Culture Shock and Awe

“Barron County is a county located in the U.S. state of Wisconsin. As of 2000, the population was 44,963. Its county seat is Barron.” - from Wikipedia page on Barron County (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barron_County,_Wisconsin)

I live in a mostly white county. Exhibit A is a short article on Barron County that I found at (where else?) Wikipedia:

As of the census of 2000, there were 44,963 people, 17,851 households, and 12,352 families residing in the county. The population density was 52 people per square mile (20/km²). There were 20,969 housing units at an average density of 24 per square mile (9/km²). The racial makeup of the county was 97.69% White, 0.14% Black or African American, 0.81% Native American, 0.32% Asian, 0.04% Pacific Islander, 0.32% from other races, and 0.69% from two or more races. 0.96% of the population were Hispanic or Latino of any race. 34.4% were of German, 21.8% Norwegian and 5.3% Irish ancestry.

In case you're wondering if anything has changed in the last decade, the facts I gleaned from a report on the 2010 Census reveals that while we have experienced a slight population increase, at 96.5% we remain a predominantly Caucasian bastion of people of northern European descent. Of course, we do have a smattering of Native Americans who live primarily on the northwestern end of the county in the Cumberland/Turtle Lake area. Due to Seneca Foods being located there as well, every summer Barron County receives an influx of Hispanic migrant workers as well. But in Chetek, located on the far eastern end of the county, we never see any (if you don't count my neighbors down the street from me who relocated from Mexico some years ago.) All this to say that when we usually use the word “culture” it means an entirely different thing than what it means in, say, Minneapolis or St. Paul. “Getting exposed to a little culture” for us may actually come down to sampling some lefse and lutefisk at Chetek Lutheran at their annual fall feed here.

Some people wait all year to get their helping of lefse and lutefisk at Chetek Lutheran

But as I have related elsewhere (Same time next year), we've been found out. Somewhere around the turn of the 21^st Century, Somali refugees moved into Barron seeking employment at Jennie-O's Turkey Store, a plant that slaughters and packages 27,000 turkeys a day. While no one really knows how many Somali are living here now, estimates are between 600-700. There's enough of them to support not one but two mosques now and if you happen to be driving down LaSalle Street on a Friday afternoon, it's hard to miss the followers of Muhammad heading to the place of prayer. And it appears they are here to stay. Barron not only has a McDonald's and Subway now but two eateries owned and operated by local Somali businessmen to cater to local Somalis who seek halal (i.e., “kosher”) food. As they put it on one of their web sites, “Somali Food for Your Soul.” 

They serve a pretty good tea

But still at 12 miles as the crow flies from here, we don't see them around our town. There really would be no need for them to come here anyway. A person can get better prices and a far greater selection at Wal-Mart in Rice Lake where so many people from around the county, Somali included, do their shopping. So, with the exception of a few African-American children from a handful of “blended” families, we are mostly white people here whose children go to school with other white children and are taught by almost exclusively white teachers (if you don't count Senora Checkalski who despite her Polish last name is every ounce a Hispanic.) I personally don't believe that this is an equation for the breeding of latent racism because of the internet and easy access to Eau Claire to our south and the Twin Cities exposes us all to a greater world outside our small town. Still, “culture” in, say, Minneapolis is one thing – call it exotic, or adventuresome – but at the end of the day we can come home to our white neighborhood and eat mac and cheese or pizza and feel “cultured” enough for one day. “Culture” - be it Somali or First Nations people – is “over there” at arm's length not as close as our next door neighbors who act oddly and dress weirdly.

Dolores w/two of the Waterhouse girls March 2000

When we first moved here in the early 90s this isolation from people of other color came home to roost when Linda was at the mall in Eau Claire with Christine, our oldest, one day. At five years of age she “discovered” her first African-American and asked what was the obvious to her: “Who is that chocolate man, mommy?” Yes, it's a cute story but the idea of our kids growing up in a community off the beaten path and fairly insulated from the rest of the world frightened us. Apart from the Spirit of God, that may have been a motivating factor in seeking a greater involvement in the cause of mission. In time, we became a partner with a fledgling ministry on the Lac Coutre Oreilles Reservation about an hour and fifteen minutes north of here. Sporadically we would send crews up to help build their ministry center. And when they began a training school there made up of Ojibwa mostly from northern Ontario, they would come and join us at least once a term for what I called our reenactment of the first Thanksgiving. First Nations people and descendants of those who first settled the eastern seaboard sitting down to eat turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy with some frybread and wild rice on the side. We always had sharing. One year we even had dancing. Some of these folks became my friends and one winter I went with a team to visit one of the reserves in northern Ontario where a few of them are from.

