Bob is a volunteer chaplain who delivers the gospel to strangers at funerals– the rare moments when hope and life is presented amid grief and death.

It’s a role he was born to play, having grown up in a funeral home in Schaefferstown in the 1960s and 70s.

His father owned Clauser Funeral Home, where right outside his door was so much life – he compared it to the nostalgic Rob Reiner film “Stand by Me” – endless summer days and adventures with over 25 other kids who lived on that street who would play at the ballfield until the street lights came on.
​
And yet, the echoes of death were always present. Bob would have conversations about his soccer and basketball games with his father who was in the next room embalming a body in the morgue. He looked up to his father, a steady presence for others experiencing the profound depths of grief on their worse days. 

Bob helped in the family business by driving a hearse, or lending a hand at Amish and Mennonite funerals.

One time a pastor was preaching at a funeral and Bob, 16 years old at the time, went into the basement to see if there were cookies, as he’s come to expect at these things.

But his father, in his wisdom, had other ideas.

“He said, sit down upstairs and take in some spiritual food,” Bob said. “I was 16. I thought, ‘what do you mean?’ Now I know what he was talking about.”
​
Fast-forward 50 years, and you’ll find Bob sitting down providing spiritual food to LCCM’s free noon meal guests.
He first came to LCCM through Calvary Chapel’s School of Ministry program during the pandemic in 2020. 

​He spent his days – sometimes 5 days a week - at the door as a greeter – providing  the same steady presence that his father did to grieving families all those years ago.

At the time, LCCM shifted to take-outs, and more than 200 people would pick up meals each day. In 2021, the meal shifted back inside the dining room.
​
Whether it was take-outs or dining in, Bob made it a point to know everyone by name here. Bob breaks the bread and the ice with people who were once strangers that he now calls friends. His ability to remember names is impressive. On any given day, 130 people filter in and out of the dining hall in an hour. 

He either jots down names, prayers and details about a person down in his tiny notebook or will write a person’s name on his hands. Knowing a person’s name is of the utmost importance for this local street evangelist.

“The sweetest sound in someone’s ears is when someone calls your name,” he said.

Bob heard Jesus call his name May 3, 2013.

Today, his heart overflows with grace, mercy and forgiveness.

But before that day, his heart was filled with hate, bitterness and unforgiveness.

What began as an outlet, turned into a counterfeit god.

His love of sports became his identity.

“Sports was my god with a lower case ‘g’,” he said. “Performance, and my dad’s approval.”
​
Forty years ago, Bob, nicknamed ‘Buggs’  received notoriety when ELCO won its first state title in soccer. In his senior year of high school, Bob earned a scholarship to Temple to be the Owls’ placekicker.

He was so good, in fact, that he received a call from the Philadelphia Eagles who were looking for a kicker.

But by that time, his heart felt a different tug – he wanted to get married. He told the Eagles to give him two weeks to think about it, but they filled the position in that time.

A month later, Bob married and went on to have three children.

But inner turmoil caused him to walk away from his family in 1990.

Bob’s early life had been marked by physical death.

But like the elements’ eroding away a rock over time, Bob slowly experienced an emotional and spiritual  death over decades.

That is until Jesus called his name.

Bob had been watching a lengthy series on the History Channel about the bible. Something inside of him clicked, and for the first time, he got on his knees and prayed.

“I saw the first episode and, I just … it was time,” he said. “I hit my knees and thanked the lord and received Christ. The next morning, when I got on the phone, at the end of every conversation I said “God bless you” to everyone.  I got crickets, quiet, or ‘amen brother,’ but this is what I feel I want to do.”

The gospel offers forgiveness and redemption where none should be found.

For Bob, that place was his daughter.

Thirty years had passed.

When they finally stood face to face, she asked him a question that carried the weight of all that time:

“Do you know who I am?”

He did.

“I sinned against God,” he said. “I sinned against you. I was wrong. Will you forgive me?”

It is a particular kind of vulnerability—to ask for forgiveness without any guarantee it will be given.

She cried.

“Yes,” she said.

