A Layman's Call

A journey to the doors of SMP and back

This essay was originally included in an application to Concordia Seminary St Louis for the Specific Ministry Program. As I am no longer applying for this program, I offer it as a record of my life in Christ thus far. May it contribute to your meditation on the office of holy servitude, the summons of the Holy Spirit, and the syndicates of holy knowledge appointed to oversee these matters. Encouragement and “encouragement” are welcome!

How shall I now begin my tale to share 
When I aspire Your works, Lord, to declare. 
Let me reflect Your mercy on my way 
Which You have freely granted every day.

My father shepherded a small congregation. The town of George, Washington isn't much more than a truck stop off Interstate 90, but it has the best Fourth of July celebration in the state. We moved there in '99 before I turned two, so I don't remember the early years. My sister, two years older, had been born in Montana, while my one-month-old brother and I were born in Wisconsin. My youngest brother was born two years later. We four were the majority of the youth in church many Sundays.

My early memories hint at an active congregation, but by the time I served as an acolyte, the church was shrinking slowly. Older members died. Their children and grandchildren moved elsewhere. Members left when we shifted from The Lutheran Hymnal to Lutheran Service Book. My father confirmed most youths in classes of one when there was a confirmation class at all. There wasn't much community or circuit support for my father in his tireless endeavor to preach biblical truth to his congregation, and my mother struggled with social isolation and congregational politics. There seemed to be those who wanted my father to change his teaching, but he would not and he taught us to stand firm in the faith by his virtue, honor, and conviction.

Despite the struggles, I enjoyed church: the singing of hymns, the reading and preaching of Scripture, the familiar liturgy each week (adjusted only for Lent and Epiphany), classes after church, midweek and festival services and their familiar readings, the rhythm of the church year echoing the seasons. That was what I knew, that was what my father taught me, that was home. I learned that the rest – the people, the politics, the soup suppers, the VBS and Sunday School, the preschool, the parsonage – were passing.

My father would work in the office at church throughout the week - answering calls, printing the bulletin, studying the texts, preparing Bible studies - but always came home for lunch. He took walks behind the church to unwind after work, inviting us along when we were young and running the route with us as we got older. Every night he led devotions around the dinner table. We memorized the catechism and various Bible passages, he read Scripture and devotionals, and we sang a hymn. He and my mother have wonderful singing voices and I loved singing from an early age.

My mother taught us history, math, grammar, spelling, and anything else we needed to know, always giving time – both for our sanity and hers – for us to go outside and play together in the yard. Twice a week, to supplement our meager income, my mother taught English to the rapidly growing Hispanic community at the local elementary school. Our congregation had declined to host classes at the church. On those nights my father taught us Latin and Greek.

I was home-schooled until I turned thirteen, then attended the local high school. The culture was immediately hostile. My classmates and teammates teased and bullied me, a cultural outsider, underage and overweight. Most teachers did not share my faith and principles. I spent much time alone or with other social outcasts. My best friend was an atheist whom I befriended over our mutual interest in our differences.

Slowly as classmates and teachers began to understand my intelligence and character, I began to earn their respect. While respectful in official matters, I was conversational with several teachers who appreciated hearing my thoughts. I wanted to give my classmates understanding, confidence, and the wisdom to problem-solve, not just answer homework questions. Yet many of my classmates were demoralized from years of apathy. My father had encouraged me when I was struggling early on, so as I began to excel and become well-known, I worked to encourage others. I more fondly remember celebrating with a former bully that he was graduating – the first in his family – than any of my academic accomplishments as a sixteen-year-old valedictorian.

My father encouraged me to apply to the University of Washington and I was accepted into the Electrical Engineering department. I swiftly realized I wasn't the smart kid anymore; classes were harder and expectations higher. What set me apart was not my intelligence and age, but my faith, my conviction, and my willingness to share with those willing to hear. I'm not outgoing, but I had many opportunities for meaningful conversations. University life lent itself to such discussions with roommates and classmates, most of whom were unbelievers.

To equip myself for these conversations, I studied the faith in my free time. I read books and listened eagerly to sermons and podcasts online to feed my curiosity. Further feeding my faith with the Word and Sacrament, Messiah Lutheran Church was a piece of home in an unfamiliar urban world. From Lutheran Service Book, I learned new liturgical settings and more hymns. Pastor Mankin, a pastor's son himself, comforted me in my social struggles and showed great hospitality. I befriended several members, began staying and talking with others before and after services, and joined a choir for the first time. Back home, Christ the Savior Lutheran Church closed, and my father has been without a parish ever since, a vivid reminder to me still of the cost of discipleship.

After graduating, I accepted an engineering job in the Midwest in hopes of meeting a godly woman to marry. This took me first to Cincinnati and India for training, then to the Detroit suburbs for work. In Cincinnati, I searched for a church to attend for the month of my stay and made my way to church early on Sunday morning. The first person I met upon walking in the door, who pointed me to the pastor's office, is now my wife.

In India a month later, I found a church in fellowship with the LCMS. The service and sermon were mostly spoken in a foreign language, but the liturgy was identical to my childhood and made me feel completely at home. No interpretation was needed for me to joyfully pray and praise God with them, a potent witness of Jesus' promise to send forth the gospel to all lands and His gift of the Spirit.

In Beverly Hills (Michigan), I found a similar respite from the loneliness of suburban life. Surrounded at work by strangers in a corporate environment, I found at Ascension of Christ Lutheran Church fellowship, comfort, peace, and rest because Jesus is there. As I acclimated to my new environment, the familiar worship and words of Christ sustained me through my darkest days.