Somali men at prayer

We became involved in ministry to the local Somali first through prayer. We got a little educated and then during Ramadan for a few years running would host times of prayer for the Somali. When a young couple from California felt led to come to Barron to begin a ministry to this segment of the Somali diaspora five years ago, they were “launched” from Refuge. We have been in partnership with them ever since. A woman from our fellowship with a penchant for cooking has become pretty good at frying up a batch of sambusa when the need arrives. While only a handful of us have actually had conversations with any of the Somali, that's still way more than how it once was. Our son, Ed, is a student at UW-Superior, about two hours north of here, and one of his study partners is a Somali kid from Barron – a kid that is well known by the founder of The Well International in Barron. I find this more than coincidental.

As I like to tell people, our last name is “International.” In response to a prophetic word, we didn't just become “The Refuge” back in 2007; rather, we are now “The Refuge International.” Personally, I was quite shy about this at first. After all, in a town that hardly boasts minorities (if you don't count the Poles and the Swedes) to my ears it sounds rather pretentious to give yourself a moniker like “International.” One thing I've done has helped bring a needed corrective to my understanding of our missional purpose. Several years ago I started asking guests from foreign lands who addressed the weekly worship gathering to take a few moments to pray for us in their native dialect before concluding their message. I just figure meeting people from different cultures and hearing the languages they speak in our sanctuary somehow prophetically “laces” the atmosphere with a desire to learn more of our neighbors who just happen to live across the ocean. Since making that the “price of admission”, as it were, we have heard many dialects spoken in our place – from Asia, from Africa, from Central America and elsewhere. In fact, in the last six weeks alone we have heard prayers in Russian, in Luganda (Uganda), in Swahili (Kenya) and in Ojibwa (LCO) all prayed by those from these places who have been our guests to share at a regular worship gathering here. It's like we've put our flag up on our little mailbox and the deliveries keep coming. I'm persuaded there is something big to this small act of prayer in other tongues.

This past Sunday, in our worship gathering, we had a Somali believer in our midst, friends of the founders of The Well, on one side of the sanctuary while across the way was an Ojibwa woman, fruit of the ministry that we have helped support on the reservation all these years. They were both present because they accompanied their friends to participate in our annual Thanksgiving service. Shire, the Somali man, asked for prayer to help find a job. Dolores, the Ojibwa woman, shared her need for prayer due to the fact that her cousin had died suddenly the night before. Later she was the one who on behalf of Discovery/the Church of Love and Compassion presented us with an official flag of Lac Coutre Oreilles and, at my request, prayed over us in her Ojibwa dialect. It was a special moment and afterward, one of our deacons suggested that we make it our aim to post a flag from every nation that has worshiped with us. That in itself may not be fulfilling the Great Commission but it speaks of a greater openness to getting on with what we need to be getting on with.

The flag of the Lac Coutre Oreilles band of the Ojibwa

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



Less than a handful

Last Wednesday we held our annual “Around-the-Grounds” prayer event. For several years running, we have held a “back-to-school” prayer walk and gathering on the Wednesday before school begins. On a typical prayer walk, we may have 15-20 people of all ages on hand who, after brief, corporate prayer at the flag pole outside of the school, disperse into teams of 2 and 3 to either pray around the school grounds or through the school halls. It's usually a mixed crowd of parents, supportive members of the community and kids of all ages. We start at the high school/middle school and later move over to the elementary school to repeat the whole process there. The teams who move inside pray in different places of the building invoking God's presence there. They are also encouraged to sensitively approach teachers and other staff and ask if they can pray for them. In a small town, most people know each other anyway and staff usually welcome prayer and are frequently touched by the fact that someone would pray for them.

But this year's walk, at least on the surface, appeared to be almost a non-event. Only two other individuals besides myself were on hand – a 17-year old senior and a retired teacher. Despite news releases in both the “Back to School” special insert in our weekly paper as well as on the “church page”, despite discussion at the Breakfast Club and email reminders, vacations, appointments, and other things, apparently took precedent over this important walk. But on the kingdom principle that three is a quorum (“For where two or three come together in my name, there am I with them." Matthew 18:20), we began our walk at noon as planned. We spent a good fifteen minutes praying by the flag pole before making our slow meander around the grounds of Chetek-Weyerhaeuser high school and middle school. Two of us use a prayer language and so frequently while one was praying in English the other was quietly speaking in tongues. We took Paul's counsel to heart about “praying every way you know how for everyone you know” (1 Timothy 2:1, Msg) and asked God to fill the place, to protect those who would frequent it or play upon the fields around it, and for gospel-sharing activity to take place within it. With the exception of the Middle School secretary, who is a part of the Refuge faith family, we found no one else to pray for. All else were either on lunch break or in staff meetings.

Part of the 2011 prayer walk

When it was time to move over to Roselawn, our senior had to go so it was now just Teresa and I. But we metaphorically linked arms and began the process all over again. All the teachers at the elementary school were in a staff meeting with the principal so we walked the halls mostly just quietly praying in tongues. Admittedly, given the fact that we had been at this for over two hours now, we both were beginning to run out of gas and out of things to pray for. But we finished the task and considered our schools sufficiently blessed for the onset of the new school year which begins just a few days from now.

