The Lord Always Came First

            I’ve been writing about my grandfather, the Rev. Joseph Nadenicek, using as the basis for my writing a eulogy given at his funeral.

            Of all the things in that eulogy, I think the one that stands out the most is his dedication to the Lord and to the church.  He had a strong dedication to the truth, and did not hesitate to state the truth as he saw it.  Yet, he also was always willing to listen to the opinions of others and try to understand where they were coming from. 

Whenever possible, he tried to bring about compromises that would unite the church, rather than divide it.  While the eulogy does not say so, I suspect he tended to keep in mind Paul’s statements in First Corinthians about the need for unity and the danger of division within the church.  His eulogy does say that his willingness to put God and the church first won him the respect of nearly everyone in the Slovak Presbyterian Union.

I mentioned that he was the editor of the “Slovensky Kalvin”, a Czech-language Presbyterian newspaper that was published twice a month.  This was in addition to his full-time work as a pastor.  It was also in addition to his role as a father to five children.

My grandfather was obviously a hard worker and very dedicated to his church.  There’s an old saying that hard work never killed anyone, but I don’t know that it’s true in this case.  My grandfather’s hard work and dedication actually contributed to his death. 

In late 1928, my grandfather came down with pneumonia.  Obviously, the practice of medicine was much less advanced at that time.  He needed a substantial period of rest, but his dedication would not let him take that rest.  Instead, as soon as he started to feel a little better, he went back to work, studying and visiting the people of his congregation.  Before long, he had a relapse.  This time, he did not get better.  Instead, he passed away on January 1, 1929.

My grandfather was forty-four years old.  He left a wife, my grandmother, and five children.  My mother was only about three and a half years old when he died.  She has no memory of him.  That left a hole with her that she feels to this day.

It’s funny how things work out, though.  If my grandfather had not died young, the family would most likely never have moved to South Dakota, where my grandmother had relatives.  My mother would almost certainly never have gotten a teaching job in Delmont.  She would never have met my father.  Many lives would have been different.  Some lives, like mine, would never have been at all.

This will bring my series of blog posts on my grandfather to a close.  I hope you’ve enjoyed them.  I wish I knew more about him, but I’m grateful for what I do know.  The more I’ve learned about him, the more proud I am to call him my grandfather.