Keeping watch: Reflections from an evening's intercession

We have this monthly practice at Refuge that I call “Wait & See”. On the first or second Sunday evening of the month those who can gather in the sanctuary to wait upon the Lord. The first half hour or so we find a quiet place in the sanctuary to read the Scriptures or still ourselves while either sitting or kneeling. We're encouraged to pay attention to Scripture or thoughts that come to mind while we wait. The second half hour, then, we circle up and share what Scripture or impressions we experienced and then see if we can discern a common thread or “word” that the Holy Spirit is bringing to mind in helping us to pray. Admittedly, it's more art than science but it seems more often than not to work for us. This is a reflection based on December 2019's gathering.

“And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,

“Glory to God in the highest heaven,
    and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”

So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them.” Luke 2:8-18, NIV

While kneeling at the altar and trying to still my scattered thoughts a seasonal verse comes to mind: “And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night”. Just what did it mean to 'keep watch' over the flock? My assumption is they were staying awake and alert to ensure their sheep remained safe from predators that may slink into the herd unawares or that none of them wandered off from the flock of their own accord. The night the angel showed up was, as we say today, “just another day at the office.” It was an otherwise normal night suddenly and terrifyingly interrupted by a messenger of heaven announcing the dawn of a brand new age. Have shepherds in those days or really in any day ever commanded the respect of their contemporaries? Bottom-dwellers the lot of them living on the outskirts of society caring for critters that are renowned for their skittishness and stupidity. But at the moment that the angel stands before them and announces the birth of Messiah in nearby Bethlehem they find much to their surprise that they are on the proverbial 50-yard-line of God's new thing he is beginning in the little town just over yonder ways.

In response to this heavenly visitation they head into town to get a look-see themselves and discover that, just as the angel had said, here was a young couple holed up in a shallow cave and their brand new baby boy lying where livestock would normally find their feed. I like how The Message translates that moment: “Seeing was believing” (v. 18). They saw it and then whooped it up and told everyone they met just what they had heard and later seen with their own eyes: at long last the days of Messiah had begun.

First witnesses of Messiah

The handful of us gathered in the sanctuary tonight have not come seeking an angelic visitation. We're just here to seek God's face and wait upon Him. And if he should speak to us then it will be our job to let others in on what he has said allowing them to judge themselves whether or not it's a 'word' from God – or not.

In a way, we too are keeping watch over the flock (there are never many of us at these gatherings but those who do come are usually the elders of our fellowship). We are “guarding the flock”, “overseeing them” for their own welfare, on guard against predators and against their knack to wander off and drift apart. While kneeling and thinking about these things a few more verses come to mind:

Acts 20:25-31

Paul, on his way to his “rendezvous with destiny” in Jerusalem, meets once more with the leaders of the Church of Ephesus:

Paul says farewell

“Now I know that none of you among whom I have gone about preaching the kingdom will ever see me again. Therefore, I declare to you today that I am innocent of the blood of any of you. For I have not hesitated to proclaim to you the whole will of God. Keep watch over yourselves and all the flock of which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers. Be shepherds of the church of God, which he bought with his own blood. I know that after I leave, savage wolves will come in among you and will not spare the flock. Even from your own number men will arise and distort the truth in order to draw away disciples after them. So be on your guard! Remember that for three years I never stopped warning each of you night and day with tears. (NIV)

Peterson translates 28-31 in this way:

“Now it’s up to you. Be on your toes—both for yourselves and your congregation of sheep. The Holy Spirit has put you in charge of these people—God’s people they are—to guard and protect them. God himself thought they were worth dying for.” (Msg)

“I know that as soon as I’m gone, vicious wolves are going to show up and rip into this flock, men from your very own ranks twisting words so as to seduce disciples into following them instead of Jesus. So stay awake and keep up your guard.”

So the need for vigilance in the exercise of pastoral oversight is necessary not because we want to control people but exercise good spiritual care for them.

1 Peter 5:1-3

“I have a special concern for you church leaders. I know what it’s like to be a leader, in on Christ’s sufferings as well as the coming glory. Here’s my concern: that you care for God’s flock with all the diligence of a shepherd. Not because you have to, but because you want to please God. Not calculating what you can get out of it, but acting spontaneously. Not bossily telling others what to do, but tenderly showing them the way. (Msg)

There is something real to this shepherding-thing which requires diligence on the part of pastors and elders whom God has placed in places of authority.

