SEARCHING FOR A CALL 
(February to May 1989)

On this basis I approached Presbytery -- but got no support, despite all its talk about developing a focus on "urban ministry" (which ultimately ended up sounding to me like a process for underwriting traditional suburban style ministry in the downtown areas of Trenton and New Brunswick).  The Princeton churches had once supported such a ministry (the Crisis Ministry) which I well knew.  And unlike the failed Crisis Ministry, the Hanover Street Ministry had prospered in the years I was working with it.  Even the Princeton churches knew this because they had been helping with the funding for the sandwiches and coffee we served at the Ministry.  But I got nowhere here either.  The pastor of the Presbyterian church in Princeton was quite frank with me:  he did not like my evangelical style; it reminded him too much of a southern evangelical style he had gladly put behind him years ago.  Failing to get his support I realized was not only a major financial loss -- but also a major political loss.

I solicited other churches in the Presbytery for partial support of the Ministry as a mission project and as a point of contact for their own people in their own outreach efforts.  Only one church gave me promise of such support.  Sadly I finally concluded that the project was dead in the water.

I met a recruiter on campus from the denomination's Global Missions office and he encouraged me to apply.  I did. But nothing happened.  I soon learned that the Northern and Southern churches were still in the process of trying to integrate their separate overseas missions programs and therefore were quite slow in moving ahead.  Finally I got a call from a missionary home from Africa whose husband was director of the central African office.  My Mobile friend Martelle, who had served with them 2 years (1985-1987) as a volunteer in mission in Zaire, had told them about me.  They were looking for someone who had exactly my credentials to develop a church building program in Zaire.  The job involved both church construction and evangelism -- naturals for me.  The fact that I was also fluent in French was for them the clincher.

I'm afraid that for Kathleen this was a bit too extreme of a jump from her close family life in New Jersey -- probably even more extreme to her than my thoughts about North Dakota.  True, she had been with me in South Africa, even nearly a week with me at the Zulu mission station.  But this did not give her great comfort.  Anyway -- the idea got put on hold, awaiting the national church in getting its missions programming act together.

 THE LONG WAIT 
(June 1989 to October 1990)

A little extra "twist" I brought to all this was the morning devotionals I led every morning (even when alone).  To me, it was important to remind ourselves that this was not a secular building project, but a definite part of Christian living.  I found that the prayers, short Biblical message and opportunity to simply reflect on what we were experiencing in the inner city helped all of us -- especially the youth -- connect ourselves to the work in a very special way.

So, after having taken a month's vacation with Kathleen and little Rachel to St. Louis and Mobile, I began my new life as a construction worker.  Thankfully I had the summer to get my 48 year-old muscles somewhat into shape -- for the work was very heavy and I was having to keep up with younger men in their 20s.

At first the work was purely dirty and unexciting.  We were tearing out the whole first floor of a huge office complex.  As I pushed the dumpsters filled with plaster dust and floor sweepings past the secretaries who were taking smoking breaks -- I could feel the sneers, for I was filthy from head to foot.  What a comedown for someone with a Ph.D., a former professor, and a seminarian who had just graduated from Princeton!

Actually, I realized that this was exactly what I needed to have happen to me at this point in my life.  I had of course worked in the inner city, and knew hard, smelly and menial work.  But I had always been able quickly to return to a life of dignity a the end of the day -- for "who I was" was still professor or Princeton student.  Now I simply was constructionworker.  I learned quickly to accept my "position" with humor -- and a sense of dignity about my work.

Eventually we began rebuilding the first floor offices -- and the work became both interesting and challenging.  And when we were through we had created something of rather considerable beauty.  From there the work went to commercial greenhouses for an orchid grower, health spas for wealthy Princetonians and a fabulous game-room and exercise room that was larger than most houses and was fitted out with the latest of everything.  We did 25-foot high vaulted ceilings, balconies, huge decks -- doing all the work from beginning to end ourselves (about 5 of us working closely together).  The work was always changing, always challenging, always stimulating -- even when it was 20 degrees below outside and we were installing aluminum trusses on scaffolds with the snow tumbling down on us!  But I loved it.

I have the instincts of an architect.  Every vocational aptitude test I have ever taken since high school always returns the same result.  First preference:  Architecture.   I love design -- especially when it is closely connected with the creation of something very tangible.

