Farewell to Minnesota - Part 1

After hearing the results of the vote, Angela and I couldn’t drive fast enough to get out of that church parking lot. She was sobbing, and I was speechless, stunned, stabbed. Why God why? Why did we go through this heart-breaking process of questions and answers, accusations and testing? Why did I just take it when they ripped and crushed, tore and punched my vulnerable heart? If I had known it would turn out like this, I would have bailed long ago. God – is there anywhere for us? All we want to do is serve you with our lives and hearts… We just want to pour all that we are and have into your people – to see them come alive in you.

This was the scene in June of 2001 – we had just had the door slammed on our dreams in my home church – a very strong wounding was absorbed that day, one which very well may be there until the day I die. Little did we know what God was rescuing us from and saving us for.

After several more church flirtations, I found myself researching a Youth Ministry conference online – Youth Specialties (shhhh – don’t tell anyone) – and as I was perusing this robust youth ministry site, I noticed a button on the navigation bar that simply said – JOB BANK. Now up to this time I had always gone on record as saying that I didn’t believe in online searches for pastoral jobs – I had this belief that the job would just show up supernaturally on my desk or in my mailbox. So lets just call it curiosity that led me to that life-changing click.

The first few listings were mostly part time Youth Pastor gigs for small churches in the West. One was literally a church in Seattle that was looking for a part time youth pastor – part time janitor. I giggled to myself and was about to close the browser when something caught my eye. “God centered”. Those two words grabbed me and wouldn’t let me go. I was entranced by the only listing that actually mentioned God as being the desired center of the student ministry. I hypnotically began a series of drags and clicks that ended with an email being sent to a church in Bloomington, Indiana (or so I thought) with my ministry resume (what a ludicrous thing that is – complete with its bullet points) and vision for student ministry.

I remember stepping off the plane at the Minneapolis Airport and breathing a humble prayer of protection – just as I searched the crowd for someone named Tammy. I was getting worried looks from women that were wondering why I was looking at them so intently as I desperately searched for eye contact of someone that was as yet faceless. My heart relaxed a little bit when I saw some John Eldredge books lying on the end table of the Feigal’s home – I then experienced a truly genuine connection with a family that seemed to share a love of each other and God that was at the level of the heart. I remember thinking to myself that if nothing else was to happen at this church, I will never forget the conversation I had with the Feigals.

Unfortunately, much of rest of that weekend has blurred in my memory banks, except that I remember sleeping on a water bed at the Wagner’s home and having to go to the bathroom three times that night. I guess a future as a pirate is out of the question for me.

After church that Sunday, I was “interviewed” by a search committee made up of men AND WOMEN. Even though it went on for over four hours on a 100 degree day in August, I remember feeling appreciated and encouraged. I remember having my heart and love for students celebrated – not belittled by a board of men who saw doctrine and degree as the highest value. The women were asking the questions that engaged my heart and probed deep beyond intellect into motivation. The men shared honest struggles of their own children and asked how I would try to help them grow.
I remember Joni and Deb driving me around Minneapolis before it was time for me to go home – showing me the sights and sounds of one of the most beautiful cities in America. So much pride and excitement – breathless enthusiasm and love for their area and church – I couldn’t wait for Angela to meet them and for them to meet the most beautiful and precious creature that currently graces this earth.

Angela knew immediately that this was to be home. She looked at me as soon as Scotty and Mary Lou dropped us off at the hotel after picking us up from the airport. There were flowers at the front desk of the hotel for us! For us? Who are these people?

As Angela shared her story with the search committee, tissues were in high demand as were hugs when she finished. Her tales of suffering, beauty, and hope seemed to cut to the heart of every one that day – including myself as I was once again reminded of the gift that I woke up next to each morning.

Each night of that trip was ended with a long talk with Scotty, as he shared his hopes and dreams for the future, as well as his regrets about the past. The Syde family, all three of them, had embraced us with an uncommon love and generosity of affection that we had never seen nor will ever see again. Angela was convinced that this was it for us – but I had been reticent to give my heart to the idea without hearing from the board and the church as a whole. The wound from Pennsylvania was only 3 months old and it was far from healed.

The morning that we were to head back was interrupted by a surprise visit to our hotel room from the entire search committee including Carey Olson, the senior pastor, as they announced their unanimous decision to have us come back and candidate. Angela clapped and laughed, giddy as ever – but my reaction was quite different. Much to my shame as I look back, I reacted much more soberly, offering them only a cold “We’ll pray about it” as a response to their joyful visit. I’m not really sure why I did that. I can blame it on the fact that I hadn’t consumed any coffee yet – but I think it probably goes deeper than that. I honestly believe that I was trying to guard my heart from another devastating blow – to get my hopes up again only to have our dreams crushed.