So this night, kneeling at the altar waiting upon the Lord I, too, am playing the role of a shepherd keeping guard and praying God's protection upon the flock of God who gather at 724 Leonard Street. These people, with all their virtues as well as their flaws, “God himself thought they were dying for.”

As I kneel there different faces come to mind of individuals who while once part of the “festive throng” of our regular gatherings (Psalm 42:4) have now become inactive on account of being overwhelmed by life. While no longer “here” nor seemingly able to contribute in any meaningful way to the fellowship they are still part of us and require my encouragement and prayers for the protection of their souls. I sincerely believe that just like the earth is made up of huge tectonic planes slowly moving infinitesimally across the globe so our souls do the same. Why else would the writer of Hebrews warn: “We must pay the most careful attention, therefore, to what we have heard, so that we do not drift away” (Hebrews 2:1, NIV)?

Nothing is static. Everything is in movement.

So, we guard. We watch. We wait. We pray. We intercede. We visit. We encourage hoping to strengthen those who have become weary in well-doing.

Sharing notes

Later as we gather in the “couch corner” of the sanctuary to share our thoughts and impressions, Duane shares of old Zechariah, while burning the incense in the holy place in the Temple, Gabriel appears before him and announces: “Your prayer has been heard” (Luke 1:12ff). How many years had he prayed that prayer? After all he was an old man and his wife, Elizabeth, was way past her prime.

Don't doubt God's messenger

When was the last time he had prayed that prayer? He questions the veracity of Gabriel's announcement and, of course, for his trouble is struck mute and has to watch the wonders of his elderly wife's growing abdomen until the day she gives birth to their son. What Duane feels that we need to hear is that God hears our prayers and while not everyone is answered in a timely way – if at all – it's important to remind ourselves that this regular gathering together is not just a waste of time. God is watching, listening and nearer than we suppose. And should he decide to send a messenger to inform us that our prayers for our fellowship are heard we best not ask too many questions.

Randy is the only real shepherd in our bunch. He owns and cares

for a small flock of them on his and Renee's hobby farm. He laughs as he thinks about his flock and how after a recent snowstorm a large pile of snow had dropped from a tree near the feed trough. This mass of frozen water crystals set them all on edge and they refused to approach the trough hungry though they were. Randy had to get out there and move the snow pile or they would have starved themselves for fear of the big white mass that stood in their way. Good thing they had a shepherd who was “keeping watch” over them.

Lois shared how she found herself reflecting on the prayer of Ezra. Ezra is the scholar and priest sent to re-establish the regular routines of Temple worship and life in Jerusalem following seventy years of exile. He's a bit of a crank and exercises a firm hand but to be fair a firm hand was needed. The people were back in the land but already were engaging in spiritual compromise, intermarrying with folk who were not God-fearers or followers. Did they learn nothing from exile? In chapter 9 he prays:

“And now this, on top of all we’ve already suffered because of our evil ways and accumulated guilt, even though you, dear God, punished us far less than we deserved and even went ahead and gave us this present escape. Yet here we are, at it again, breaking your commandments by intermarrying with the people who practice all these obscenities! Are you angry to the point of wiping us out completely, without even a few stragglers, with no way out at all? You are the righteous God of Israel. We are, right now, a small band of escapees. Look at us, openly standing here, guilty before you. No one can last long like this.” (Ezra 9:13-15, Msg)

Let's admit it: there's plenty to be riled up about today

Lois is a grandmother and an elder in our fellowship. She is a very loving person but she struggles with what she sees as the Church – big “C” - seems to more and more reflect our culture (increasingly pagan by the year) rather than the other way round. “No one can last long like this”. Or, we will last but we will cease to represent Him.

So these became our prayer points for the evening, our intercession for the flock of God here at this fellowship prone to wander because of busy-ness and inattention, for those we know and love who are doing just what the writer of Hebrews warned them not to do – fall out of the habit of meeting together (see Heb 10:25) – and for Christians of the Church of Jesus in our area that we repent and align ourselves with His rule and standard as opposed to whatever messages we are receiving from our culture of what is “right” and “normal.”

