John Holloway was a pastor to me, one of two men in my life who completely fulfilled that role. I first met him in 1995 when, after he called me on the telephone in response to an inquiry I made, we met for lunch in Griffin, Ga.
He and I shared some common ground. We had both served as United Methodist pastors, both had been influenced by the charismatic movement, were both married to strong, capable women, and both had three sons — although he would add a daughter some years later.
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