And just like that, something long buried—something he had carried like a quiet death—was made alive again.
God had quietly begun the resurrection work of the gospel in Bob’s life.

Having spent years working in a dementia unit in Landis Homes in Lancaster County, God laid on his heart to enter into Calvary Chapel’s School of Ministry, a program that trains people to become humble servants, developing the needed tools so they may become effective in ministry and grow in their own personal walk with Jesus.

To join this program, he would have to enter Calvary’s Uturn program, a discipleship program where Bob discovered some past hurts and habits that have kept him stuck, and prepared his heart for service to others.

Fast forward to today, and Bob says God given him a second chance at family life after remarrying, becoming a husband to Alexandra and becoming a stepfather to his stepdaughter, who is an adult with autism.

Through this program and his work with dementia patients, Bob discovered his passion for the ministry of presence and evangelism on the streets of Lebanon.  

There was a time when Bob walked among the physically dead.

Now, he walks among the “invisible people” the world has learned not to see—the overlooked, the wounded, the ones standing just outside the edges.

And he does something so simple.
​
He calls them by name.
 
 

 Everyone knows Miguel.

 He can walk anywhere in Lebanon and hear his name called. It’s to be expected. Four days a week, he is the first face people see at the Market on 7th, LCCM’s charitable food pantry. He stands at the door, greeting thousands of familiar and new faces each month—with a joke, a handshake, sometimes a hug, always with warmth.

 Welcome to the frontline ministry of hospitality.

 Miguel isn’t just letting people in.
​
 He is practicing the ministry of presence.

 People stop and tell him their stories—about rent they can’t afford, hours that were cut, family struggles that follow them home. He listens. He sees them and hears them.

 “They need someone to hear their story,” he says.

 At the Market, the doorway is more than an entrance into the registration area. It’s a threshold into something sacred. And   Miguel is one of its stewards—turning strangers into neighbors, neighbors into friends. This isn’t casual friendliness. It’s intentional, practiced presence. People expect him. They look for him. In many ways, Miguel is the welcome.
​
 Long before he wore that role, Miguel was simply showing up.

BY DAN TRIMBLE, DIRECTOR OF DEVELOPMENT & EVENTS

​I want to take a moment to share my story—a story of struggle, transformation, and the incredible power of faith.

As a Food Service Sales Representative, I was always surrounded by food. My love for it often turned into a habit of eating in excess. I indulged in processed foods, and even purchased a fryer to take advantage of cost savings. It was all too easy to overlook the toll it was taking on my health.

For years, I didn’t pay much attention to my body. I never felt the need to see a doctor—until October 2020, when everything changed. I found myself feeling persistently ill and decided to go to the hospital, which led to a shocking diagnosis: APL leukemia, a type of blood cancer. At that moment, my life turned upside down.

The news was overwhelming, but amidst the chaos, I discovered something profound—the power of prayer. I had never prayed for anyone before; I usually focused on prayers asking God to fix my life. But suddenly, I became acutely aware of the prayers being offered for me. Friends, family, and even strangers came together, lifting me in their thoughts. Their unwavering support was a lifeline during this difficult time.

And in those prayers, I experienced a kind of hope that felt like light breaking into darkness.

Easter is celebrated as the "first day" of a new creation, signifying a new beginning beyond the old order.

And that's what these prayers represented: it was the beginning of new life.

Fast forward to today, and I am proud to say I am four years into remission. This experience didn’t just change my health; it transformed my life - some might call it a type of resurrection.

I had a connection to Calvary Church, pastored by the former executive director of LCCM. It's interesting how God foreshadows what's to come. Two years later, I joined LCCM, an organization dedicated to investing in people and improving lives. Their mission resonated deeply with me, as it reflects the importance of supporting one another. We held each other accountable and participated in the Daniel Plan—a program that champions health and wellness. It reminded me that we’re not alone in this journey; we have a community that uplifts each other.

Today, I stand before you having lost over 65 pounds—going from 260 to 195 pounds. It’s amazing what can happen when you dedicate time to caring for your body. I often reflect on how my health issues could have been prevented and how I can ensure I take care of myself moving forward.