Before the end of our gathering we didn't receive an angelic messenger to assure us that “our prayer has been heard.” I guess we didn't need that because the things we prayed for and about lined up with what God has clearly spoken in his Word. We trust that he did hear us and that somehow our gathering together and intercession mattered for these people that he thought were worth dying for.

Ain't that rich

Ah, there's a story that goes with this pic

“What liberty a minster enjoys in the disposition of his time! No other man but the retired millionaire is such a monarch of his day as is the minister. He can read on Monday morning, or write, or walk, or mingle all three, just as he deems best. On Tuesday morning he can attend to his correspondence, or catalogue his library, or eat the heart out of some new book, or meet a company of friends, just as he decides. The order of his going out and coming in is largely at his own discretion. Within wide limits he is the monarch of all the hours he surveys. Such liberty is dangerous; it has spoiled its thousands.”

The Minister as Shepherd by Charles E. Jefferson (1860-1937)

I may have been in charge of this gathering
but these dear ones really stole the show

It's Friday afternoon and as I look back on the week that was I'd say overall its been a pretty good week. I've chaired a city council meeting at City Hall and participated in an elder's gathering at the home of two of our elders. I've enjoyed prayer alone and also prayer with others – at a prayer cabin in rural New Auburn with fellow ministers and with fellow coaches at a home in town. I subbed a day at Roselawn Elementary and also read to kids at the same place as I am wont to do a couple mornings each week. I led a service at Atrium (our local nursing home) on Wednesday and enjoyed lunch at The Center with an elderly couple from town on Friday. I've taken opportunities to read as well as to meditate on God's Word. I took my wife out for lunch yesterday afternoon and then attended the wrestling match between C-WPF and Bloomer-Colfax last night. Tonight I plan to attend a dance recital of the daughter of some friends of ours and tomorrow night a group of us plan to go caroling downtown. If variety is the spice of life, well I guess you could say my week has been fairly well seasoned.

This was a few weeks ago where the mayor was asked to speak
on municipal government at Roselawn

I love what I do. I'm so grateful that I don't punch a clock nor have to walk the same beaten path day after day. While I keep my leadership team well-informed of my comings and goings I do this without any sense of obligation or feeling that someone is looking over my shoulder. Years ago I asked my leadership team for a job description to wit they replied (in so many words), “Why would we want to do that? We want you to tend to the things you feel God has given you to do.” The more I think on that moment the more thankful I am that they refused to give me what I asked for – and for the trust that is implied in that refusal.

Cross is one of my favorite times of year

When it comes to pastoring, I don't have a lot of expectations that I labor under other than the usual suspects – lead the weekly worship gatherings of the fellowship I serve, preach, teach, visit those who are ill or have become infrequent, lead the regularly scheduled leadership meetings - you know, the pastorly things we expect pastors to do. If I chose to, I guess I could lounge around all week at home and do as little as possible for the building up of the church. Maybe that is what Jefferson is alluding to when he says that the liberty of my time is a pretty precarious thing. But what a boring life that would be – and how narrow. Throughout the course of the year I'm coaching high school and middle school athletes (in the fall and the spring), reading to elementary kids, hashing through civil and community matters, ministering to inmates at the county jail, preaching and teaching the Word, leading our monthly deacon's meeting, subbing at school, and participating in all kinds of prayer gatherings. And this is to say nothing about the plethora of lunch or coffee “dates” I'll have with others throughout the course of a given year or the pop-in visits that I regularly experience (and enjoy). No, I'm pretty lucky for the freedom that I enjoy doing the work that I feel I was born to do.

"Bar-hopping" (a caroling experience) is always fun

I'm not going to get a raise this year from Refuge. They can only give out what they take in and frankly, it's not been a good year. But while they can't compensate me financially beyond what they do now Jefferson is so right when he reminds me that “no other man but the retired millionaire is such a monarch of his day as is the minister”. So true. By that definition, I'm a pretty wealthy man and grateful for the trust that I have been endowed with. Here's hoping and praying I'll continue to honor God with that liberty as I continue to seek the shalom of the city I have been carried to (Jeremiah 29:7).

Stories worth telling

“What's the thing you like most about being a pastor?”