That night I had invited all the other fellowships in town as well as anyone else from the community who were not able to participate in the prayer walk to join us at Focus for a prayer meeting. Apart from our own kids, Pastor Norm and my wife were the only two “outsiders” to bolster our ranks. But we worshiped, we had the group of about 20 break into three prayer circles and pray spontaneously for the upcoming school year and then, later, I opened the floor mic for anyone who wanted to pray something for us to corporately agree with. I had only two takers (but these kids can pray!) And then we returned to worship to end the gathering.

 So, was it a failed prayer meeting? I mean, what does it mean when you invite people to pray with you about a place and for some people that are important to us all and nobody (or very few) respond? Is it unbelief? Is it indifference? Is it not appreciating the significance of the Body of Christ corporately gathering together? Those who normally would have been there made a point of calling me up and letting me know they would not be able to participate this year on account of various reasons. And this is not the first time I have called a prayer meeting to order and there was no need of a gavel. But it isn't that prayers weren't prayed – they were! And they were not pale prayers, strung out needlessly to fill space. Both the three prayer-walkers and the twenty individuals who gathered in the sanctuary this past Wednesday night prayed sincerely and, at times, passionately for the things that were on their heart to pray. The fact that less than 25 were on hand to agree together on these things does not lessen the significance of their prayers. God heard and I trust that it matters.

At the annual Night of Power vigil held at The Well a few weeks ago, only six participated in the 6 p.m.-12 midnight prayer gathering on behalf of our Somali neighbors. A few nights ago at the House of Prayer, an all night prayer meeting was held on behalf of Steve and Kari from our fellowship as Steve continues to recover from a traumatic brain injury suffered on account of a motorcycle accident this past spring. While I certainly wasn't there for all of it, I think they had a good turn-out (maybe two dozen individuals who showed up at different times during the 12-hour set.) Worship was led and prayers were said. I don't doubt that they were effectual regardless of how any of us felt about the flow of our intercession.

I don't think our experience in Barron County is all that different than a lot of places in America. As a people we have no stomach for corporate prayer gatherings or we no longer know how to sit quietly and wait so “plugged in” are we. Things come up and certainly no one can be at everything but the relatively low turnout to these gatherings suggest to me that we lack understanding about the significance of when Christians in a certain community come together and pray. What's more, it is another sign that as a people we are maxed out emotionally and our appetite for God and his kingdom has been spoiled by other – and I would add, lesser – things. Nevertheless, I am grateful for those who came, for those who maybe did not come but prayed at work or at home and for all the other prayers that will be lifted on behalf of our teachers and students through the course of the next school year.

Sometimes the leopard can

“The gist of [Luke] 15 is that it is God who saves men, and that he does so because he wishes and delights to do so.” The Message of Luke by Michael Wilcock. The Bible Speaks Today Series. © 1979 by IVP. P. 156

Last Sunday afternoon in the multipurpose room of the Barron County Justice Center about 30 inmates and three jailers bore witness to God's ability to save. For the first time in his life, Troy went to jail on his own accord (he's been taken to jail lots of time before.) I've written about Troy before. Last July I shared about that remarkable Sunday when he asked to be born again (Being Born Again on Sunday - July 28) and then in December following Christmas Eve service (Miracle - Dec 30). Watching salvation come to his home in realtime has been one of my personal highlights of the past year.

Baptized at "the 40"

Troy and I met at the JC a few days after the services I held on the last Sunday in January 2011 and then began to meet weekly right up until I left for a three-week missions trip to the Philippines and he acquired Huber privileges. When he was released at the end of May, he was at our next worship gathering just as he had promised he would be. And he's been there ever since. After his release, we continued to meet weekly at his home reading Scripture and praying together. His wife, Marie, would sometimes sit with us but mostly it was he and I sharing together while the rest of his household came and went. He was born again in July and baptized at our Annual Faith Family Camp a few weeks later. Last fall, we ran a modified Alpha course of which Marie and he were a part of . When the plant he worked at relocated out of state, he didn't climb into the bottle (although he insists he was tempted to.) Within a week or two, he was hired by a factory in Rice Lake and has been working there ever since. His 13-year old son, Alex, comes to our weekly worship gathering from time to time as does Marie. Troy has used his many skills to repair all sorts of things at our facility, served as our cook for the Alpha Course and, when his wife was laid up, he actually baked a wedding cake for a young couple of our fellowship who were recently married. Is there anything this man cannot do?