I continued to serve at the Hanover Street Ministry on weekends.  That was still going as strong as ever and it remained for me my sole opportunity to perform Christian service.  We were, of course, regular worshipers at the First Presbyterian Church in Trenton.  But we had not been asked to take on any special functions within the church -- perhaps because they figured I still had my hands full with the Hanover Street Ministry (which I did).

Still, I felt so part-time--and even minimally so at that -- about my Christian life.  I had not left the university to do carpentry work, as much as I enjoyed it.  I had pledged my life fully to God's service.  I had given up my university tenure, had cashed in my 15 years of teacher's pension credits to help pay for seminary education, and had sold my house to pay for the rest.  I had thrown everything I had into this endeavor.  And now, as time moved along, I felt that the original purpose of everything I had lived for over the last 5 years was dropping out of sight -- and possibly even dropping out of God's sight.  Or so it certainly felt.

I would awaken many nights in the middle of the night and go out and sit on the couch -- and pray, sometimes tearfully.  I just couldn't figure out why God -- who had previously been in such easy communication with me about so many simple daily matters in my life -- now seemed so "silent."  I was one who expected to live in the midst of recurring miracles.  And yet it seemed that the miracles had dried up in the last year.  True -- I knew that my construction job came as a result of a miracle.  True, I knew that my marriage to Kathleen and the birth of Rachel counted as major miracles -- which I was still enjoying as such.  But there was nothing "new" in the realm of miracles that had occurred in a whole year.  I had not felt God "moving" anew in my life in a long time.

 THE CALL TO GARFIELD 
(October to December 1990)

One evening I was doing my "thing" on the couch, praying or just pleading with God -- when a deep sense of peace came over me.  When I headed back to bed I woke Kathleen to tell her that I had a strange feeling that God was about to answer our prayers.

Saturday, when I returned home from my morning at the Hanover Street Ministry Kathleen greeted me with the news that someone from Garfield, New Jersey, had called to see if I was still looking for a church.  Kathleen was not wild about the area -- having grown in up New Jersey and being aware of how different things were up in that part of the state just opposite New York City.  But I knew immediately that this was what I had awakened to tell Kathleen about.

Having that sense of things made my phone conversation with the head of the pulpit committee, Dot, come easy to me.  I told them that if they wanted to see me in action, to really understand what I was all about, they should first come down to visit me at Hanover Street.  She agreed.  The following Saturday they drove down to Trenton to meet me in the Ministry.

They came down shortly after that to hear me in the pulpit (I hadn't been in the pulpit for almost 2 years).  The sermon was about 35 minutes in length.  But that had been pretty typical for me whenever I was in the pulpit.  A comment was made by Dot that "we would have to work on that."  But otherwise things went well.

My heart sank.  Garfield was a formerly blue collar industrial town -- whose industries had moved out.   Big industrial plants sat abandoned only a block away from the church.  The Passaic River, which bordered the town two blocks away, was lined with used car lots and auto repair shops.  That seemed to be the base of the present Garfield economy, such as I could detect one.  The rows of 2-story houses (built around World War One) were closely built with no driveways and only narrow walkways between them.  There were few trees along the streets, and a maze of telephone wires overhead.  Cars lined the streets with hardly any spaces available for parking (I could not see where people coming to church would ever park).  There was something of an Hispanic flavor to the neighborhood (it became even more pronounced over the following years) -- for the music which blared from passing cars announced that fact.  The manse was next door to the church -- only a few feet away, with a small back yard running behind the church. At least there was a driveway and garage for the pastor running behind the other side of the church -- the only driveway around.  What privilege!

Well, what could I say?  I felt that God had spoken, so there was likely to be little argument with Him about this call -- which I knew would be forthcoming.  It certainly was not what I wanted.  And I did not have that sense of "peace" that had greeted me years earlier when I entered inner-city Trenton.  But I knew that this was where I would be serving.  Ah well.

During this interview I was asked if I was aware of the precarious financial position of this church.  I really was not.  I was told that Garfield had been receiving Presbytery subsidies to pay the salary of the previous pastor--and COM was inclined not to continue this practice.  I pointed to Garfield's financial reserves of $35,000.  The chairman told me that typically a small church built up such reserves during a pulpit vacancy--not having to pay a regular pastor -- which would then be drawn down very quickly.  Thus if there was a shortfall of regular income to the tune of say $1000 a month it would be almost exactly 3 years before the church was in financial straights again (the estimation was right on target -- almost to the month!).   The COM had come very close to not letting Garfield advertise for a full-time call, but instead only a part-time call.  They thought I should be aware of that before I said "yes" to the situation there.