Last night while I was doing a study in the Gospel of Mark, Linda randomly asked me this question. We hadn't been talking shop and I hadn't come home with any complaints. She was just laying on the couch attending to her Kindle and I was sitting at our dining room table attending to my lap top. Being in mid-flow of a thought I asked if I could get back to her on that. She said okay and went back to what she was doing and I went back to what I was doing. When I had a place where I could pause, I sat down in the recliner next to the couch and quipped, “I guess its something to do.” That got a little chuckle out of her. But fortified with a mug of hot chocolate in hand I began to itemize and arrange my thoughts.

Every pastor I know never got into the ministry because they thought the pay would be good (it's an old line in pastoral circles to say, “The pay's not great but the benefits are out of this world.”) In the twenty-three years I have served as pastor in Chetek, only once have I ever been asked to present at the high school's job fair – and then I think out of the curiosity-value alone. No, the people who end up behind the pulpits of churches across America certainly have different stories how they got there but their initial motivation, as far as I know, is the same: they want to make a difference. Yes, they are complying with what they feel is God's call on their life but they see the need and they discern by all kinds of means that they may be part of the solution to that need.

The way we were 1991

When I was a young man and starting out in the ministry, I thought I was what Chetek needed and I was in a hurry to prove my point. I did all kinds of things in the name of ministry – preach, teach, lead a small group, lead a weekly Bible study at a low income housing complex, begin and lead a community youth ministry to name a few things - and the thing is had a lot of fun doing them. But experience and age has taught me that young pastors tend to do such things because they have the zeal and the energy to do them and they sincerely believe that their efforts will lead to something good, something of substance and of eternal value.

Now that I've been swinging away at it for over two decades, I can't say with any real conviction if I'm making a difference except that I still hope to. I don't believe I've been wasting my time. I think I've made a contribution to the public welfare. I think I've done some good work. I still find energy and joy in working out my salvation in this small town in northwestern Wisconsin. But as to “making a difference” well, I guess in the end, that's for others to say. And really, as Paul once said of his own ministry, “eventually there is going to be an inspection...[and it] will be thorough and rigorous.” (1 Corinthians 3) so it behooves me to build well and obey what the Father leads me to do. Or else...yeah, there'll be some 'splaining to do.

Of course, that doesn't answer the question - “What's the thing I like most about being a pastor?” (Linda was too kind to say it last night but I think it would be fair to say she would tell anyone who would ask her that it's hard for me to give a short answer to any question when a longer answer is available.) So, here it is in a single sentence: I like stories.

I love a good story. I read stories to my children as they were growing up. I still read stories to the children of Roselawn Elementary long since our own children walked its halls. Linda loves it when I read a story to her. The truth is each of our lives is a story in the process of being written in our own hand and yet also influenced and shaped by God's Spirit. My calling as pastor of Refuge allows me to be a part of several faith-stories in the making. I'm certainly not the central character. Really, I'm more of a bit player who's been given a front-row seat of watching God form salvation in the lives of those in my spiritual care.

"Bubba" today

I think of a 12-year-old kid named “Bubba” who showed up at a scavenger hunt at youth group one fall night “back-in-the-day.” Since the mid-90s I have watched this boy grow up to be a man and become a disciple of Christ, a worship leader, and a husband to a wonderful woman who has graced him with two beautiful daughters. Given where he's from now that's a story.

Troy, Marie & grandson Izzk

I think of last Christmas Eve when Troy and I walked into Chetek's cop shop. For years, Troy had frequented that place twice daily to blow into a certain machine that would gauge how well he was maintaining his sobriety. But on that day he and I came bearing gifts of home-made Christmas cookies to the chief and those who work for him as a way of saying thank you for serving. The look on Chief Peterson's face said it all. Now that's a story considering it was Troy's idea in the first place.

Awesome stories told here

Or what about the (now) one-armed farmer who lost an arm but gained a Kingdom perspective that has since taken him to Asia, Africa and, in time, will take him most certainly to other places as well? Or his wife who has recently decided to turn her back on twenty or more years at the bank just so she could work alongside her husband at their thriving farm? You'll have to take my word that that is definitely a remarkable story.