Troy's son, Alex, and I share the same birthday (plus or minus 37years)

The man's got talent

Our Annual Missions Event this past May focused on loving our neighbors whether they live across the street or across the ocean. Troy shared at the Friday night story-telling session how he planned to return to jail as soon as we “off paper” (in order for a former inmate of the JC to participate in any of the worship gatherings they must be clean for one year or more) so that he could share his story with people who are sitting where he once sat. He met with Sheree, the Director of Inmate Services, in mid-July and was issued his official badge that designates that he is a member of the ministry team (his “get-out-of-jail-free” card.) And this past Sunday he accompanied me as I drove over to Barron to conduct the service there. He was understandably nervous. He has been to the JC way too many times for a guy his age and now, for the first time, he would be on the other side of it. Before we walked in, he turned to me and said, “I need a quick smoke.” A few puffs later, we were on our way in.

Due to the fact that there would only be one service today, the multipurpose room was full and because it was the sergeant on duty would assist the two other jailers who normally sit in on the worship gatherings. Jim knows Troy well having had to lock him up many times before. When the last block of guys were seated, Jim gave me the high sign and we began. Troy had told me at Refuge when we met for prayer before we drove over that he didn't think he would share much. When I introduced him to the guys (and gals), he took about three minutes to share a little bit about himself. It wasn't what you would call an eloquent speech but in my estimate him being there was the message that was exceedingly poignant. In that hour long service he took several more steps in what I like to refer to as “the Kingdom's great recycling plan.”

“Praise God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! The Father is a merciful God, who always gives us comfort. He comforts us when we are in trouble, so that we can share that same comfort with others in trouble.”(2 Corinthians 1:3-4, CEV)

In the Kingdom nothing is wasted – no trial, no pain, no stupid decisions we make, no wrong path we carelessly take – when, after repenting of the same and giving our pain to Jesus, he “recycles” it turning it into another's gain. That afternoon, Troy made good on a promise he made to me while still an inmate at the JC and testified just by being there of God's wonderful, yes, amazing, grace.

The Sower is still sowing

Sitting in that audience were two individuals that I have had frequent conversations with this past year. Both are what the guards would call “lifers”, people who just can't beat it and come and go to the Justice Center or other places of incarceration. “Sally” had been introduced to Jesus by one of the guards several months ago and having known her for years, we have met regularly over the last five months or so. She has two kids – a high schooler and a grade-schooler, both of whom are living with her mom in Chetek. She was facing sentencing a few days from our Sunday worship gathering. “Mark” is an undiscipled believer in Jesus who is facing sentencing another week from now. I gave Mark the same counsel I had given Sally the last time I met with her: Whatever happens in that courtroom, can you trust that the Lord's leadership is perfect? Can you believe the words that Paul counseled other disciples who were enduring hardship, “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose” (Rom 8:28) and that nothing, absolutely nothing, separates us from his love and care (Rom 8:31-39)? Sally was sentenced to prison for seven years this past week. Sheree sent me an email telling me that she no longer wishes to see me – or anyone else for that matter. What will Mark do when things don't play the way he hopes they will a week or so from now? Will he see a prison sentence as not only discipline but as an assignment from heaven? Or will he leave his Bible behind when he is moved to Dodge Correctional? Time will tell just how much or little the grace of God is at work in him. At the moment, Sally seems to be playing the part of the “seed in the rocks” as if on cue.

“Can the Ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard his spots?” (Jeremiah 13:23) so quipped Jeremiah to his Judean audience citing an ancient proverbial saying to upbraid them for their hard-heartedness. The implication, of course, is that people cannot change who they are apart, of course, by the work of a sovereign God. This past Sunday Troy bore witness to the fact that every once in a while, the leopard can, indeed, change. After the gathering was over and the inmates had cleared the room, Sergeant Jim came up to us to thank us for coming and then turning to Troy he said, “You know, it's good to know that some stories turn out well after all.” Amen, Sergeant Jim. I heartily agree.

May he never need it

No small thing

It's small but it's home

“As there are no little people in God’s sight, so there are no little places. To be wholly committed to God in the place where God wants him-this is the creature glorified.”

Francis Schaeffer, from “No Little People, No Little Places”

I live and work in a small town. I pastor a small fellowship in a community that boasts several equally small congregations. But in our little place God is doing wonderfully large things.

Every Tuesday morning for many years running a small group of pastors and ministry leaders has gathered at Bob's Grill to have breakfast and pray together. There's usually a lot of laughter and lighthearted banter followed by an earnest time of intercession for our community and the surrounding area. While announcements are allowed it is not a meeting. It's brothers and sisters (one of our membership is a female pastor and frequently wives show up as well) getting together to encourage and pray for one another. When Norm lost his wife of 52 years last year, we were his grief support group. When Kirk had some health issues that required hospitalization, we were his chaplains. With tongue-in-cheek homage to the movie of the same name, “The Breakfast Club” is how I refer to it. We minister in different settings and different theological traditions but that's beside the point. It is a brotherhood and our habit of eating and praying together on a regular basis has led to swapping pulpits from time to time, prayer gatherings together for our community and joint worship gatherings. After Norm lost his wife, with my leadership's okay we shut down our place one Sunday and went to join his simply as a sign that we loved him. This is no small thing.

