You'll always remember that accent. Because it reminded you weren't dealing with just an ordinary American. It was rich, it was deep, and it ensured that I would always be called "Mahhk".
 |
| Jason Poznaks - June 27, 1971-December 15, 2014 |
A man of the world, that Jason Poznaks guy. A man who came to the attention of our church through a chance encounter on a street in Egypt. Funny how those small connections lead to big things. That comfort with being outside his element, with trying new things, and with being who he was landed him eventually in children's ministry. Not by default, mind you, or because he drew the short straw. Jason could have been - and was - a senior pastor, a youth pastor, and probably the star of his own television show if that's where he'd channeled his talent; but he did children's ministry, by choice. Despite his ability to "wow" you up front, make no mistake: this was a man who understood people thoroughly and was capable of deep theological thinking.
He had a message: children are the church of today, and the key to the future. He served on global teams and very strongly believed that those of us who had resources - the American church, and those in other resource-rich countries - had an absolute obligation to share the ideas and materials we had with the developing world. He was keenly aware of the insufficiency of ministry to kids, and the lack of materials available to Sunday schools and midweek Bible clubs, in much of the world.
And yet, he concentrated his efforts and his considerable talent on the church wherever he happened to be. Which happened to be with us, at North Coast Calvary in Carlsbad, from 2007-on. As he did, Jason displayed a masterful command of balance: global priorities with local ones; work with play; large group leadership with personal touch; and of course, decorum with fun.
Here's the thing about Jason: he never begged for attention and never hogged the spotlight. And still, everyone knew who he was. And loved him. And had stories about personal encounters with him. He was easy to be around, and you wanted him around. He was the perfect target of practical jokes, because you could be sure he'd return them and one-up you - no hard feelings on either side.
He didn't like being called "Pastor". He wasn't into titles - most Aussies aren't. He preferred to be called "Jason". And yet - pastoring is what he did so well. It was the unseen part of his job. He excelled at it, as he did a lot of things. Meetings with his staff, meetings with parents, meetings with volunteers - Jason wasn't just available to talk about life and its challenges, he made it a point to bring it up. And always over coffee - that is, "cawfee" (spoken swiftly, attack on the first syllable). Behind the wit and the ability to win over large crowds, there was a thoughtful soul who noticed everything and knew everybody. He seemed to have an inexhaustible capacity for relationships.
When you are well-liked and in demand, it can go to your head. But at the end of the day, he never got intoxicated with his own importance. He had a family waiting at home - his wife Natty, and the boys, Ethan and Seth, whom he cared for intensely. Sometimes they couldn't wait to see him, and they'd make office visits to say hi to their dad, to play with him, to touch him and climb on him. I'm quite sure that "Dad" was his proudest title.
After Jason had been hired, as we were anticipating his arrival, our lead pastor made reference in a staff meeting to Jason being a "Finnish carpenter". I was confused, having only met him a few times. I knew he was Australian; had he also been born in Finland? Then I tried to understand it as a metaphor: was there something about Finnish guys who did woodworking that was applicable to ministry? I drew a blank. Finally it dawned on me that he was calling Jason a "finish carpenter" - as in, one who comes in to do the "finishing touches" on a job. Duh. And of course, that's what he turned out to be. A finish carpenter works precisely, sometimes imperceptibly, but nudges things forward, always with an eye for beauty and quality.
The problem is, Jason never got to finish. At least not in the way we would have wanted. Maybe that's why this seems so unfair. Right before KidsGames in 2012, he got the news that would change everything. There was work left to be done - but the "Finnish carpenter" wouldn't get a chance to do it.
It stinks, because no one will do it quite like he could.
That's why I found myself on Tuesday morning wanting to Google things like "Why does God let people die?" and "Where is Jason now?" even though I belong to a religion which answers those questions with certainty. I wanted there to be more of him, somewhere. I came up empty-handed.
Our church's website crashed - I mean, crashed - right before Thanksgiving, and suddenly we lost our ability to communicate about all sorts of events to our church body. But we also knew we needed it back up because with Jason nearing the end of his life, we needed a way to communicate "Jason's Story" and post updates on his condition. Then I started reading some of the tributes people had posted on his Facebook page, and it hit me that "Jason's story" is not the story of his illness, or the last months of his life. The full story will be told, and has been told, in bits and pieces by the people who were impacted by him, who no doubt all claim he was "their" Jason. Some of these people are on the other side of the world and didn't track closely with the story of his illness. That's ok - their remembrances are a healthy counterbalance to our more recent memories of his suffering and pain. Hard as it is, I'm going to remind myself of that when I'm tempted to dwell on the way he died. I think he'd much prefer we revel in the memories of how he lived.
If we're looking for lessons we can draw from Jason's life, I suppose all of the usual candidates apply: Cherish the time you have...Spend time with your family...Don't take yourself too seriously...Be kind to children. For me, it comes back to the work of the "Finnish carpenter". This fall, my wife and I decided to sand and refinish a kitchen table. Not fun work! Done well, a nice-looking piece of furniture looks as though no work has been done on it at all. You assume the tabletop has always been smooth and free of imperfections, that the legs have always been straight, that the finish has always been even. But only the wood, the worker, and his tools know the truth. They experience the dust, the mess, the ugliness that was, and the in-between stages where things are not quite ready. Everyone else only experiences the finished product.
Reading the tributes, I've come to understand that Jason played a role akin to finishing and refinishing in the lives of those who encountered him. In so doing, he exposed himself to some of the not-so-nice looking parts of people's lives; in so doing, he left his mark on hundreds of lives. That's what Jason did for me. By constant encouragement and reminders to have a life outside of ministry, he helped sand some of the rough edges smooth. Only Jason would be the first to demure, and to say that he was not, after all, the finisher, but only an instrument in the hands of God, who is working - sometimes imperceptibly - to finish us all.
Those hands used to direct him from afar; now they hold him.
Rest well, Finnish carpenter.