There are so many others. I have sometimes planted, more often than not watered and cultivated and every once in a while been there for harvest – great stories of God's amazing grace and I get to see it all unfold in real time while I play my bit-part the best I can.

Certainly one of the blessings of being in a single place for a long time is to be able to see God's hand at work in shaping lives through the thick and the thin and all the seasons in between. I get to see young kids that I baptize grow up to become adults, marry and become parents themselves. Of course, when you are here a long time there is also opportunity to see young kids who once were in Sunday School or youth group grow up only to slide away from their Christian mooring and sail out onto seas that take them far from the place they once seemed firmly rooted in both spiritually and culturally. At times like that I have to console myself that I am not the main player in their story and neither has it concluded yet. I don't start anything nor will I end it. I'm just their pastor for a certain time in their life until they move on to other places, other pastors, other churches or, in some cases, no church or pastor whatsoever.

I'm just grateful to be a part of it and that's what I like best about pastoring. Just this morning I got a call from a guy who had gone through an Alpha course I led two years ago. The course had been good for him but after it was over he gradually faded out of the life of our fellowship. He was offended but not at any of us. His beef was with God and why certain prayers of his had gone unanswered. This past Sunday out of the blue he showed up at worship. He called this morning to tell me how sorry he felt for being so consumed with his own problems and allowing his anger to get the better of him. It was just great to hear his voice and hear the sound of the fresh wind of the Spirit of God blowing in his heart. That's the stuff I love about being pastor.

Our daughter, Emma, was the salutatorian of her graduating class in the Spring of 2013. She closed her commencement speech this way: “As we leave this place, in the story of our life that we each are writing let's make sure its a story worth telling.” When she read it to me the first time she was laying on the same couch that Linda was laying on last night and I was sitting in the same recliner. That moment took my breath away and made me weep tears of gratitude for being blessed with such a child. To have been given three others just as wonderful is a story that lacks my ability to tell it with the appropriate wonder that it deserves. But it's true – each of our lives is a story being written to a good end we hope and pray. And for reasons that make sense to the Father alone, I get to be here to read a number of them.

In the thick of it

“And so this is good-bye. You’re not going to see me again, nor I you, you whom I have gone among for so long proclaiming the news of God’s inaugurated kingdom. I’ve done my best for you, given you my all, held back nothing of God’s will for you.”

“Now it’s up to you. Be on your toes—both for yourselves and your congregation of sheep. The Holy Spirit has put you in charge of these people—God’s people they are—to guard and protect them. God himself thought they were worth dying for.”

“I know that as soon as I’m gone, vicious wolves are going to show up and rip into this flock, men from your very own ranks twisting words so as to seduce disciples into following them instead of Jesus. So stay awake and keep up your guard. Remember those three years I kept at it with you, never letting up, pouring my heart out with you, one after another.”

“Now I’m turning you over to God, our marvelous God whose gracious Word can make you into what he wants you to be and give you everything you could possibly need in this community of holy friends.”

Paul's last words to the Ephesian elders as recorded in Acts 20:25-32, The Message

We weren't that empty

There were only 39 people at our weekly worship gathering yesterday morning and yet I feel fine today. In fact, I feel very encouraged to tell the truth. I pastor a small fellowship in a small community in northern Wisconsin. So, having only a couple of handfuls together for a worship service is not an unusual experience. While typically we average around 50-60 a Sunday this past weekend was the deer-rifle season opener and in a congregation made up of several hunting families that spells “excused absence.” Even our son home from college was out in the woods with his uncles and grandfather.

Given that I had to lead worship, facilitate the gathering and preach made it a work day indeed (I love doing any but having to do all in the same setting is not what I would call preferable.) The day before while I was out in my deer stand I got a text from one of the kids from Focus away at college wondering if I wanted help on Sunday morning leading worship. He's a fairly musical kid who has taught himself to play guitar and the thought of having one more instrument to bolster our small worship team of a mother-daughter combo and myself was inviting to me so I texted him back, “sure!” So at 9 a.m., an hour before our gathering normally begins, Monica and Rachel got behind their mics for sound checks while Derek and I tuned up our guitars (he on his electric while I on my Fender acoustic.) I got a little grief from Derek and Rachel (19 and 18 respectively) for picking not one but (heaven forbid) two hymns (Blessed Assurance and Great is Thy Faithfulness) but they were otherwise good sports about it and for the next 45 minutes we warmed up the sanctuary as we went through the worship set I had pulled together on Friday afternoon.

