A Tribute to Roby Duke

I am in Southern California with my family. I awoke this morning to learn that My good friend Roby Duke died of a heart attack some time on Wednesday. I spoke with him on Monday about an album we were working on with our friend Bob Bennett. We had scheduled a final production meeting Feb 2, with production to start in March. As always we talked a long time. He sounded real good.

For Roby the road to here and now was difficult. He struggled with church and church people but he had a deep faith in the Lord. He was like a brother to Chris and I. I remember calling him one day and shared my fear of teaching and pastoring. All he said was "remember Steve, there is a Holy Spirit". I started to whine more but he just repeated over and over again, "There is a Holy Spirit."

I was introduced to Roby's music in the 80's. He had a sound and a lyric that resonated with my spirit. When I went on staff at Applegate Fellowship I had the privilege of booking him for several concerts. He recorded on one of my children's albums "The Tale of a Champion". We stayed in contact for the past 20 years.

A couple of years ago he was made an honorary "Hopkins brother. Chris and I used to hold that over his head until a few months ago, when mom sent him a card congratulating him on his adoption. From that day on he said he didn't need us any more (jokingly). He was in with "Jeanne".

Other than my brother Chris, there was no man than I held more dear. He helped me through many a difficult time.

One of his first songs was "Through many years you and I have come a long way Lord. Together we're traveling on a journey that some day will find an end; when we will cross that river into a promised land, and we'll never have a broken heart again"

Roby, you've crossed the river....I will miss you...but I will see you again

Luke 2:7 The Invitation

It was the biggest event of the year in the little town of Cornwall – the annual Christmas pageant, starring many of the people of the town.

When it came time for casting the various parts, every parent wanted their son or daughter to be included. On audition day, it didn’t take long to match every part with just the right person. But then there was Harold. The little guy really wanted a part. But because of his learning disabilities, the directors kept passing him over. But Harold just kept popping up again, asking for a part. Finally, the directors gave in and gave him what they judged to be a no-risk part – the innkeeper who comes to the door and tells Mary and Joseph the inn is full. It was a part with only one simple line.

Little did they know that the stage had been set for the most memorable Christmas pageant they had ever seen.

The night of the pageant, you had to get there early just to get a seat.

Backstage, the shepherds were putting on their bathrobes, the angels were adjusting their haloes, and everyone was reviewing their lines. The directors were going over Harold’s line with him one more time – “Remember, Harold – ‘I’m sorry, we have no room.’” Slowly, but surely, Harold repeated his line.

The men of the church had built a set that portrayed Bethlehem in the background, a manger on the right, and the inn on the left.

As Act One neared its end, a weary Mary and Joseph trudged up to the inn door, desperately looking for shelter. Joseph knocked on the inn door. Nothing happened. Backstage the front rows could hear the director whispering, “Now, Harold!” The set began to shake as Harold struggled to get the inn door open. Then, standing there in his bathrobe, Harold listened as Joseph begged for a room for his pregnant wife.

Harold said nothing.

Again, the backstage whisper - “I’m sorry, we have no room.”

Another long pause.

Finally, Harold struggled through his line – “I’m sorry . . . we have no room.” Then he slowly closed the door.

It was as Mary and Joseph began to turn away that totally unforgettable moment came – the one no one would ever forget.

Suddenly, the set started to shake again as Harold again struggled to get the door open. Before the stunned director could get to him, Harold opened the door and ran after the departing Mary and Joseph. And loud enough for people in the basement to hear, Harold shouted - “Wait! Wait! You can have MY room!”

Parable of the Birds

This is one of my favorite Christmas stories. It was written in 1956 by the late journalist, Louis Cassels

"This is about a modern man, one of us, he was not a scrooge, he was a kind, decent, mostly good man, generous to his family, upright in his dealings with others. But he did not believe in all that incarnation stuff that the Churches proclaim at Christmas time. It just didn’t make sense to him and he was too honest to pretend otherwise. He just could not swallow the Jesus story about God coming to earth as man. I’m truly sorry to distress you, he told his wife, but I’m not going with you to church this Christmas Eve. He said he’d feel like a hypocrite. That he would much rather stay home, but that he would wait up for them. He stayed, they went.

Shortly after the family drove away in the car, snow began to fall. He went to the window to watch the flurries getting heavier and heavier, then went back to his fireside chair and began to read his newspaper. Minutes later he was startled by a thudding sound. Then another and another. At first he thought someone must be throwing snowballs against his living room window. Well, when he went to the front door, he found a flock of birds huddled miserably in the snow. They had been caught in the storm and in a desperate search for shelter they had tried to fly through his large landscape window.

Well, he couldn’t let the poor creatures lie there and freeze. He remembered the barn where his children stabled their pony. That would provide a warm shelter -- if he could direct the birds to it. He quickly put on his coat and galoshes, trampled through the deepening snow to the barn, opened the door wide, and turned on a light. But the birds did not come in.

He figured food would entice them in and he hurried back to the house, fetched bread crumbs, sprinkled them on the snow making a trail to the yellow lighted wide open doorway of the stable, but to his dismay the birds ignored the bread crumbs, and continued to flap around helplessly in the snow. He tried catching them, he tried shooing them into the barn by walking around them waving his arms -- instead they scattered in every direction except into the warm lighted barn. Then he realized they were afraid of him.

To them, he reasoned, I am a strange and terrifying creature, if only I could think of some way to let them know they can trust me: That I’m not trying to hurt them, but to help them. How? Any move he made tended to frighten them, confuse them. They just would not follow. They would not be led or shooed because they feared him. If I could only be a bird myself he thought. If only I could be a bird and mingle with them and speak their language, and tell them not to be afraid, and show them the way to the safe, warm barn. But I'd have to be one of them, so they could see and hear and understand.

At that moment the church bells began to ring. The sound reached his ears above the sound of the wind. He stood there listening to the bells. Adeste Fideles. Listening to the bells pealing the glad tidings of Christmas. And he sank to his knees in the snow. Merry Christmas

“If only I could be a bird myself for a few minutes, perhaps I could lead them to safety,” he thought. Just at that moment the church bells began to ring. He stood silently for a while, listening to the bells pealing the glad tidings of Christmas. Then he sank to his knees in the snow. “Now I understand,” he whispered. “Now I see why You had to do it.”