But Easter reminds me that the story doesn’t end in regret. It doesn’t end in the tomb. It continues in grace, in second chances, in new beginnings.

I realize now that God is on my side. With the support of my family, friends, and community, I’ve learned that we can overcome our challenges together.

As I continue this journey, I keep a prayer list that reminds me of the power of faith—faith in God, in my health, and in the people around me.

This Easter, I encourage you to reflect on your own life. Where do you need renewal? Where is God inviting you into something new?

Because resurrection isn’t just something that happened once.

It’s something that is still happening—within all of us.
​
Sunday is here.

BY ANDREA GILLHOOLLEY, INTERIM DIRECTOR OF COMMUNICATIONS

​Some stories don’t live on Good Friday or Easter.

They live in Saturday.

Hi, my name is Andrea. I’m a grateful believer in Jesus Christ, and I struggle with my health, people-pleasing, anger, and grief. That’s how we introduce ourselves at Celebrate Recovery at Church of the Good Shepherd —a Christ-centered 12-step ministry for anyone seeking freedom from hurts, habits, and hang-ups.

I remember this photo of my husband Jason and I. It was taken in 2020. While the world was falling apart, I was having one of the best years of my life. Life slowed down. The pressure lifted. I got healthy, found rhythm, and even stood at an outdoor Celebrate Recovery service saying, “Sometimes, the wind is at your back.”

That year, it was.

Six years later, I can barely stand without getting winded.

At 43, with two kids and a full-time job, my body no longer feels like my own. Post-viral fatigue, nervous system dysfunction, insomnia, and digestive issues have shrunk my world into small, careful increments. But the hardest part isn’t physical—it’s spiritual. For eight months, I’ve prayed the same prayers and heard nothing back.

I used to be the one who showed up—leading, serving, solving problems, carrying the invisible mental load. Always asking: Am I doing enough? That drive for control, for self-reliance, quietly became my foundation.

And then, I couldn’t show up at all.

I started missing work, moments with my kids, pieces of my own life. Sleep disappeared. Some nights stretched to 36 hours without sleep. I went from doctor to doctor with no answers. I lost 10 pounds in six weeks. I couldn’t eat solid food and swallow right, couldn’t breathe right, daily waves of crashing fatigue, couldn’t function—and I grieved as my life seemed to slip away.

It began to take hold in July 2025—the same week I received my 10-year recovery coin. I asked God what He wanted for the next decade of my life. That day, the lights went out. Sleep vanished. And for the first time, I understood real darkness.
Psalm 88 became my language: “darkness is my closest friend.” No resolution. No clear hope. Just silence.

Good Friday felt personal yesterday. Everything I believe is being tested. The core of the first three of 12 steps in recovery come down to this: I can’t. God can. I think I’ll let Him.

Surrender is no longer theoretical. It is necessary.

And I say this not in the past tense because this battle is happening in real time.

And still— grace comes. Not dramatically, but through people. My husband holding our home together. Friends and family showing up. My team stepping in. My mother sitting with me, day after day, offering a quiet, selfless love that kept me grounded.

I’ve had to grieve so much—discomfort most days, foods I can’t eat, traditions I’ve lost, sleep I've lost, a life that looks nothing like it used to. Even surrounded by food at work, I can’t partake. Recovery has required sacrifice in ways I never expected.

What I once taught others is now real: honesty about limits, surrender to what I can’t control, and the necessity of true community. Healing isn’t something I can force. It’s something I have to receive—slowly.

But this is not a story of resolution.

This is the long middle.

Holy Saturday.

The space where nothing seems to happen. Where prayers feel unanswered. Where healing feels distant. Where you live between what was and what will be.

And yet—even here—something is unfolding.

It reminds me of Exodus 23:10-11:
“For six years you are to sow your fields and harvest the crops, but during the seventh year let the land lie unplowed and unused. Then the poor among your people may get food from it, and the wild animals may eat what is left. Do the same with your vineyard and your olive grove.”

By resting the land, the Israelites are reminded that their security comes from God, not from constant human effort or control over the earth. It’s an act of faith: trusting that God will provide even when normal activity stops.