It's easy to miss this small building

A couple of years ago, in response to the growing Somali refugee population in nearby Barron, a handful of Christian fellowships – three from Chetek among them – were instrumental in launching The Well International. Our mission is to affect our Somali neighbors with the love of Jesus Christ through tutoring, English language lessons and other such services. We rent a small facility in Barron, have hired both a Director and an English teacher and through the director's efforts have attracted a handful of volunteers to serve. Who among the town fathers of Barron back in the 19^th Century would have thought that a mosque would number among the religious gathering places in that city of 3,000 all these years later? I'm sure none of them. But 600 members of the Somali diaspora reside in the county seat now but the good news is a group of disciples of Jesus work alongside them in hopes of seeing God do the impossible in our small county: establish a Somali fellowship. That's not a big goal. That's setting your sights on the moon. In the four or five years that there has been intentional Christian witness to this small slice of Africa, many significant relationships have been formed and, especially recently, important dialogues of faith have occurred. Think of them like Mount Carmel-show-downs only with far less drama. Each group is seeking to convert the other but the important thing is that we are having this conversation! This, in terms of benchmarks, is huge.

The House of Prayer on its inaugural day

This past spring, a group of a dozen people from a few of the fellowships in our community began a House of Prayer right downtown. They are open every Thursday night from 6:30-9:30 and during a usual set there are a handful of individuals with a heart to pray for our city who gather together to worship and intercede. Like last night. I didn't get there until over an hour into the set. Rick and Sandy, the ex-officio leaders of HOP, were present along with one of their daughters and little Elijah, the 1 year-old son of a young woman from our fellowship who has been living with them since he was born. My daughter had led the first worship set. My son was leading the next. Another couple from the Alliance fellowship in town were also on hand. For three hours this small group sat in the gathering room and invoked his presence in our community in greater measure. This, too, is no small thing.

A matter of perspective

As you would expect in a small community among small fellowships there are small endeavors going on regularly whether it's the men's and women's groups that gather at United Methodist on Tuesdays (guys meet early morning, ladies meet for lunch) or Kirk's early morning Tuesday prayer group that meets at the HOP. And these are just the ones that I am aware of. Who knows how many others are gathering together in homes, at eateries or in church basements to read the Word and pray together. But the fact that our town is small, our fellowships are small and our groups are small does not add up to “smallness” as in inconsequential or insignificant. As Francis Schaeffer so aptly pointed out in the same essay as his oft-quoted “no little people” piece,

Nowhere more than in America are Christians caught in the twentieth-century syndrome of size. Size will show success. If I am consecrated, there will necessarily be large quantities of people, dollars, etc. This is not so. Not only does God not say that size and spiritual power go together, but he even reverses this (especially in the teaching of Jesus) and tells us to be deliberately careful not to choose a place too big for us. We all tend to emphasize big works and big places, but all such emphasis is of the flesh. To think in such terms is simply to hearken back to the old, unconverted, egoist, self-centered Me. This attitude, taken from the world, is more dangerous to the Christian than fleshly amusement or practice. It is the flesh.

Norm, the Caleb among us in the shadow of his 80^th year, makes a point of reminding anyone who cares to listen to him that in all his years of ministry spanning over 40 years he has never been a part of such a fellowship as the one that exists here. “It's not just that we're fellow pastors and so we get together to socialize with one another. You all have my back and I have yours.” He rarely says that without becoming a bit teary-eyed. Apparently to Norm this is no small thing either.

Blurred to protect his identity

We've had a recent addition to the Breakfast Club. I wouldn't necessarily mention it here if I thought my blog had a nation-wide following. But since mostly my readers include my mom and few other mildly interested fans I think I can share this without his secret getting too loose. Mick is the pastor of Faith Baptist Church, the largest game in town in terms of regular attendance (perhaps 200 on a Sunday morning). I lovingly refer to Faith as “the Walled City”. It's roots deep in separatistic Baptist tradition, by such tradition and habit corporately they have a hard time mixing with others – even with fellow Baptist fellowships of the same ilk in surrounding communities. But Mick has begun to join us at the table. He enjoys the fellowship – and we enjoy his. Admittedly he usually sits with his back against the wall for fear that some of the old guard might spy him eating with persons of such questionable theology as we but he has been joining us all the same. Despite the fact that I am a tongue-talker and Carrie is a female pastor, he's willing to be seen with us at the same table his critics be danged. Something new is afoot. And it is no small thing and it makes me thank God all over again for being assigned to such a small post in this small town.