On the plane ride home, I was finishing up one of the most impactful books that God has ever moved me to read, Wild at Heart, and I couldn’t deny what God was stirring me to do. So I closed the book and said to Angela “I want to go on a wilderness trip. Just me. No friends – just me and God. Like Moses, John the Baptist, and Jesus.” She smirked and nodded approval “Sure babe – that’ll be great for you” barely containing her laugher.

I made the arrangements for this trip before we flew back to Minnesota for our week of shaking hands and kissing babies, otherwise known as candidating. More meetings and interviews, hanging out with students, leaders, and the finance committee – where I pleaded my case for more cash because of Angela’s health concerns. They graciously gave us more – and God moved other hearts to pay off our student loans as well (a move of such heart-breaking worship that I still cannot comprehend it).

We were preparing to fly home on the Tuesday morning before the big church vote, when I flicked on the TV in our hotel room to see what kind of weather we could expect to return to in PA. What happened next has defined our fears and foreign policy for our country in unimaginable ways before. I tuned in to ABC news only to hear Peter Jennings bumbling and unable to explain clearly what was happening onscreen. The second plane had just hit.

Stunned and tearful, we weren’t going home for awhile.

I went up to the church to pray with the pastoral staff and saw the humility and genuine hearts for God and people in those men in such a palpable way. A quick prayer meeting was scheduled for that evening in the church sanctuary and many hurting souls gathered to call out to God. We prayed and cried with the saints that night.

The next night Angela and I were invited to attend the Wednesday night Youth Group Gathering to see what we would be possibly taking over. I must say that we had second thoughts after that night. Our dreams and visions for Student Ministry could not be any more different than what we saw. Big games, video teaching, a snack and total disrespect for the leaders was the ethos of the room.

God, are you sure this is where you want us?

We flew home on Saturday somehow, hopping planes and hitching rides in the chaos of the airline industry the week of 9/11. Angela cried when David Hallstrom told us of the unanimous church vote. So did her mom. My heart felt like the end of The Grinch. It seemed to grow and heal in that moment. I left the room and wept and worshipped.

When we finally got back to our apartment and listened to our messages, the first one I heard was a lucrative job offer from Johnson and Johnson to be Pharmaceutical Drug Rep. The job offered a base salary that was literally twice what I would be making in Minnesota. We exhaled, shook our heads, laughed and deleted it.

I went on my wilderness trip to Canada - the most horrifying and exhilarating week of my entire life. God revealed and healed, taught and scolded, and filled me with hope and passion for the unknown wilderness of Minnesota that was the next great adventure of our lives.

We arrived in Minnesota on a Thursday evening to the sight of 30 people of all ages, shapes and sizes. They were ready to move us in with open arms and fill our apartment and refrigerator with gifts and Frappuccinos. We felt like rock stars – ok, maybe Christian rock stars.

Our first Sunday morning I shared with our students about Jesus’ prayer in the garden before he was betrayed, beaten, and executed. Thanks to Brad Peterson, I will never forget the points of that very first message. It was about prayer – and I wanted it to be memorable so I alliterated it : His Plan, His Posture, and His Passion. I explained about the drips of blood on his forehead – that it was an actual medical condition called hematidrosis, that under times of extreme distress blood vessels can break in the forehead causing blood to appear as sweat.

We had our first Wednesday night Youth Group that week, and I ranted and raved, we had no games, lots of songs, and I spoke on James 2 about faith and works – my message was hopefully going to cause these students to fall on their knees and confess their dead faith right then and there. It was held in a room roughly the size of my living room, and it had a foul smell reminiscent of mold, sweat, cats, and bad breath. The temperature reached the upper 90’s that night in those cramped quarters… I really don’t know what anyone thought of that first week – I think I was still too new to get scolded by any parents yet – but it didn’t take long for the honeymoon to end.

The next week I reached my breaking point – I saw guys standing or sitting in the back row and talking, laughing, and playing around during the time of musical worship. I snapped. I boldly proclaimed that this would not happen as long as I was their pastor. I offered them the chance to leave the room and wrestle and giggle all they wanted in the hallway – and I told them to leave during my prayer. I prayed so passionately that God would fill that place with a passion for Him and His word and worship, I asked His forgiveness for those that were disrespecting him and promised Him that it would not happen again. I fully expected the room to be half-empty when I said amen. No one moved.

Worship became our collective heart.

Things began to change. I hosted the senior high guys small group at my apartment the following Sunday night. The guys shared their hearts honestly and somewhat vulnerably – especially once I outlawed “school” as a prayer request. After we finished, Mike Wagner asked if anyone wanted to go to Pneuma up at the church, which was a Worship Gathering that met in our sanctuary every Sunday night at 8pm. It was a full band with a huge heart to lead God’s people in worship. They were amazingly talented musicians that I grew to love as friends. For some reason, many of us said yes to Mike’s offer, even though my beloved Yankees were playing in the World Series that night.

What happened next changed our lives, and the very direction of the ministry from that point on. Simply put – God showed up. High school guys that had never worshipped God in freedom tasted of His presence in a powerful way. A passion was born that night – and there was no going back.