My Friend Lewis

Contemplating the passing of someone immensely significant to me, and to numerous others.

On June 21st, Lewis Ruff suffered a fatal heart attack while vacationing in Mexico City. A tragic end to a remarkable life.

In December of 1994, filled with apprehension and excitement, my wife and I attended an event known as the "Church Planting Assessment Center." This center, affiliated with the Presbyterian Church in America (PCA), aimed to evaluate pastors' skills and core competencies to determine if they were capable of initiating a new church from scratch. The concept of "Church Planting" was all the rage within my PCA community during the early '90s. Influenced greatly by Tim Keller¹, I had come to perceive starting new churches as an incredibly alluring and daring endeavor for pastors. It aligned perfectly with my restless nature and my innate drive to create and take on entrepreneurial ventures—a characteristic I shared with my father.

One of the assessors I encountered early on was Lewis Ruff, a larger-than-life figure who exuded a jolly and upbeat demeanor. With his distinct Philadelphia accent, he sought out fellow risk-takers who were willing to venture to the untamed West in order to spread the PCA's version of the gospel. Having arrived at the assessment center with Tim Keller's endorsement, as he was recruiting me for a church planting project in Long Island, Lewis probably didn't think he had much chance with me, so he mostly left me to my own devices. Nonetheless, I observed him closely. He possessed a visionary spirit, an infectious sociability, an abundance of ideas, and an outright hilarious nature. Without a doubt, he stood out as my favorite personality throughout the Assessment Center experience, bringing much-needed levity to a week filled with tension and demands.  

I also wondered if Lewis might be gay. 

The next time I heard his voice was April of 1995.  I had rejected two church planting opportunities in the Northeast and Lewis had just found out.  “I heard you turned down Tim Keller and Terry Gyger. You were one of the highest-rated pastors we have ever had at Assessment Center and I think you would be perfect for San Francisco.”  

I didn’t consider myself ready to plant a church in a major urban center. During my time at the Assessment Center, I kept my desire to work in a city to myself, even though it was my true passion. When Lewis presented the opportunity to consider San Francisco, I felt it was premature. However, Lewis believed in me long before I believed in myself. This would become a recurring theme. After the call I shared my conversation with my wife downstairs in our kitchen, our children clinging to her legs, she looked at me and uttered, "That's it, you know."² Her words hit me like a ton of bricks, and I had to take a seat to absorb what she had just said. San Francisco? Seriously? It seemed too distant, too "secular," too everything. Yet, by June of that same year, we found ourselves boarding a flight to explore the possibilities that San Francisco held.

Lewis was 2 hours late to pick us up at the airport.  Another recurring theme. Punctuality wasn't exactly his strong suit. In an era before cell phones, we sat there for two hours, anxiously hoping that the same gregarious individual I remembered from the Assessment Center would eventually show up. But as always, Lewis came through, pulling up in a wood-paneled station wagon that perfectly matched his larger-than-life personality and physique. I vividly recalled the driver's seat being partially reclined as he maneuvered the vehicle. It was quite a sight to witness a man from Philadelphia driving a massive station wagon all around San Francisco and the Bay Area, engaging in lively conversations with every driver encountered. "Hello, sir! This lane is mine, thank you very much!" "Ma'am, please don't pull out in front of me, thank you!"  "Please don't turn into that garage, we need a parking space!" His running commentary provided endless amusement. I can hear his voice now. I wish I could still hear it.

Lewis took this picture on our recruiting trip to San Francisco in June of 1995. The look on my face seems to be saying “This is California, I thought it would be sunny and warm, what is up with this place?” Terely says she sees two people who are completely out of place and wondering “what are we doing here?”

Everything else Lewis said was straight facts about San Francisco.  If you knew Lewis, you knew he loved facts. Loved stats. Loved history.  Loved telling the stories of a place. Lewis was the ultimate demographics man.  His unwavering dedication to thoroughly understanding a city, a locale, or even a country was a testament to his unique genius. I had never witnessed anyone who could interpret and comprehend a city's essence quite like Lewis did. He emphasized the significance of recognizing a place's distinctiveness and the responsibility of starting a church that honored its history and sensibilities. Much like Tim Keller, Lewis created a space for church planters to embody both theological depth and practical wisdom simultaneously—a balance that was often rare to find in those days. ³

A friend of mine, who was also a church planter from our shared past, texted me after Lewis's passing, stating, "He was the best person I've ever known at reading a community." Lewis had an insatiable curiosity that drove him to gather extensive knowledge of any church and its surrounding community before he arrived to offer his consultation. He led with a spirit of listening, approached every situation with genuine curiosity, and carried a fervent desire to introduce others to Jesus. While he tooled around the streets of San Francisco, effortlessly sharing intriguing facts and historical tidbits, he also listened attentively to us—the anxieties, reservations, and lack of confidence we harbored regarding the feasibility of this crazy idea. I believe Lewis could sense that we were in the early stages of grieving the loss of our familiar family and community in the South, as this call would bring huge disruption to our life. His sensitivity to that was indicative of his pastoral skills. He read the room well, always. 

