he Once Lived Among the Dead. Now He Serves the Living on the Margins.
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.
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.
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.
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.
“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.
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.