By the time we were through practicing there were perhaps 15 people in the building and by 10 a.m. that number had grown only by 2 or 3. It was “go” time. But just like most Sundays, it's the music that draws them in. By the end of the first medley of songs, 10 or more folks had wandered in and two of them guests, a father and his young son. By the time we returned to worship following our meet-and-greet/offering/announcement-time eight more had straggled in. And early into our main worship set the rest showed up. But the response to worship was real. People entered in sincerely and devoutly. When I “opened up the altar” - the time in our gathering when we invite people to come forward, kneel and receive prayer from the body – it was like a flood-gate. Young and old alike made their way – here was a young man that I know is earnestly seeking God's direction for his life; here was a guy fresh out of the Justice Center (and who had brought his three juvenile sons to worship with him); here was an older missionary presently on furlough who a few weeks before had been hospitalized for a severe concussion and broken vertebrae in his neck while cutting a tree down behind his home; here was a local massage therapist at something of a crossroads in his life; here was an middle-aged woman facing surgery soon. All across the altar they knelt before the Lord. For a little while I was concerned there would not be enough ministry team members on hand to pray for each individual (usually, our trained prayer ministers will pray for one individual and then return to their seat.) Fortunately they recognized that we were shorthanded and a few of them were more animated than usual as they moved about the altar praying for those gathered there.

For corporate intercession our practice is to have a floor mic where designated “pray-ers” go to pray for the various needs listed on the prayer insert in the bulletin while the musicians on the worship team continue to quietly play. But due to the intimate size of our gathering, I just encouraged everyone to sit down and anyone who felt so inclined to lead out in prayer. “We can sit in 'Quaker-silence' if you prefer – even though that's not preferable to me,” is what I told them (frankly, when we practice an “open mic” format for Pentecostals we're a pretty sorry lot; no one seems too eager to pray out loud.) But not yesterday. Yesterday for nearly 15 minutes various individuals sat where they were and prayed for various needs and individuals most which were listed in the bulletin while some were not. From my perspective it didn't feel like an exercise in corporate disciple (i.e., this is the time in our gathering when we pray for our needs, etc.) but true corporate intercession agreeing together for God's kingdom to come and His will to be accomplished in each and every matter that was brought before Him.

It's more of a postcard than a letter

Recently I have been leading a short series entitled “Postcards from the Edge” on the “one-pagers” of the New Testament – 2 and 3 John, Philemon and Jude. I began Jude yesterday and my text was 1:1 (yes, only one verse and it took all of the time I usually take to preach which is usually about 45 minutes.) I loved preaching it and it seemed to have some “thickness” to it or have what an earlier generation of Pentecostal preachers referred to as “the anointing” (although admittedly that is entirely subjective conclusion.) When the gathering closed and I said my last “Amen” only a few left. Most remained to visit, to pray with one another, to comfort and encourage one another. You could say that the long and short of it was we had “church” yesterday.

While I was leading worship I had a random thought about our fellowship. Some of our members have grown stagnant and need reviving. They are, in my opinion, marching in place or plodding through the motions of being a disciple. Some of our members have drifted away not running headlong into a worldly lifestyle but slowly succumbing to the weight of carnality that permeates our North American atmosphere. Some seem to be at a flash point where they could go either way – embracing the call of Jesus or artfully dodging it. And some are genuinely growing in their love and devotion to Jesus and it is telling. Some are going forward. Some are falling backward, good and bad going hand in hand in the life of probably any local fellowship of believers. When I open my Bible I read,

“A farmer went out to sow his seed. Some of it fell on the road; it was tramped down and the birds ate it. Other seed fell in the gravel; it sprouted, but withered because it didn’t have good roots. Other seed fell in the weeds; the weeds grew with it and strangled it. Other seed fell in rich earth and produced a bumper crop...”

“...The seed is the Word of God. The seeds on the road are those who hear the Word, but no sooner do they hear it than the Devil snatches it from them so they won’t believe and be saved.”

