I’m a PCA (Presbyterian Church in America) church planter living and ministering in my hometown of Fremont, Neb. There’s nothing particularly earth shattering about that, I know — but here’s the rub: If you had told me 10 years ago that this would be the case, I would have laughed at you, cussed at you, punched you — or some combination of all three.
Why? Well, probably because I would have told you that I was either not gifted for it, theologically opposed to it, or would never, ever, ever in a million years think of going back to The ‘Mont.
Not Gifted for It.
I would have told you, 10 years ago, that I was a pastor/theologian. Preaching and teaching were my primary gifts — not the kind of glad-handed evangelism I thought was a part of church planting.
I mocked, with great scorn and contempt, the guys who were a part of the Billy Graham School of Missions, Evangelism and Church Growth at Southern Seminary. “Maybe, when they grow up, they’ll put their big boy pants on and read some books without pictures in them.”
I mean, who actually thinks you can plant a church around Word, prayer and sacrament? Thanks, but no thanks.
Theologically Opposed to It.
As an undergraduate Bible major at Taylor University, I read John Piper’s Desiring God. Reading that book carpet-bombed any theological system I thought I had growing up in the Christian and Missionary Alliance. I entered Southern Seminary as a “Piper Calvinist” and grew in my love and understanding for the sovereignty of God — especially as it related to the salvation of sinners.
While I was certainly sympathetic to Reformed/Presbyterian soteriology, well, they baptized babies didn’t they? Again, thanks, but no thanks.
Never Going Back.
“The plains leave an indelible mark upon one’s soul — both for good and for ill.” — Willa Cather.
The joke in high school: Fremont is a great place to be from, but I wouldn’t want to live there. Athletics was my ticket out of my hometown, and while I enjoyed coming back to visit my parents, I had felt the ill mark of the plains upon my soul.
Thanks, but “wild horses and nickel beer” couldn’t drag me back.
How Do I Get There From Here?
So, with three strikes, how did I get here?
First, through my mistakes — I plowed quite a bit of ministerial ground with my chin. Second, to quote my grandparents: “The Lord God Almighty overruled our (my) dumbness.”[1] While the second factor certainly trumps the first, my mistakes are much easier to identify, discuss and learn from. The second is cause for doxology, but not so good for analyzing.
Let me put it another way: From 1996-2006, I pastored four different churches. The first (while in seminary) was from November 1996-1999. The second: 1999-2000. The third: 2000-2003. Finally, the anchor leg went from 2003-2006. Only one of those congregations was sad to see me go.
Two of them ended with me resigning and pitching a fit on my way out the door. The remaining church found the deacons asking me to leave, and I had the good sense to ask for some time to find a new place of ministry. Not a great start for a guy who had been told he was a “five-talent minister” and a Preaching Award Winner while in seminary.