Holy Saturday is intensely quiet. Jesus is in the tomb. The world is holding its breath. A seed is buried in the dark.

And beneath the fatigue, beneath the silence, something is still at work.

I am learning—slowly—to trust that the story is still moving forward.
Sunday is coming.

BY LESVI VAZQUEZ, UPLIFT COACH

​Good Friday is a day that asks us to look at suffering in its rawest form: pain, uncertainty, and sacrifice. It is a reminder that even in the darkness, there is hope—and that hope can lead to life.

I remember thinking, “not again.” We had already lost our son Benson at 21 weeks into my pregnancy. The fear, anxiety, and stress came rushing back.

But this time, I chose to trust God.

I remember declaring, “In the Name of Jesus, my baby will live.”

When I had the emergency C-section, that OR room was filled with angels in the form of an incredible team of nurses, NICU staff, and doctors. The room was so full, yet I felt covered.

Later that night, I was alone in my hospital room. Even after major surgery, nothing could stop me from seeing Jova. I wheeled myself down the hallway, determined. I needed to see him with my own eyes… to know that he was alive.

Jova was born at 23 weeks and 5 days, weighing only 1 pound and 5 oz. He spent 125 days in the NICU. He went through many surgeries, countless doctor visits, and therapy appointments each one a step in a journey filled with strength, faith, and resilience.

There were moments it felt like he wouldn’t make it… but we held onto hope. And he did.

Today, he lives a beautiful life. He is our miracle baby.

Jova has autism, and through him I have learned so much. Now, I pour that love and knowledge into other families through the Uplift program at LCCM, walking alongside parents who are facing their own battles.

Good Friday reminds me that even in the darkest moments, God is working. What feels like suffering can lead to life.

And for us, it did.

If you're in darkness, just remember:
​
Sunday is coming.

A mother makes $2,000 a month as a home health aide. Her expenses outweigh her income by about $200, but she can usually make it work.

Because she has a household of 3, she meets income guidelines for government heating assistance through the LIHEAP program and receives SNAP benefits.

She’d be doing OK if it weren’t for the $1,300 rent and $500 car payment for a new vehicle people convinced her to buy because it’s “more reliable” than a used car.

But, again, she makes it work.

Except of course when her company cuts her hours, as it periodically does.
​
And it just happens to coincide with her quarterly water bill that’s due. 
​
So she calls Lebanon County Christian Ministries for help.

​The scenario you just read is a composite of a common issue people face when applying for utility payment assistance at Lebanon County Christian Ministries.

In fact, 37% of households in Lebanon County struggle to pay for basic needs, such as food, housing, utilities, transportation, and child care.

Being employed does not always equal financial stability, and this is where LCCM steps in to fill that gap.
​
75% of the people requesting utility payment assistance through LCCM are women, a sizeable majority work, pay rent and about half have kids. We’ve lost count of the number of single mothers who make $2,000 or less a month – sometimes a lot less. More challenging still, many have compounding issues with work due to having children with special needs, specifically autism. 

READ THE FULL UPLIFT LITE REPORT BELOW
​

Some of our guests are on a fixed income. Others work and receive SSI for a child in the household. Some are married or have partners.

For some it’s their first time seeking assistance. For others, they’ve sought assistance more than once.

When people come to LCCM for help, they are often in crisis precisely because of this scenario we just laid out.

LCCM has operated a utility assistance program for 15 years. In September of 2024, we rebranded it as upLIFT Lite and changed the way we conducted the program because we wanted to spend a bit more time with people to hear their story, encourage them to get onto programs they may qualify for and provide additional referrals they request. 

We wanted to find out: If LCCM met people in a deeper way in the gap between “employed” and  “stable,” would it make a difference?