I, at that time, felt however that I could accomplish most anything I set my mind to.  Besides, I was quite clear in my mind that Garfield was where God wanted me to be.  I listened politely to their well-intended advice.  But I knew I would say "yes" to an invitation from Garfield -- no matter what.

Anyway, I preached my candidating sermon before the congregation in late November and after the service the congregation voted me in as their new pastor.

And of course wouldn't you know that on the evening in late November that I appeared before Presbytery I was suffering from a horrible cold, was doped up on antihistamines, and just generally was very, very tired from all the last minute hustle to get me into the pulpit before Christmas.

My statement of faith was indeed a red flag.  As soon as I finished reading it, a middle-aged woman immediately jumped up and with sobs in her voice mentioned how it was just such statements as this that had once made her feel "cut-off" from the Christian faith (I learned later that she had been raised Catholic).  From there it went downhill.  After what seemed like it was hours (it might have been fifteen minutes) of examination I was ushered outside while Presbyery went into consideration about my being received into their membership (and thus being ordainable).  I spent a full 30 minutes outside while debate raged back and forth about me.  As I learned later -- this had not happened in a long, long time.  Usually the whole thing from reading of the statement of faith to final vote on a person might take 10 or 15 minutes.  For me the ordeal lasted for nearly an hour.  Finally I was called back into the meeting.  I had been voted into the Presbytery.  And I didn't just sort of slip in unnoticed.  I would be recognized from then on as the "conservative" voice of the Presbytery.

Actually where I stand on the spectrum depends on where other people stand who are evaluating me.  Palisades Presbytery was/is one of the most Liberal of the denomination's Presbyteries -- and can always be counted on to take the "Left" side of any given issue.  But God had a strange way of making this whole thing work out  very wonderfully so.  But I'll have more to say about that later.

 TENSION
(1991 to 1993)

Being new to pulpit ministry, it took me a while to understand that this was not untypical for the way small churches are run.  The pastor is there not as a teacher or program director.  The pastor is understood as being there essentially to serve as the family "chaplain," that is, called to the church to serve the particular needs and perform the necessary rituals that undergird the life of certain leading families.

The comments were quick to come in that this was all too much.  Everyone knew that no one preached more than 15-18 minutes.  Someone suggested that if I would cut out all of my scriptural references in my sermons, I would probably have a decent 18-20 minute sermon!

Others were more aggressive in their criticism.  If preachers couldn't get said in 18-20 minutes what they needed to say, then they obviously had no grip on the material.  Besides, I was told, people's attention spans could not hold for a presentation any longer than that.  Further they had dinners to get to and they were unwilling that anything should delay this part of their Sunday schedule.  [Church attendance was only one, rather brief, portion of their long-standing Sunday rituals, which no one was going to reshape -- not me or anyone else!]

My response -- that I was aware of many powerful churches, big churches, growth churches, whose worship was often over two hours in length and whose sermons were sometime over an hour -- was unwanted information.  The "families" simply did not want to hear about it.  Their minds were made up.  That's how things were.  That's how things would stay -- in this church.

Actually, the changes that came during my first year at the church were much more substantial than this matter of the length of Sunday morning worship.  In fairly short order after my arrival in Garfield I added to the activities of the church a weekly Bible study, a men's group, a prison ministry program, a couple of church picnics each year, an all-church day-long retreat in a nearby mountain camp site, participation of a growing youth group in a week-long summer camp and participation of a number of our members in the Tres Dias renewal "weekend" retreat.

Involvement in these new activities was consistently by the same group: about 15-20 of the newer and more "evangelical" members (and their children) of the church -- some of whom had been on the pulpit committee.  No member of the "families" bothered to participate in any of these new activities (nor had any of them bothered to serve on the pulpit committee that called me).

The real change taking place in the church was the empowerment of these newer members in the life of the church.  As they became more active, including coming on session and taking a sincere interest in introducing new ideas into the church, the "families" found their monopoly on church life profoundly challenged.  New initiatives by the "newcomers" (some of whom had been there for 10 years) left the families feeling that control was slipping from their hands.  This was what was really bothering the "families."  I had come in and upset the whole status quo by playing to the spiritual agendas of the "non-family" evangelicals.