Fast forward to 2009.  Lewis had been discovered as a gay man. His coming out was more about him being found out, than any kind of healthy process of telling the world who he was and seeking to navigate that reality in a way that might preserve his closest relationships. It is not surprising, as a lifetime of suppressing one's true self can take a toll on an individual. Growing up in more conservative religious circles, Lewis, like many from his generation, had limited options presented to him in his formative years: either a life of celibacy or marrying. Recognizing that celibacy was not a gift he possessed⁴, Lewis chose to enter into a marriage, have children, and suppress his true sexual orientation. However, it is now understood that repressing one's sexual orientation can lead to unhealthy and secretive means of its expression.

The aftermath was immediate and challenging for Lewis. In his early 60s, he found himself without a career to rely on. However, his determination to live his life authentically persevered. Over the years, I had often sought Lewis's expertise in tax matters, as he had a natural talent for it. With that in mind, he ventured into the world of tax preparation and quickly became a standout at H&R Block, and later Lindi Tax Service. His success allowed him to gradually build a thriving practice, affording him the opportunity to pursue his true passion: traveling. Lewis embraced these new adventures with the same fervor he had approached church planting. He thoroughly immersed himself in the cultures and histories of the places he visited, particularly destinations like Egypt, India, and many others. His Facebook followers were treated to a wealth of knowledge about these locations. Lewis approached his travels with the same meticulousness he displayed in church planting, meticulously researching each destination, identifying the sights he wanted to see, the questions he wanted answered, and the local cuisine he wished to savor. His insatiable curiosity about how cultures evolved and endured throughout time remained a driving force in his life.

His Facebook page served as a travelogue of his trips all over the world.

It feels almost fitting to say, "Of course, Lewis passed away while he was traveling." And indeed, that's exactly what happened in Mexico City. Just as we were beginning to enjoy his insightful Facebook posts about the vibrant life and culture of the city, he was taken from us. His final posts on Facebook were on June 20th, around 7 pm. He was enthusiastically praising the delights of Esperanza Bakery, sharing, "Dealing with the Phillies' loss to the Braves in Mexico City with a trip to Esperanza Bakery, where they continuously unveil an array of bread, donuts, pastries, and exquisite desserts right before your eyes and appetites." And then another post followed, simply stating, "Esperanza Bakery, Mexico City. Mucho yummy!" It was a perfect last post from Lewis, and as I write this with tears in my eyes, it encapsulates the essence of his joyful spirit.

I am sharing my personal experience of Lewis here, knowing that it resonates with many who knew him as well. However, it is important to acknowledge that Lewis, like all individuals, was complex. People can be perceived differently depending on the context in which we interact with them. The friend who appears one way with us may present themselves differently in their professional life or with their family. There have been times when I wished I could have seen my own father through the eyes of his friends, as they seemingly experienced him in a way that I did not. I have come to realize through my own interior work that we are all walking contradictions. We are a mixture of beauty and brokenness, and God, in His unwavering love, sees all of this and relentlessly pursues us to bring healing and restoration. 

The significance of Lewis's posting from "Esperanza Bakery" is truly fitting, as the word "Esperanza" translates to "Hope." Lewis embodied hope in his life. No matter how disheartened I felt, he always directed my attention toward the positive things happening around me that I might have overlooked. Even during the challenging years he faced, I never heard him complain or speak negatively about others. When I inquired about why certain individuals had distanced themselves from him or severed connections, he responded with empathy, understanding their perspective without uttering a discouraging word. A friend of mine used to say that "vision is hope with a blueprint," and Lewis possessed both vision and unwavering faith that God had a plan and would ultimately work everything out. I'm certain Lewis was familiar with the renowned quote from Julian of Norwich, which beautifully encapsulates my experience of him: "All will be well, all will be well, and all manner of things will be well."

May you find deep rest, my dear friend. Your legacy lives on, with countless churches established, numerous pastors uplifted, and a vast network of friends and family who cherished you profoundly. The impact you made will continue to unfold in ways beyond our comprehension. And I am grateful to have witnessed your transformation from TastyKake to Esperanza Bakery because, truth be told, those TastyKakes were, shall we say, underwhelming. I can almost hear your voice playfully correcting me on this in the realm beyond. I’ll see you on the other side.

I will miss this man so much.

1.  The late Tim Keller was the church planter who started Redeemer Presbyterian Church in New York City. For more, see my recent Substack Post: Tim Keller and Me 

2.  Terely, my proofreader, adds “I said that scared to death, readers need to know that!” 

3.  Church Plants in those days were weighted generally in two directions: Pragmatic (cf. Bill Hybels/Willow Creek) or Doctrinaire (cf. any number of churches that are started to preserve the past and mainly address the head but not the heart. Slogans like “to be a reformed witness in the community” are common among this approach) 

4.  Telling people to “just be celibate” is one of the tragic messages LGBTQ Christians have been told over the years. Celibacy, Scripture teaches us, is a gift, not a mandate. For more: https://reformationproject.org/case/celibacy/