So, we gathered data from the more than 600 people we’ve conducted intakes with so we can get a bird’s eye view about the true needs of the working class who make just enough to get by, but not enough to consistently cover basic expenses.
We had a 20% response rate during a follow-up 3-month survey. Here’s what we found:

At the initial intake session:

• Only 28% of households were food secure
• 70% were behind on utility bills
• Just 2% had an emergency fund

Within just three months, we begin to see change:

• Food security rises from 28% to 44%
• Households behind on utilities drop from 70% to 43%
• Households participating in UGI’s Cap program to lower monthly bills rises 10% while households encouraged to apply for Dollar Energy grants to pay for electric increases by 13%
• Employment increases

 
The thread that weaves through this promising data is connection.

Our guest resource specialists work to ensure that qualifying households receive financial help in the short term; while also ensuring guests apply for programs they may qualify for to help in the long term.

Food security rises because our guest resource specialists go the extra mile after the intake appointments to show guests to the Market on 7th and help them get registered so they can shop that day.

The top referrals made to outside agencies are for rental assistance and employment services.

48% of those surveyed contacted a provider and 79% of participants received help.

Perhaps one of the most interesting findings is how many upLIFT Lite guests are beginning to enroll in our longer-term upLIFT Coaching program, that pairs a person who is ready, willing, and able to work toward greater self-sufficiency with an in-house coach. LCCM enrolled 10 people from the upLIFT Lite program into the coaching program within the last year. These programs act as a bridge to help people work toward greater stability.
​
 

Derrick and Krystl came to the free noon meal for the first time on a beautiful March day and sat down to eat baked chicken, wild grain rice and carrots.

The couple moved to Lebanon so Derrick, a veteran, could be closer to the Lebanon VA Medical Center.

​“It’s very helpful,” Krystl said of the meal.

Derrick noted it’s his first warm meal in about a week.

“It gives me a little bit of hope,” he says.

Lebanon County Christian Ministries just rolled out a revamped free noon meal menu that aims to provide more nutritious meals made from scratch. 

​
Did you know $50 a month will provide 25 meals in the free noon meal program? You can help people like Derrick, Krystl and Nancy's family ensure they have a nutritious meal each day.

LCCM also operates the upLIFT Lite program, which provides qualifying households with utility payment assistance for water, oil, propane, and electric. The upLIFT Lite program usually requires households to apply for LIHEAP prior to our crisis funding assistance. But in the absence of the LIHEAP program, LCCM made a temporary financial commitment to bridge the gap of funding during the delayed funding period.

For comparison, LCCM spent just $885 on heating oil assistance in November 2024. In November 2025, that number skyrocketed to $21,169 due to the crisis.
​
Doris came in for a short interview with upLIFT Lite staff and received heating oil in a matter of a couple of days from her heating oil company. Shortly after receiving oil, Doris was able to get back on her feet when her SNAP benefits were restored and she was able to apply for and receive a grant from LIHEAP to cover heating costs for the rest of the winter.

Ashley came to Lebanon County Christian Ministries a year ago looking for help with food and a water bill. Little did she know at the time that this encounter would lead to getting her GED and becoming certified as a phlebotomist.

That encounter with LCCM’s Market on 7th charitable food pantry, and upLIFT lite, LCCM’s utility payment assistance program, led to enrolling in the long-term upLIFT coaching program with coach Lesvi Vazquez.
​
“I was just trying to find a way to get back into financial stability,” said Ashley, a single mother of two girls, ages 11 and 4. 

Working with Lesvi gave her the motivation to tackle each small step one by one, and she credits conversations, logistical planning and resource sharing by Lesvi with helping her to succeed and stay on track.

“Overall, with the whole program and going to school, I learned to be a little more humble and patient. I have more confidence in myself because I wanted to give up a million times on this journey,” she said.

Shopping with Lesvi for food at Grocery Outlet, LCCM’s upLIFT partner, gave Ashley the opportunity to learn how to budget appropriately and stock up on items.

 “I learned how to budget. I was calculating in my head all the time,” she said. “Shopping with Lesvi was just like hanging out with a friend.”

As Ashley begins to plan for the next phase of life, she has some advice for the next group of upLIFT members.

 “Just have faith and keep showing up, no matter how you feel,” she said. “God is always there. No matter how down you feel, or don’t think you have enough food for the night or how you’ll feed your kids, or how to deal with your emotions. Just show up. Do not give up.” 
​