Clear call
He is almost 30 years old, rustically handsome and one of the smartest students to come through our seminary in a long time. But he hid his brilliance beneath a bushel of deferring shyness. On the few occasions when he spoke up in my classes, he would always begin by clearing his throat and pushing horn-rimmed glasses back up on his nose as if he were imitating Clark Kent. Then he would suggest a profound insight.
He finished seminary at the head of his class and could have gone on to graduate school to earn a Ph.D. Since he was my advisee, we shared many conversations in my office, and I confronted him with his amazing gifts. "To whom much is given, much is required," I tried. He would nod deferentially, but he was always clear about his calling. He wanted to serve a local congregation—preferably a small one, perhaps in a rural part of the country.
He said yes to the first church that offered him a job. Last fall I preached at the worship service when he was installed as the pastor of this small congregation. From the airport I drove three hours through the countryside—and got lost more than once before I found the church address that MapQuest had overlooked.