Cameron Prayer Journey

“A small hamlet sprang into being in 1879, eventually it was named Cameron by Colonel George W. Ginty, in honor of Hon. Angus Cameron United States Senator from Wisconsin for many years. The location was in the old Town of Rice Lake which was created in 1874. Old Cameron was located 1 ½ miles south of the present site of Cameron at what was known as Holman's crossing.” pp. 63-64

…

“When the Soo Line started to build East and West from a point one and a half miles north of Old Cameron there was consternation in the village, some of the people wanted to move up to the junction and others wanted to stay put. Eventually everyone decided to move.” p. 64

“The History of Cameron” by Mr. & Mrs. Ray Burton, chapter 4 of Pages from the Past: An early history of Chetek and surrounding communities by Hazel Calhoun (1971)

A week ago today, I drove eight miles north of Chetek to spend the day in the village of Cameron. Just as I had in Prairie Farm a few weeks before (see Prairie Farm Prayer Journey), my purpose for coming was essentially to wait on the Lord and pray for this community. But unlike Prairie Farm where I was unacquainted with that community, I am fairly familiar with this small town. In our early years in Chetek, our two oldest who had learning disabilities received good and quality care at the Early Education program run out of Cameron Elementary. One of the first pastors in our area that I became introduced to was Pastor Wayne Hall of Abundant Life Church on Museum Road. He reached out to me and invited me to his weekly Tuesday prayer gathering for pastors. Over the years I have attended various services at Abundant Life or participated in county wide prayer events led by Pastor Hall. While the Cameron Prayer Bank was in operation, we held a couple of prayer retreats at that facility. Some of the kids from our fellowship's youth group have been students in the Cameron School District. And frankly, not a week goes by when either myself or members of my family pass through Cameron on our way to work or shop in Rice Lake. All this to say that at the onset I was aware of the need for greater discernment as I engaged in prayer for this small town.

Just going by appearances, Cameron has a very different feel than Prairie Farm. There is no “Welcome to Cameron” or “The Churches of Cameron Welcome You” sign (later in the day I did find a very small city sign that did welcome people to the village but it was on a street that, compared to Highway SS or Highway W, is seldom rode upon and therefore hardly noticeable.) Here is a community three times as large as Prairie Farm but the welcome mat apparently is not out. My first stop on my day long journey was Guy Speirs Park, a small community park located on the west side of Cameron on Cranberry Creek just as you are leaving town. Unlike Pioneer Park of Prairie Farm, this has all the trappings of a small town park. A pathetic looking swing and slide placed a couple of hundred feet from a swampy area. The grass was long. No flag adorned the small monument raised by the VFW. While their shelters are clean and look like they have been constructed in the last 10 years or so, when I went to use the mens room I was greeted by two snakes who had crawled in under the entrance door. Taken as an aggregate, this park and by extension, this town, has the look and feel of neglect and decay. Much like the creek flowing through the park which is ringed with algae, the village has the feel of a community that has seen better days.

For several years I have been struck by the apparent disunity or, at the very least, disconnect of the different fellowships of Cameron. There are three Lutheran fellowships – St. John's (Missouri Synod), Faith (ELCA) and Living Waters (ELCA), four congregations in the Pentecostal/evangelical tradition - Abundant Life, Towering Pines Community (Assembly of God), Good Samaritan Ministries and Highway Gospel - and St. Peter's Catholic Church. At one time, there was a Methodist congregation here (a two-point parish the other being Chetek) but that has been closed for many years. A Baptist fellowship in the separatist tradition moved in but they have since disbanded. The building sits empty now and up for sale. A group connected with the Methodist Church did try to begin afresh a couple of years ago (calling themselves Cranberry Creek) but I believe that effort, too, has ceased. A few years ago a family purchased the old Cameron Bank, remodeled it and opened up what they simply referred to as the Cameron Prayer Bank. For several years they were open on Wednesday nights and on every 11^th of the month from 11 a.m.-11 p.m. (on the basis of their persuasion that America was in its 11^th hour) and some of us from the Chetek area would gather there to pray. But they closed up shop last year and have since moved on. From an outsider's perspective, there seems to be something in the water that is choking off new faith ventures. While I may be incorrect on this, I do not believe there is much cooperation between the active fellowships in this community.

Guy Speirs Park looking north

Contrary to appearances, the water is flowing

I think the phrase that best sums up my impression of Cameron from my day of prayer there is that it seems to be a city of contradictions: they boast a beautiful new Middle School and plans are in the work for a much needed elementary school. Mosaic, a local telephone, internet and cable company built their headquarters here not too long ago. St. Peter's Catholic is a gem of a facility to visit. Rausch-Lundeen Funeral Home is also a relatively new beautiful facility. And just a few years ago, the citizens of Cameron dedicated their new public library and community center. Sitting in Guy Speirs Park I am struck by the fact that you are never out of earshot of the din of traffic – people passing on Highway W/Main Street traveling to or from Barron, the roar of traffic on Highway 53 just west of the city limits or on Highway 8 just south of Cameron or the steady stream of vehicles passing north and south on Highway SS. So many people pass through or around this little burb every day but how many live here? How many have placed roots here and are seeking the shalom of the city that they now call home? The homes on Main Street (I mean the old ones) are beautiful and ornate. Chetek has nothing to compare with it but for all these signs of promise – the new construction, the flow of traffic, the growth in the population (nearly 2,000 as of the last census), I was left with feeling of stagnancy much like the Cranberry Creek flowage passing through the park.