“The seeds in the gravel are those who hear with enthusiasm, but the enthusiasm doesn't go very deep. It’s only another fad, and the moment there’s trouble it’s gone.”

“And the seed that fell in the weeds—well, these are the ones who hear, but then the seed is crowded out and nothing comes of it as they go about their lives worrying about tomorrow, making money, and having fun.”

“But the seed in the good earth—these are the good-hearts who seize the Word and hold on no matter what, sticking with it until there’s a harvest.” (Jesus in Luke 8:4-8; 11-15. The Message)

…

“I’ve known drudgery and hard labor, many a long and lonely night without sleep, many a missed meal, blasted by the cold, naked to the weather.”

“And that’s not the half of it, when you throw in the daily pressures and anxieties of all the churches. When someone gets to the end of his rope, I feel the desperation in my bones. When someone is duped into sin, an angry fire burns in my gut.” (Paul in 2 Corinthians 11:27-29, The Message)

…

“I’m passing this work on to you...The prophetic word that was directed to you prepared us for this. All those prayers are coming together now so you will do this well, fearless in your struggle, keeping a firm grip on your faith and on yourself. After all, this is a fight we’re in.”

“There are some, you know, who by relaxing their grip and thinking anything goes have made a thorough mess of their faith. Hymenaeus and Alexander are two of them. I let them wander off to Satan to be taught a lesson or two about not blaspheming.” (Paul in 1 Timothy 1:18-20, The Message)

…

“It’s crucial that we keep a firm grip on what we’ve heard so that we don’t drift off.” (The author of Hebrews in Hebrews 2:1, The Message)

What I glean from all of this is that my experience as the pastor of The Refuge in Chetek, Wisconsin isn't too at odds of what greater and wiser pastors dealt with in the first years of the Church. There were disciples made who later flamed out. Others wandered off. Others abandoned ship when opposition came. But then there were others who firmly took the baton in their hands and ran with it. I suppose it will always be so until He comes. So that's why I'm encouraged today. We may be metaphorically off the beaten path as people chart those things but in reality we are in the thick of it, doing what we can to make disciples of Jesus who will remain faithful under pressure and resist the gravitational force of this present darkness. In my experience, there seem to be more losses than wins but ultimately it's God who makes the seed grow. My task, among others, is to keep chucking seed as copiously as I can, and contending for the faith "that was once and for all entrusted to the saints" (Jude 1:3, NIV). God helping me, I plan to.

Some thoughts at the beginning of Year 22



CFGT sanctuary circa Oct '91

 This past Monday, October 1, our 21st year anniversary of living and serving in Chetek came and went with little fanfare. I got up early, as is my habit, and went for a 10-mile run (which is not necessarily my habit). With Christine at work, Ed away at school and Charlie not of a mind to join us, it was only Linda, Emma and I who sat down for our daily reading time together. These days we are reading Kisses from Katie, the autobiographical account of Katie Davis the young woman from Nashville who moved to Uganda following her graduation from high school in 2007 and is still there. After praying together, our day began in earnest – Emma off to school and myself off to Refuge. At this time of year, much of my working day actually concerns the 20 individuals that I serve as Cross Country coach either preparing for the next practice or tabulating the results of our most recent race. It takes more time than I care to count but I love to do it and therefore I think the Lord is in it.


I did take time, however, to journal that day and here is my entry for Monday, October 1.



Our installation photo - Oct 27, 1991

 21 years ago today we rolled into town & by God’s grace 21 years later we are still here. Ministry sure looks different than it did then but that’s not to say I’m jaded or now have a soured look on ministry. Just the opposite. I love what I do and am grateful that I have a place “to work out my salvation w/fear and trembling.”

It’s not a part-time job. In fact, it’s not a job – it’s a calling. It’s not particularly hard work but it is the stress of dealing w/people through their highs & lows, ups & downs, their ebb & flow. If God permits it, I will be here for some time to come. But it is not “my” church. It is His & I serve at his pleasure until he removes the calling from me.

However long I am here I want to finish well. Whether that means w/a flourish & a grand send-off or rolling out of town in a U-Haul once again I pray for my part to continue to do good work here & continue to pray “Your kingdom come, Your will be done in this city as it is in heaven.”


