The light moves on: a tribute to Kim E. Bode

He could peel back his heavy framed glasses and reveal the clearest, most intentional eyes. Eyes that held you. Eyes that cared for you.

In a gesture he must have done 200 times a day, you could see this Clark Kent become Superman right in front of you. When he did this, when those bright, now unobstructed eyes of his would consider what you said and then offer a counsel you needed to hear, you knew Kim Bode had the right job. He was a man of God.

This man of God died this past Sunday, June 9^th, 2024.

I don’t know how Kim died. I didn’t ask his family. Instead, I gently asked the Bode clan through Kim’s loving wife, Anne, if I could share my journey with him to this paper. They said yes.

Writing this was the very first proactive thing I thought of when the news came.

We all have those “I remember when” moments. Learning of Kim’s death was one of them for me, a fellow pastor whose congregation neighbors the one he served so faithfully for 29 years. The 3:25 PM text on my cell phone was cut and dry. The simple sentence read, “Kim Bode just died.”

I didn’t say “Oh, no,” out loud but certainly felt those words out loud.

We pastors are to be good at death, familiar to it. After all, this is a part of our job.

But this one hurts. This loss deeply touches something I couldn’t pinpoint in the moment. I had to walk away from it only to walk back into it to find what it was.

Kim was one of my mentors. That thought wasn’t new. I latched to this wise, kind, and thoughtful soul soon after I became pastor in 2008. My Harford. His Hop Bottom.

As pastors to Harford First Congregational-UCC and Grace Lutheran in Hop Bottom, we shared Bible studies together with fellow peers and colleagues. More so, we shared the weight of Jesus’ cross and the joy of what that cross means in a world that can be saved by a single Savior. We knew preaching mattered. We knew pastoring, understandably understated and often so far behind the scenes, was necessary.

We carried the pains of the people we served. We also lived the promises of Christ Jesus, the one we served.

None of this hurt when I read the text. What does ache in the deep chambers of who I am is this: I miss the man and minister who supported me. What Kim Bode did—and did so well—was the job of supporting and encouraging me and countless others over the years. 1 Thessalonians 5:11 calls us to lift each other up. Kim Bode lifted up so many so often and so well.

His heart reached me best in two places: when my novel JESUS CLONED published, and when my journey to become a dad was at its lowest and hardest points.

I never graced a pew at Grace Lutheran. Others are like me. Still others never knew Kim. This shouldn’t stop  any of us, however.  The gift we all have is to pause and reflect on how impactful Kim’s ministry was (and continues to be) to others for others.

Of course, none of us have heard Jesus’ actual voice yet (outside what we may feel and hear inside our minds and souls), but I imagine Kim’s warm, gentle, sometimes joking and understandably authoritative voice carried the same tones Jesus’ voice did.

A man who defied his age, he looked like pastors of his time. Different colored dress shirts were almost always worn, and his 1990s ties were always a bit too long. And when he said, “Huh,” you knew he was thinking. And what he was thinking was always, always something good.

Consider what it takes to be the single pastor serving a congregation and a community for almost 30 years. Like a farmer, a preacher’s job is never done. There is always something and someone. Yes. Always.

His time away on call and the toll on his family was (and then again wasn’t) always kind. Meeting the pulpit week after week with messages that inspire, inform, align, challenge, and empower is tough for consecutive weeks. Try doing this for nearly three decades in the same place and space and then we can all begin to measure the worth and wisdom of the man who ministered faithfully, selflessly, and consistently.

Years ago, I came across an epitaph that read “A great light has gone out.” Kim wouldn’t want the light he carried to go out or stop. He retired from the pulpit in Hop Bottom five years ago, but he never let any light go out. Instead, he found light. He encouraged light. He shared light.

Kim and wife Anne were to be a teaching team at a community-based Vacation Bible School in Harford this week. It shows Kim was not done.

Unlike my reaction when I read the text of Kim’s death, there is no “Oh no.” The truth that stands is the minister of care and compassion devoted his career and his life to letting the light of Christ be known. He would want that light to move on in all of us.