There's treasure in Cameron

I had brought my GPS unit along and knew there was a geocache in the park. I quickly found it and was struck by what I found in the cache: a pocket New Testament. I immediately sensed the Lord say, “There is treasure in Cameron.” That find put me in a different frame of mind and for the rest of the day I was in search of that treasure. I pulled out my Bible and re-read my devotional reading from that morning – Luke 12:49-59. It's the passage where Jesus sets the record straight: He's not here to make nice with everyone nor help everyone to make nice with each other. He's here to make trouble – to make a person choose are you for him or against him. He chides his audience for being willfully ignorant. “You can read the signs for a change in the weather, why can't you read the signs of what you see?” (see v. 56). He then warns them to repent before it's too late. It's not what I would refer to as “feel-good” devotional reading. He doesn't want to put us in a contemplative mood. He wants to unleash a hive of bees among us. Sitting in the shelter at Guy Speirs Park I read that aloud over the city and then walked out to the southern most point of the park to pray where I made a discovery: though it appears entirely stagnant, Cranberry Creek's water is flowing steadily. So out on that point I prayed for Cameron to respond to the Lord while there still is time and then prayed for the Church of Jesus in this community as well as for the pastors and shepherds who lead her. I prayed that wherever there was a sense of stagnancy, the water would flow again in their individual lives as well as in the congregations they pastor.

I then drove west out of town to Rudolf Road and turned into the new subdivision where I had run a year or so ago on a cold, winter morning. In this neighborhood of new homes there is a small park and boat landing on the Cameron Flowage. Unlike Guy Speirs, Babe & Phyl Park is nicely kept up and better equipped with playground equipment. But it must not be used much as their seems to be lots of green weeds growing in the sand where kids should be playing. I walked down to the Flowage to find the next cache there and pray for awhile at one of the picnic tables that are located in a nicely maintained area along the lake. According to the DNR website, the Cameron Flowage is a 59-acre lake that looks more like a stagnant river than anything else. Great globs of algae fill every bay. Where the public dock is I noticed two forlorn bobbers that must have been cut loose by frustrated fisherman. I was able to fish one out and it sits now on my desk as a mnemonic device to pray for every pastor in Cameron, every frustrated laborer who has been discouraged because of their lack of a catch. I prayed for each of them that they would cast again. The DNR assures anglers that there are panfish, largemouth bass and northern pike out there. Jesus assures us that the harvest remains unharvested and in need of more hands for the work. 

I caught that one and it now sits on my desk as a reminder to pray

Looking at the Flowage caused me to ask, "Where's the flow?"

Looking at that gross, murky water that I wouldn't even dare to wade in, I was inspired to read Ezekiel 47:1-12 and so read it over the Flowage but especially v. 10: “...so where the river flows everything will live.” I prayed again that wherever things are stagnant and murky and slimy that the river of God would flow fresh to renew the heart of the Church in Cameron.

Abundant Life Church

A third cache is located at Johnson's Landing on the Red Cedar River west of Cameron but there were way too many people at the take out area so I drove back across the river and into Abundant Life Church's parking lot to see if Pastor Wayne was around. I was fortunate to find him home cutting his lawn. We visited for awhile. Pastor Wayne shared with me that 2011 was a tough year for him. His small congregation split in two apparently over issues having to do with special offerings received for paying off their land. Yet despite the pain of the lost, he assured me “God is good! Our bills are paid and praise God I still receive my full salary!” Wayne has been here nearly 40 years – a generation – and if he took the time could fill a small book of God's move in this area. One of my favorite stories I once heard him tell was the Service of Reconciliation they once held in their sanctuary. Before white settlement in mid-1800s, this area was contended over by the Sioux and the Ojibwa. Eventually, the Ojibwa pushed the Sioux out only to be evicted themselves by the incoming Europeans. Wayne and his folks believe that their present sanctuary may have been built on or near a former Native American village due to the height of the banks at this part of the Red Cedar and for the ability to see up river and down quite easily. So he initiated a Service of Reconciliation between White, Sioux and Ojibwa. Wayne, speaking for the Europeans, a Sioux man from Pine Ridge in South Dakota and a contingent of Ojibwa from Lac Coutre Oreilles Reservation near Hayward sought and tendered forgiveness with one another and shared communion together. After the service, while preparation for the fellowship dinner was being completed, a great commotion came from outside. Twenty eagles were flying in great concentric circles over the sanctuary – a huge demonstration of God's favor (in any culture!) A good friend of mine who serves at LCO was also there that day and substantiates Wayne's story. Wayne and his wife, Karen, and the folks of Abundant Life, are part of the treasure in Cameron.

