Life Story | Pastor spent his life caring for his flock

The urgent phone calls would come in the middle of the night to Dr. Donald Cherney.

Sometimes it'd be to pick someone up from the jail. Other times it'd be a sick parishioner.

Every time, Cherney would go.

The homeless would show up on Cherney's doorstep because his parsonage was next to the church. He'd feed them and give them direction in their life but wouldn't give them money. He knew what money wouldn't help.

"He would do most anything to help someone in need," said Fred Morris, a longtime friend and retired police officer. "He was someone everyone just admired."

Cherney died March 13 at the age of 78, leaving behind a loving family and community of friends and parishioners who say they'll miss their loving pastor and community servant.

His life's service took him around the country with the Lutheran church until 1979, when he settled with his family along the Grand Strand. Here, he changed his focus.

After decades of service as a church pastor, Cherney decided he wanted to become an institutional chaplain. And for the next 15 years, he worked with the Waccamaw Center for Mental Health, giving spiritual advice and counseling.

"He wasn't all fire and brimstone. He wasn't a holy roller," daughter Ruth Ballard said. "My dad had a gentle and honest understanding about how all of us will reach heaven together. He believed in the message of forgiveness."

His graceful attitude led many to seek his guidance. Donna Ascherl, a member of a church in North Carolina where Cherney occasionally spoke, talked through issues of her divorce with the pastor. Morris, a police officer in North Myrtle Beach, would send troubled officers to seek Cherney's guidance.

"He was easy to get to know, down to earth, and very compassionate," Ascherl said. "What you saw with him was what you got."

Later in his life, he served as a volunteer chaplain to an American Legion post along the Grand Strand. There, he formed relationships with many veterans just like himself. Hundreds of those relationships ended with Cherney conducting the funerals of his friends.

"They've had a hard time without my dad," Ballard said. "He was close to them."

It wasn't just relationships Cherney built. He was a master carpenter, often constructing the frameworks of the churches he led. He could tear a room apart and rebuild it better than ever, said many who knew him.

"Most important my dad taught me my faith in God. But he taught me a love to build things too," said his son Tony Cherney. "Those are things I carry with me today."