How I got here

Sometimes I think about how I wound up where I am, in the very satisfying role I presently occupy on the ministry staff of a large Lutheran Church. Me, the pastor who was ordained in The Evangelical Covenant Church and never expected to minister outside of that body. On the staff of a Lutheran Church and loving the church, the co-workers, and the people as much as I have loved any church in my life.


Fall, 2000. My disappointment was huge. I had come to a new church only 2 years previously and was certain that good things lay ahead. But several factors had caused me to admit that I had stepped into a dysfunctional climate that I would be unable to successfully lead as pastor. It had become obvious that the final good act of leadership, the last loving gift I could give to that church, was the hope that in my departure, they would find what they needed in order to turn a corner and move towards God's vision for their future. On my last Sunday, I concluded by saying,


"Just a word about what lies before us:


"Next Sunday I will not be here, because my family and I will be participating in the JDRF Walk to Cure Diabetes.


"Starting the week after that, I will be...


"...on special assignment.


"I don't know yet what that means, but I have faith that God knows, and will guide me in each step."


The truth of the matter is, I was not sure that what I had could be called faith. Hope might be a better word. I hoped my faith would be restored. But my life was a mass of uncertainty and confusion.


I remember saying to Alicia, "You know how I've taken one vacation Sunday in each of the past couple years, not to go on vacation, but just to visit area churches to see what else God was doing? Now we can do that all the time; we can visit a different church every Sunday!"


Alicia's response was wise beyond all telling. "You can do that if you want, and that's OK if you do. But the kids and I need a church...one church. And ElenaClaire and I have been thinking about Christ the King".

We had visited CTK the previous summer on the 4th of July weekend, at the invitation of our friend Catherine, whom we knew because of our shared journey as parents of diabetic sons. We had all enjoyed it and had noticed how much it resembled the healthiest of Covenant Churches.

I admitted to Alicia that I probably needed a church too - that wandering from church to church wasn't much of an idea. We made plans to attend CTK the next Sunday.


But I was still angry, hurting, wounded, and not a little distrustful. I told Alicia that I wanted no one to know of my career background - that I was a pastor without a church. I felt like a failure. I was diving into how I felt.


I quit shaving on Wednesday. I got up Sunday morning and pulled on a dirty black turtleneck and a pair of dirty jeans with holes in the knees. We went to church and I wanted to sit near the front.


I was a walking invitation to someone, anyone, to reject me. And when they did, I would walk away feeling justified in concluding that church wasn't part of my life any more.


But I remember sitting there, believing against all odds that there was a God who loved me, even though I was not feeling that love. Knowing I needed to feel His love, hear His voice, taste His forgiveness and grace.


Yet all the while thinking to myself, "What am I doing here? This isn't my church, these are not people I know, I'm not a Lutheran. What am I doing here?"


Then the service began. And the Lutheran Worship leader had selected among his choices for the day's songs, a Covenant song. A song by a writer from my tiny little denomination, a church body all but unknown to most of the world. But known by God, who had directed Mark to select Bob Stromberg's "As the East is from the west".

"As the east is from the west, so far has He removed
our transgressions
from us, Alleluia
Mercy high as the sky, reaching deep as the sea..."

I thought about that song, which I first encountered after it had been used at a Covenant youth gathering called CHIC. I thought about Bob, whom I had met casually through a friend named Marlene - and how we'd hosted him for dessert one night when he'd been in Lansing. I felt connected to my family of faith.


And I heard something else in my heart - the voice of God saying "This song is here for you. That leader up there doesn't know Bob's Covenant roots or yours. But I do. And I led him to this song for you. Don't worry, you are where you are supposed to be." And I felt peace.


We planned to attend again the following Sunday. But my doubt and my pain had overtaken me by Tuesday.


I quit shaving on Wednesday. I got up Sunday morning and pulled on a dirty black turtleneck and a pair of dirty jeans with holes in the knees... again. We went to church and I wanted to sit near the front.

I was, again, a walking invitation to someone, anyone, to reject me. And when they did, I would walk away feeling justified in concluding that church wasn't part of my life any more.

But I remember sitting there, again, believing against all odds that there was a God who loved me, even though I was not feeling that love. Knowing I needed to feel His love, hear His voice, taste His forgiveness and grace.

Yet all the while thinking to myself again, "What am I doing here? This isn't my church, these are not people I know, I'm not a Lutheran. What am I doing here?"

Then the service began. And the Lutheran Worship leader had again selected among his choices for the day's songs, a Covenant song. A song by a writer from my tiny little denomination, a church body all but unknown to most of the world. But known by God, who had directed Mark to select Lina Sandell's "Children of the Heavenly Father".

"Children of the Heavenly Father, safely in His bosom gather,
nestling bird nor star in Heaven such a refuge e'er was given.
"God His own doth tend and noursih, in His holy courts they flourish,
from all evil things He spares them, in His mighty arms he bears them..."

I thought about that song with roots that reach deeply back to my childhood. I thought about Lina, who is honored in statuary on the campus of the seminary I attended in Chicago. I felt connected to my family of faith.

And I heard something else in my heart - again - the voice of God saying "This song is here for you. That leader up there doesn't know Lina's Covenant roots or yours. But I do. And I led him to this song for you. Don't worry, you are where you are supposed to be."


And one more thing. I sensed that God said something else as well. "Rick, do I have to do this every week? Or can we settle this right now, between the two of us? You are where you are supposed to be. Be at peace. Stay here until I tell you otherwise."


And I felt peace.


At the time, I imagined that CTK would be my temporary home, my lifeboat until God opened the door to return to my Covenant home. I never remotely anticipated that I would be invited to join the ministry staff and would still be there nearly 9 years later.


I've wrestled over and over with God about this. I've watched for possibilities of returning to The Covenant. I still do. But in the meantime, I remember what I sensed God saying to me: "Be at peace. Stay here until I tell you otherwise."


Father's Day, 2009. I had the privilege of conducting the Men's Choir in worship at all three services. It was very well-received, and many kind words were spoken. But one remark stands out. One of my closest friends, who knows more intimately than almost anyone my wrestlings, placed an arm around my shoulder and said "Never doubt that you are where you are supposed to be".