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Stuart Revercomb

Stuart Revercomb is a marketing consultant and joyously married father of four children. He seems to remember someone once telling him he ought to be a writer. "The Unseen Here and Now" -- Thursdays.

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"Thursday's Fare"

"How DO you know?"

"That's the question. How do I know?"

"You don't."

"Oh."

Big decisions are rarely easy. Even when the proverbial "no-brainer" comes along, most of us waver, and if it involves something with potential long-term consequences, we're often in for quite the struggle. We can't help but question -- it's built in the genetic code somewhere.

This is often a very healthy thing.

Recently a friend of mine faced a big one. It was the old employment thing. He had a good offer and it was with a great group of folks. He loved where he presently worked but he had been there a while and felt like he had accomplished most of his goals, but he was still unsure. So he prayerfully considered it longer and finally choose to accept the new and move on from the old. It was a difficult decision but he felt at the time it was the right one. There wasn't a dry eye in the house when he made the announcement. In fact, there were many who openly wept.

Todd, you see, is a minister.

Ministers have it hard enough. As most of us know from observing those who serve our own churches, the ministry, regardless of denomination, is a job that can stretch even the most dedicated soul. The relentless onslaught of Sundays and sermons, week after week that stretches into the years, seems overwhelming enough -- not to mention the countless classes to be taught, the weddings and funerals to perform and hospital visits and calls that come at all hours of the night. As a minister one must be willing to listen even when the events of the day have made it such that the last thing you want to do in the world is listen. Maybe all you want to do is enjoy the rare moment alone with your wife or watch the big game on TV by yourself after the children have gone to bed -- but the phone rings. An 89-year-old member of your congregation has just put her dog to sleep. So it goes.

But it is a "calling" after all, not so much a job and most of those who hear it have a very good idea of what's ahead. But often "making the call" to accept "the call" to a new church can be a very tough thing. It's not an office full of friends you are leaving so much as it is a family of people, often thousands strong, who have relied on you through some of the most difficult and most wonderful moments of their lives. In a sense you are saying goodbye to almost everyone you've ever known.

How in the world do you leave them?

You pray a lot -- a whole lot. And knowing Todd, that's exactly what he did. So when friends of his received word that he'd be leaving First Presbyterian Church-Spartanburg, S.C., we likely all offered as a minimum a silent subliminal prayer that he had heard the whisper of the spirit in the thing.

That's what we all hope for when we offer prayer over big decisions: that somehow our will will be in accordance with God's. When Christ offered his prayer alone and quiet in the garden of Gethsemane the night before his execution, we are told that he prayed, "Father, if it is possible let this cup pass from me; nevertheless not as I will, but as you will." It is said he offered this prayer not once but three times, and with such intensity and fervor that "great drops of sweat fell like blood to the ground."

I suspect Todd, in his deliberations, reflected his lord by offering prayer that fervently sought God's will above his own, and feeling he had discerned it, he accepted the call and began to make preparations to move on. But in the coming weeks he must have found himself back in the garden for prayer more than he had expected. He began to question the answer he was sure he had heard. It had been as clear as such things can possibly be, hadn't it? Or had it?

A couple of Sundays ago just as the congregation was preparing to vote to dissolve the pastoral relationship that is a formality within the Presbyterian Church, Todd stood up to make what most assumed would be his last announcement. He cleared his throat and wiped a tear back from his eye and said, his voice wavering - "I have decided ... I have decided to stay ..."

I suppose the oak pews of First Church Spartanburg tasted the salty tears of its congregation for the second time in as many months. One thing you can say about the good Rev. Todd: He can make 'em cry, and these of course where tears of joy.

It is my guess that the smartest thing Todd B. Jones has ever done is not letting a decision once made keep him from his prayers regarding it. Not that God was not willing to work his will in some other unimaginable way if he had chosen differently. But I think he prefers that we follow his whisper to that most perfect will when it is offered and received -- no matter the time. No matter the circumstances.

The following is an excerpt from Todd's letter to his congregation:

"This last Sunday is a day I shall never forget as long as God gives me the breath of life and a sound mind. Your overwhelming support and love in the face of my all-too-human display of a struggle to discern God's will were precious gifts. You can not earn or deserve a gift. You can only receive it thankfully, humbly, knowing that in your humanity you deserve something much less than you have been given.

"I want to say to all of you who have been so loving and understanding in the midst of these seas of change within my heart, accept the gratitude of a very foolish, painfully human pastor. The gift of your love is something I could never deserve -- but I trust that you know that I accept this precious offering with a heart overflowing with gratitude."

He's right. We do not deserve such gifts, just as we can never deserve the unimaginable and extraordinary gift that reconciles this world to its creator. We do not need to fully understand its workings nor be able to discern all that men may have to say about it. We are simply to receive it, "thankfully and humbly -- knowing that in our humanity we deserve something much less than we have been given."

May our hearts too overflow with gratitude as we celebrate the hope and joy and unspeakable mystery that is the gift of Easter - and may First Church Spartanburg continue to embrace its "new" minister and the grace found in a moment of indecision.