Abundant Life's property from Johnson's Landing

Home of good hot beef

 I had lunch at Crossroads Cafe in Cameron and was served by a friendly waitress. After lunch, I stopped in at the adjoining gas station and who should the attendant be but Jill, a woman who when she was much younger had attended the youth group I led in the 90s. Though we are friends on Facebook, we rarely chat there. I spent a few moments reconnecting with her before she got busy with customers. After lunch I drove back out to Johnson's Landing and spent some time in prayer there by the banks of the Red Cedar. The popular worship song from the 90s - “The River is Here” - percolated up from foggy bottom and began to run in my mind. I sang the chorus (all that I remember of it) and for the third time that day prayed that the Spirit of God like a river would flow through Cameron. Once again I found myself wrestling with the contradictory sensory experiences of the stagnant waters of the Flowage and the roaring din of the traffic on Highways 8, 53, and W. A lake crawls through this town but people race through it on their way to other points of interest.

The Flowage as seen from 15th Ave looking north

Looking south

Living Waters Lutheran

 After prayer, I drove back into town but this time I went the long way – north on 19^th Street and then east on 15^th Ave that crosses the north end of the Flowage. I entered Cameron on Clayton Street and drove over to Living Waters Lutheran (Living Waters Lutheran Church.) Two years ago during our sabbatical summer, we had worshiped one Sunday morning with these folks. They were formed sometime in the last five years out some kind of family rift at nearby Faith Lutheran. While I have never worshiped there, on our field trip to Living Waters in 2010 we found them to be very friendly, welcoming people, worshiped to the same songs that we sing at Refuge and enjoyed the pastor's message from Luke 15. This past Friday, I tried their front door and found both Pastor Ted and one of his leaders in the office. They were talking shop about their fellowship's mission trip to Denver that was leaving town the next day. 35 young people and chaperones would be spending a week in the Mile High City's downtown neighborhoods. “One of our specialties is taking kids on affordable mission trips,” Pastor Ted shared with me. During the last two Liberty Fest parades, they have always entered a float full of worshipers who boldly proclaimed Jesus Lord over our area. He and these folks here are also part of the treasure in Cameron.

The former Cameron Prayer Bank

The former Methodist, former Baptist congregation

I wonder the story on this place

After a brief time of prayer with these brothers, I then drove over to Main Street and parked my van across from the VFW hall. I decided to engage in a prayer walk proceeding west on Main as far as 11^th Street and then crossed and walked back on the south side of Main as far as 9^th Street, over to Towering Pines Community Church (Pastor Mike was not in) and then further east on Arlington as far as 4^th Street. While I walked down Arlington, I prayed for the “heroes” of faith that remain in this community, who are persevering, who are staying the course and believing for God's kingdom to come to this city of Comets (Cameron High School's mascot). In ancient times, a comet was a harbinger of doom, a messenger that bad things were heading this way. A week later as I try to collect my thoughts from this day in Cameron, I am brought back to my devotional reading from that morning (Luke 12:49-59). Jesus' words are like a shot across the bow, urging his countrymen to read the signs of the times and believe God's message before it is too late. I prayed in a similar vein for the people of Cameron as I walked down Arlington. I stopped in at Faith Lutheran but the pastor was not in so I headed back to Main Street. I stopped in at the Public Library and who should be working the front desk but Deb, a friend of mine who, along with her husband, used to be a part of Chetek Alliance Church back in the 90s. We visited for awhile. She told me that her ministry is to the kids who frequent this beautiful new facility. There is a sense of God's Spirit on her. She, too, is part of the treasure of Cameron. After praying for her, I stepped outside and headed to my van parked just a block away.

As I did in Prairie Farm, I finished my day of prayer back where I started – at Guy Speirs Park. I grabbed my guitar and walked down to the north shelter and spent some time worshiping there. Songs I sang and prayed there included,

Let the River Flow

Let It Rain

Let Our Praise to You Be as Incense

Lord Most High

Lord, Let Your Glory Fall

Cameron has much to be proud of – their new construction, the growth in their community, this southernly crossroads in our county. But part of her real treasure are the disciples of Jesus who live and worship there, faith communities endeavoring not just to keep the doors open but live out loud and vibrantly in honor of the Name. According to Pages from the Past, there was quite a bit of contention of moving the city from its original location to where it stands now. It may be reading too much into that to connect it to the present state of apparent disconnect between the various faith communities. It probably has more to do with a lack of intentionality on their part. So I pray John 17:21-22 for and over them – Pastor Wayne (Abundant Life), Pastor Mike (Towering Pines), Pastor Ty (St. John), Father Jim (St. Peter), Pastor Ned (Living Water), Pastor Loren (Faith Lutheran), Pastor Gene (Good Samaritan) and Pastor Jim (Highway Gospel) - that they would be “one...that [Cameron] may believe” that Jesus is God's Son sent to redeem them and that God will build his kingdom there.