Mean Old Harold landed in Oubangui-Chari in central Africa as a young and visionary servant of God in the same year that I landed on Planet Earth like a small, bald, parboiled monkey. World War II had just ended and there was built-up pressure in the areas of missionary service and procreation. Twenty-six years later, he returned from Africa, having planted seventy-two churches. That same year, I began driving a Sunday-school bus. MOH was on the pastoral staff and I in the motor pool of the same church in Southern California.
MOH got his name from the secretarial pool of the church because he always sounded gruff, harrumphing about the office whenever he had a deadline for the typing pool, and yet he was the gentlest and kindest of men. I am now the teaching pastor of a church in Northern California but, had it not been for Mean Old Harold’s involvement in my life, I might still be driving a Sunday-school bus.
After a few years of volunteering in the children’s ministry of that church, I was asked by the elders to quit my job and work part time at the church as I prepared for full-time ministry. Although I had a great job working at a nearby university, having completed the coursework for a Master’s degree in Medieval Literature, I gladly jumped at the chance to earn $2.35 per hour as a general-ministry flunky in a large church as I went back to school to earn a completely different Master’s degree. In all of this, I did not hear the still, small voice of God telling me what to do.
I loved literature and I loved my job at the university. Literature I have always loved, knowing that it made my world a much larger world than I would have ever known otherwise. But in the fall of 1975, I started becoming dissatisfied with my job without knowing why. There had to be something more to my life than this. It was simply a feeling disconnected from any divine pronouncement from heaven.
I saw this change as dramatic and complete and decided at that time not to bother to take my final comprehensive exams to complete my MA in Medieval Literature. At this point, MOH stepped in, suggesting I finish the first Master’s since, “it is an additional key in your tool bag that will possibly unlock doors out in the world that a theological degree will not.” Since then, I have told every young person who has come within my gravitational field to “pick up every tool you can come across because you do not know where God will ultimately lead you." The Apostle Paul considered everything that had come before as rubbish as he pressed on to his upward call, but I was instructed to shoulder all I had ever learned and trudge on.
Once I was on the church staff as an intern pastor, MOH began to play a greater and greater role in my life. I began taking some classes from him, I remember particularly his class on the book of Romans. My young wife and I both took the class and it has had a lifelong impact on us. I hear myself saying some of the same things I had heard from MOH.
I have only once been thrown out of someone’s office. It was the office of MOH. It started off innocently enough. He asked me how I was doing in my classes and ministry and I told him. Then he asked, “what is God calling you to do with your life?” I believe I stammered. He began to press, “what are you going to do?” I knew I had to say something bold and spiritual. “I wish only to serve the Lord.” As you might have guessed, it was the wrong answer. To recover lost ground, realizing that he was getting ready to earn his name with me, I determined that he was wanting my future job description. “I think I would like to do something in Christian Education.” He began to stand up behind his desk. I did not realize how big he was nor how small I was becoming. He pointed to the door behind me and said, “Get out of my office and don’t come back until you know what God wants you to do.” Hardly a burning-bush experience in spite of getting my tail feathers burned as I retreated from his office.
Two years later, I was licensed to the gospel ministry in that church and left one year after that to plant a church in Ventura, California. I had been offered a church in Los Angeles, but, when MOH heard of the offer he called me aside and said simply, “You don’t want to go there.” I didn’t. After a year, I was ordained to the ministry and MOH preached the word for my ordination service.
Anyone who knows me realizes that the skill set needed to plant a church (a winning personality, a constant smile, and the ability to gather a crowd) is not part of my makeup. In my sense of mission as I prepared to leave the many comforts of a large church for the insecurities of a church plant, I made a rash vow to God that I would stay there ten years to plant the church. In the fifth year, I knew I was in the wrong place doing the wrong thing. But I had made a vow to God and it would be fulfilled. Was my rash vow a distraction from God’s call on my life or part of “The Plan”? In other words, did I step through the wrong door and was that ministry God’s “second-best” for me? Another question to be answered was whether or not my wife and children merely tag along or were they uniquely called as well?
Ten years and thirty seconds after I arrived in Ventura, I was unpacking my furniture in Tracy, California, in a small but established church. I remain there to this day, happy in the knowledge that I am in the center of God’s will.
In all of this time, through all of these events, I never heard God say, “Go through that door right there, and, whatever you do, don’t go through that door.” How then did I get here?
On the wall of my office is a single document, my ordination certificate, signed by a number of men who confirmed by their signatures that God had indeed call me to the ministry. The first name on the list is Dr. Harold Dunning, Mean Old Harold.
My wife had a more-straightforward course to traverse, at least once she married me. In some ways, I was her ticket to ministry. I know it sounds awful but she was in effect the women’s auxiliary of the Robert MacMillan franchise. At our wedding, we had the congregation sing our dedication hymn, “Take My Life and Let It Be, Consecrated, Lord, to Thee.” We meant it even though we did not know what it would someday mean to us. After the wedding, she finished her degree in music and I finished mine in medieval literature. God led us to a Bible-teaching church in a most-pedestrian way. As poor (read impoverished) college students, we had no car and there was no Bible-believing church within bicycling range. One Sunday morning, as we despaired of ever getting to church, we noticed a Sunday-school bus going down the street outside our apartment. We called the church and they agreed to stop the following Sunday outside our apartment. And that is how I became a Grace Brethren pastor. The sovereign call of God was not quite a Damascus-road event, but it was a road, and there was a bus on the road. Hardly the material to inspire a hagiography, though. My wife and I got on the bus, and so the call to the Grace Brethren Church of Long Beach was effectual in my life and my wife’s.
Over the years, Sharon has been a faithful and active pastor’s wife, discipling women, schooling our children, teaching Sunday School, singing and playing in the worship team of our church. But has God called her or did she simply follow me?
I have four children, a first-born son and three daughters. My son is an engineer being paid obscene amounts of money to keep U. S. Navy ships from sinking out from under their captains. It is a manly occupation and he is good at it. Did God lead him to it or was it just part of my son’s plan: “Dad, I want to earn white-collar money for blue-collar work.” He and his wife now live in Japan believing that God has led them to the Western Pacific and the life they are now living.
My three daughters all graduated from Christian colleges, two of them graduating from seminary. When my oldest daughter began attending college, majoring in a ministry degree, I asked several denominational leaders, including the president of the school, if there would be a place of ministry for my daughter in our fellowship of churches. The response was silence and a wry smile. Two of my daughters (the seminary graduates) live and work overseas. My youngest, the only one of our children living in the same hemisphere with my wife and I, just got a job in commercial property management, using the degree in marketing and business she had just received three days before her first day of work. Was she called to this?
Were my children called? Was my wife called? Or is there some plain-vanilla default for people who have been included in someone else’s burning-bush experience?
I got saved in the incipient days of the Jesus Movement. The woman I was dating, and later married, often witnessed to me, but the tipping point was the Four Spiritual Laws published in the Hollywood Free Paper. God loved me, it said, and had a wonderful plan for my life. And here is the focus of this blog—how do you learn what that plan is, or do we simply muddle through, and is it any different for wives and children when the husband and father is called? Does a wife have a call to ministry independent of her husband’s call? Does God call a wife to ministry when her husband is unconcerned with the will of God?
Labels: God's will calling ministry