When CFGT (now Refuge) celebrated our 40th Anniversary as a fellowship, I invited all the former pastors who were still alive to come and share on different Sundays to share of their time here. It was sorta like Homecoming Week spread over a month or so. I have never forgot what John Tuttle, my immediate predecessor, said tongue in cheek: “I’ll let the archeologists decide what my impact was during my time here.” John, who is never one to blow his own horn, did good work here. When he and Char arrived in Chetek in 1981, they inherited a congregation that had just come back together from a split through the efforts of his predecessors, Reverends Chester Lodgelin and David Bakken. Mrs. Mattson, the founding pastor’s wife, was still a force to be reckoned with. After her husband died suddenly of a stroke in 1974, she was never really the same and keeping her husband’s legacy alive – and her place in the fellowship they had labored so long to give birth to – became her mission. By the time the Tuttles arrived, it was mostly a small, aging congregation with enough eccentric individuals to keep things always interesting. Essentially, John and Char were the young people and John set a course of bringing their small fellowship out of the time-loop they seemed to be stuck in. As different members shared with me, it was a difficult transition but by the time John left in the spring of 1991 Mrs. Mattson always referred to him as “Pastor.”



Christmas 1991

 CFGT/Refuge is now in its 57th year and now I’m the guy who’s been here the longest. To use church growth guru guy, Lyle Schaller’s term, if Rev. Mattson is the “founding pastor”, I am the “forever pastor.” According to Schaller, they are two of the three hardest guys to follow (the third being the “fallen pastor” who I pray never to be.) When my time is finally done, I don’t know what “the archeologists” will say my legacy is. I don’t think I want to even conjecture. I sincerely hope, however, that my predecessor blesses me as much as I thanked God for John and Char in my first ten years.

On Monday, I spent time in prayer, journaling and Word. I also spent a good part of the day preparing for Cross Country practice and being there. But maybe my favorite part of the day came that night. Marty is a guy connected with Refuge through my ministry as a chaplain at the Barron County Justice Center (BCJC). He was released in late spring and has been a resident of Heart Island in Rice Lake since then. Heart Island, which is shaped like a heart, sticks out into the south end of Rice Lake. It is the home of Benjamin’s House Emergency Shelter, the Heart Island Family Enrichment Center, the Guest House and two Catholic nuns – Sister Jean and Sister Claudine. In Marty’s journey since he was incarcerated last December he has moved from a tiny flex cell at the JC to one of  the dorms to an apartment at Benjamin’s House to the downstairs half of the Guest House duplex. Six months ago, he lived in a room a little bigger than a phone booth. Now he has a room with a view looking over the bay – and the good news is he doesn’t have to pay taxes on it!



Color walk October 1991

 He hasn’t been feeling well for awhile and when he finally went to the doctor a few weeks ago he pronounced the death sentence on him: he has inoperable, terminal cancer. Apparently, it has progressed so far that while they could attempt treatment, it was the doctor’s opinion that it was too late to do anything except make him comfortable. In any case, Monday night I went up to see him and I brought Troy along. Troy, a former resident of the JC himself and now my partner in ministry to the inmates there, met Marty when I brought him to Refuge back in August. It wasn’t that they struck up an instant friendship but having both been former members of “the fellowship of the orange jumpsuit” they are connected by common experience. As we sat in Marty’s front room with the Sisters and his large Great Dane, Katie, laying between us, while I was the pastor it was Troy that Marty was listening to that night. And that made this moment common to every pastor very special indeed. A guy I had the blessing to lead to Christ and begin to disciple last year was sharing comfort and encouragement with a guy who began his Christian journey again just a few months ago. Before we left, I prayed and anointed Marty with oil but fittingly Troy got the last prayer in.



Christmas program Dec 1991

 That’s how my first day of my 22nd year ended, me and a former inmate of the Justice Center praying over another former inmate and homeless man dying of cancer. I had hoped to spend some time in prayer and reflection before I called it a day – a spiritual exercise in rededication to the work God has called me to - but when I got home, my early morning routine caught up with me and I was in bed and asleep before 10. I was up by 4 a.m. the next morning and soon after on the road running going after my next ten miles and at the onset of my next year of service in this wonderful place God has put me.





October 1991 - It's not about the building