took to the microphone to tell their own personal stories of Major, their connection, how he’d helped them through devastating times, inspired them, celebrated with them, picked them up roadside after an accident or comforted them. But the repeated theme was of “breaking bread”: the meals they had shared together with their pastor.
“Howard has a way of knowing when people need help,” explained Susan Lent, who took Howard under the Lent wing for many a meal and walk and a lasting friendship. As she spoke, a huge thunderclap shook the church foundation. “See?” she said. “We’re not alone in feeling this!”
One of her children, Paul Lent, now a Presbyterian minister himself, said that he was inspired to be a man and leader of faith because of Major. “Howard, you are a brother, a mentor, a friend,” said Lent. “I am a minister because of you. You have unrivaled listening skills, compassion, the ability to draw out stories from people, to understand when and how they need comforting…”
Lent said that, although Major had counseled him that there were “other professions,” he felt his calling. “I remember a sermon Howard gave 20 years ago — 20 years ago!” he said. “I doubt any of my parishioners can recall a sermon I gave two weeks ago! But in this sermon, Howard talked about the word ‘Amen,’ and what it meant and how it was said. The sermon was entitled, ‘Yes!’ because he believed that ‘Amen’ meant ‘Yes!’ It is an affirmation, a positive, enthusiastic encouraging word that says ‘Yes!” Lent had the entire audience chanting “A-men!” on Major’s behalf.
There were so many stories: that of Lent’s breaking bread with Major, of longtime choir director Nancy Herforth breaking bread with Howard and getting married by him, his kindness in picking her up on a snowy night in winter when her car had been totaled on the Thruway.
Nancy Owen, the church’s education director, talked about their Huguenot Street “walks at night,” and how, years ago, she went walking at night to clear her head, but walking with “Howard cleared my heart,” and all of the great programs and schemes that they bounced off one another and brought to fruition for the youth of the church.
Owen gave just one example of a campfire sleepover at her husband’s farm, which bordered the John Burroughs Sanctuary, to which they took their summer campers for the final night of the session. “It was like Tent City, with all of these tents out in the field and a bonfire and Howard saying that they couldn’t have a campout without a ghost story.” So, according to Owens, he led a campfire ghost story about the “Ghost of John Burroughs,” and had her son walk along the moonlit plain dragging one leg behind him and rattling chains. “Well, a third of the campers ended up sleeping in the farmhouse — and then the rest. As the lightning storms came, all fled to the farmhouse and the only remaining camper was Howard!”
People talked very personally about how Major had given them faith, been there through the deaths of their parents, their child, their beloved canine friends. They talked about how he had married them or their daughters and sons and grandchildren; how each moment was special and raw and meaningful; and how he traveled, as a “wanderer,” the extra mile, miles or kilometers as a pastor to be there for his flock. “He married our two daughters, and without having ever known or met my father, drove to New Jersey to preside over his funeral,” said Sally Rhoads.
Major was teary and talked little, only saying at the end that he was a “wanderer, a seeker, a voyager,” and that he had pitched his “tent here in New Paltz 28 years ago, never imagining I’d stay this long. I’m so grateful. I’m so honored. I’m so humbled by your love.”
Major will move to New York City and a search committee is already in formation to find a new pastor, though all of its members admit that there is no one who can replace Howard. “He was our joy, our leader, our comfort, our guide — the man that made a sermon make sense and spoke to the adults, the elderly, the children. And he was funny as all hell!” said one dedicated member.