In the spring of 2020, the specter of COVID threatened to disrupt my sanctuary. Regular services were canceled in many churches. During this critical time, Pastor Grams welcomed me twice a week to the church and altar. He knew that my conviction was rather to die of plague for attending church than to stay away, and he was glad of two or three at church to preach to, sing with, and commune. For weeks I was nourished by Word and Sacrament, my only regret being that others in the church did not share my conviction. As the months passed, my conviction grew, and I began to look for others who shared it.

In the fall of 2020, I began regularly visiting Rockford at the invitation of Pastor Jonathan Fisk. Inspired by our need amid the world's many stories to find truth and ask Jesus for help, we founded the Sons of Solomon prayer discipline. This discipline thrust me into the Psalms and Proverbs, the inerrant prayers, songs, and wisdom of Scripture. Finding the Lord Jesus Christ within these books kindled anew my love of the Scriptures and opened a path upon which I could encourage others in my church and community to seek enlightenment.

Regular services eventually resumed in Michigan and soon the church's song grew strong. I was invited to teach Sunday School to the catechesis students, explaining liturgical order and meditating on the Psalter. The church community came back stronger than before the crisis and the forge of trial strengthened and encouraged our brotherhood.

Despite the opportunities and growth, I felt out of place. Every trip to Rockford felt like coming home, from the rural surroundings and the humble church building to bittersweet brotherhood and a home-schooling family of unprecedented hospitality. After much prayer, in August 2021 I moved to Rockford, bought a home, and began regularly attending St. Paul.

To help establish the brethren at St. Paul in the Scriptures, I lead a men's Bible study on Saturday evenings. We study Old Testament history to build more familiarity with the stories and context. We discuss how different books and stories connect, how the men who lived by faith in the promises of God to His people are examples to us, and how those stories show the great love, mercy, and justice of God. For the last three years, I have developed my leadership skills, asking questions of the text for discussion, providing historical context, and building our common understanding by encouraging all to share their insights and wisdom, from a ten-year-old child to a congregational elder.

Another opportunity for service arose when an abortion clinic opened in Rockford. The Rockford Family Initiative, a largely Roman-Catholic pro-life advocacy group, coordinates monthly protests at which I have led local Lutherans in hymn singing and prayer. Through this public presence, St. Paul quickly became integrated with the pro-life community in Rockford. We have led Christmas carols, sung at library protests and at the annual Rockford March for Life and Family, and supported other pro-life protests and rallies.

During June of 2024, I organized a display of 3,300 crosses outside St. Paul to show the deadly cost of abortion in this country, one cross for each abortion every day since Roe vs. Wade became the law in America. Illinois proudly and increasingly contributes to this terrible loss of life. The need for the church's pro-life witness in Rockford is growing. Another clinic seeks to open east of the river with support from the city and state. So many poor, vulnerable, frightened parents need to hear the love of Jesus for them and their children. I am eager to support and expand St Paul's pro-life ministry.

In light of these leadership experiences, I was advised by Pastor Fisk to consider the call to the Holy Ministry. Even before moving to Rockford, I have been asked recurrently by others whether I was a pastor or had considered the office. To these questions, I have had the same response. My pastors and my father advised me to be a good layman, so that is what I have been determined to be. I read and teach the Scriptures to my wife and our son, serve as a trustee and communion assistant, and assist my pastor and church musician with service planning. After observing my character and testing me for several years, Pastor Fisk told me that I would be a gift to the ministry. He acknowledges that the church needs strong laymen, but also insists that I have the aptitude, passion, and character to serve as a minister of the church. He too at first had encouraged me toward my current vocation, so this turn of advice has called for serious contemplation.

Unexpectedly, I found Pastor Fisk's encouragement to be a great relief. I love the Bible. I love studying the Scriptures and sharing what I find with those who will listen. When I speak about the Bible, others listen and often ask to hear more. I do desire the office, not only to walk as my father did but to freely give others the comfort, confidence, and love that I have freely received. Through the SMP program, I could continue to serve my community and neighbors without burdening my church financially, allowing for additional mission opportunities.

However, after meeting with seminary leadership, I have elected to wait. Their preference for pastoral formation, especially at my age, is the traditional onsite program whereby I could learn under the doctors of the church with other men and women who are training for service in the church. They would prefer that I leave my new home, leave my local ministries to others, and pursue certification to shepherd a flock elsewhere. Yet I do not think this path is right for me, especially at this time. The church needs less transience and displacement. We are certainly pilgrims but need not be nomadic. My move to Rockford is, should the Lord Jesus bless it, the first step of a long, long road to prospering the people here with peace, simplicity, freedom, and love. I pray that our afflicted may find rest, that our poor may be truly fed, that our widows and fatherless may be defended from evil, and that Christendom may be established here for our good. Since Jesus has brought me here, I shall pray for the good of this city in which I dwell and do here the good my hands have found.

Thus far the Lord has helped me. I shall serve however He calls me. He will keep me in His care and guide me along the right way. He will discipline me, strengthen me, and uphold me till the end. If it is His will, He will in His time ordain me as a shepherd to His flock. If that is not His will, I trust the path before will be beautiful, that the way He gives will be good for me and His kingdom. Unto whatever end, Lord Jesus, strengthen me to do your will!

Γενηθήτω τὸ θέλημά σου.

Soli Deo Gloria