There really was no answer to the demands of the "families" except to scuttle everything that had been added to the previously well-defined life of the church:  60 minutes of Sunday worship, the choir, the women's association, and a small Sunday School program for the children and even smaller youth program.  Anything beyond that was of a questionable status -- which never failed to draw the ire of the "families" when it started to show life.

But I got the response from one member of the "families" that the CIF was merely a set of ideal Christian principles -- not something that was to be taken at face value in terms of the running of the church!!!

I realized at this point that there was no logic of mine that would reach the thinking of this group.

Just General Difficulties in Making Garfield Feel Like "Home"

My misery even extended to the very "alien" feel that the town of Garfield itself had for me.  For the first time in my life I was living in a place that I found very difficult for me to call "home."  I hated the physical ugliness of Garfield, its cramped living conditions, its constant noise (morning, noon and night!).

I had done what I could to relieve some of the starkness of the immediate Garfield surroundings by planting approximately 100 rose bushes, several hundred tulips and daffodils, and even more marigolds, petunias, impatiens and other annual flowers around the manse (pastor's home) and the church.  This helped some--though not enough to make me feel pleased to be there.

 TAKING STOCK OF THE SITUATION
(Early 1993)

I was miserable.  Despite the encouragement of the evangelicals in the congregation who assured me that I was the best thing that had ever happened to Garfield, each Sunday morning was something I dreaded because I knew that I faced a number of people who thought (and said so openly and loudly) that I was the worst thing that had ever happened to Garfield.  Trying to preach a message before a group of people who were adamant in their opposition to me was one of the most demeaning experiences imaginable.  And I got to do this every week!

The doctors wanted to put me on permanent medication.  But I decided that I needed to do something else permanently, especially as I came to understand how asthma is stress-related.

I needed to get out of Garfield.  But where was I to go?  I wanted to go back into teaching.  But I wanted to teach the gospel -- and what college or university would let me do that?  Also, I enjoyed very much working with my evangelical parishioners.  In fact it was the delight of my life (well ... in addition to my family which was also the delight of my life!).

I did not know where to turn or how to move forward.  I always knew that unless God moved me -- it would all be pointless.  But I also must admit that I was very unhappy with God for bringing me to Garfield.  I was sure that there was some kind of message from him in all this Garfield mess.  But frankly I didn't find anything very thrilling about such a message.  Anyway, I wasn't even sure what the message was.

Also, I really felt abandoned by God.  It had been several years now since I had heard a single "word" from God (other than his permanent Word in Scripture).  I was surely living in one of those "long, dark nights of the soul."

Eventually I picked up a little on the story, one that ended quite sadly for Kim, whom I was sure wanted that job very much.

But the story had a very interesting side effect on me at this point in my personal journey.  Though Kim had not landed the position, the mere nomination reminded me of how far Kim had moved along in life -- and how insignificant my own life seemed to be by contrast.  How far I had plunged downward, from a life that once promised so much, to a life that seemed as ant-like as I had ever feared human life could be -- since that day I gazed down from the Empire State Building and had that chilling feeling about how unimportant a single life could be.  I had actually achieved that great unimportance!

My depression at that point was all too obvious.  Then one morning after church, during fellowship hour (which only the evangelicals ever attended), a surprise Valentine's Party was held for me -- and a whole battery of cards and notes was given to me by these beloved parishioners reminding me that I had been vital to their personal spiritual journeys, rescuing them from impending divorce, drugs, alcohol or just a general spiritual deadness that marked their lives.  To them I had acquitted my life quite adequately and I needed to bow my head in shame before no one.

Admittedly that party helped lift my spirits some -- though it still did not remove the deeper self-doubt I had about myself as a pastor or anything else which might truly matter to the world.  I didn't want to diminish the importance that these dear parishioners placed on my role in their lives.  But in all honesty, I really wasn't convinced that I was making much of a contribution to the world by my work in Garfield.  Indeed, I still had no idea of how or where I ought to be making my contribution to larger life.

The test itself involved a number of vocational-aptitude and personality tests -- and, unknown to me, an IQ test.  Test results revealed that in terms of the range of broad professional interests, I ranked very high in religious activity, only just behind art.  But in terms of specific occupational profiles, I ranked as a minister at the low end of "moderately similar (college professor being the highest at "very similar").  So how was I to understand the very high religious interest and rather low ranking (15th) as minister?  The answer was reavealed in another test that differentiated religious occupations.  In this test I ranked:

Spiritual Guide - 91 (very high) ["helping people to develop a deeper or more mature faith"]
Evangelist - 84 (high)
Scholar - 81 (moderately high)
Teacher - 75 (moderately high)

Preacher - 66
Priest - 65 ["conducting worship services & performing sacred rites and rituals"]
Counselor - 62 ["bringing comfort and encouragement to lonely, troubled and sick persons"]
Administrator - 57
Reformer - 56 [social justice activist]
Musician - 54

But highest of all religious roles were evangelist and spiritual guide.  This was no surprise either, for my life's work, even as a secular teacher, had/has always been centered on helping people catch what I call the higher vision of life.  I left the university when I discovered that this higher vision had something to do with God -- God in Jesus Christ.  I wanted to follow that out -- at all costs.  And I wanted to bring that discovery (the Good News of/in Jesus Christ) to those around me.   [That's why you're sitting here now reading this Home Page entitled "The Spiritual Pilgrim"!]

The problem is, as I discovered in Garfield, that there are not a lot of people in the church very interested in this process.  As one venerable session member put it:  "I made my peace with God in the trenches of World War Two.  I do not need anyone telling me how to get closer to God!"  But interestingly I discovered that there are a lot of people outside the church who are very hungry for just this sort of thing.  The only problem is that the church (or at least mainline Protestantism) seems unable (or unwilling) to get to them.

One test I did not realize I was taking was an IQ test.  I scored at 145 (+/- 3).  I was told by the counselor that this pointed to great potential, for both good and bad in my life.  I needed to be mentally challenged or could face the possibility of more frustration and stress.

In any case, as I surveyed these results, as I considered my first 2+ years in the parish ministry, as I considered my persistent asthma and stress, I decided that I needed to do what I had to do.  My health, my spirit, my life, my family all depended on it.

 ON A VERY POSITIVE NOTE:  THE FAMILY TAKES SHAPE

Kathleen came into my life with a strong set of family values already in place.  She had been raised in a very close Irish-Catholic home and was still very close to her sisters and brothers, all of whom still lived in the central Jersey area.  Kathleen's primary reference system in life was family.  Kathleen wanted to become a "mom," period.  We both understood -- and appreciated -- this determination on her part when we got married.  And when Rachel came along we both understood how things were going to be.

Once upon a time there would have been no argument about the determination of a woman to be an at-home mom.  But those times had disappeared with the empty-nesting of the generation before us.  The emphasis was now for women to think in career terms (not as the family home-maker) -- in exactly the same way that men were to think in career terms (not as the family bread-winner).  Everything else in life would just somehow have to work itself around this "careerism" as the grounding of our personal being.   Indeed, for much of our culture, who you were was defined largely in terms of the career path you were on (do not read "job."  Job and career are not the same thing.)

This decision that Kathleen would be an "at-home mom" meant much less family income for us.  But we were never financially strapped by this decision!  [It also meant a lot of loneliness for Kathleen because there were no other at-home moms in the entire Garfield congregation.]

In fact, Kathleen and the family were always a very important counterbalancing part of my ministry in Garfield.  I was, for better or worse (as people viewed these things) always the one actively engaged in promoting new things with the church.  This brought a lot of enthusiasm.  It also brought a lot of opposition.

But Kathleen stayed out of church affairs.  She was always in worship -- with Rachel and then later, Rachel, Paul and Elizabeth.  But she didn't get into any of the "politics."  She was always gracious about the attention that people like to give the "pastor's wife."  But she did not let this draw her into church politics.  Consequently, everyone found her easy to love.  And that helped to soften some of my opposition--a little bit anyway.

Rachel was delighted with her brother -- who seemed to her like a most wonderful doll.  She had a hard time keeping her hands off of him and not smothering him with her affection (we've had that same problem with all our little ones!)

And I couldn't help but thanking God for having brought me so far -- from my aloofness to small children as a Yuppie -- to the point where they (along with Kathleen) were the most important things in my life.  In them I found great contentment and a heart full of praise for God.

That was convenient as we really had only a girl's name really fixed in our minds; and once again we had waited until birth to find out whether it was a girl or boy God was bringing us -- though once again, a sense of things told us that it was going to be a girl.  "Elizabeth" was a family name on Kathleen's side (an aunt and a grandmother), though I myself had long loved the name.  "Jeannine" was Kathleen's mother's name.

So now we were a family of 5!