Some men are less than their works, some are more. To have known the man would have been enough; to know his books is enough. [He was] the same man in his life and in his writings.^[1]T. S. Eliot on Charles Williams. Feels appropriate for Eugene as well.

I suspect my story is not unusual. I was languishing in self-doubt, self-loathing, and self-absorption. I was a pastor, in title, not in practice. I was given a title and a job description but not a vision for doing God’s work that actually cultivated an awareness of God’s presence. Church work seemed like the least Christian work I could imagine. Five years into pastoring, I had made up my mind that I wanted to be more where the action was, where the power of the Gospel was manifested in ways I could touch, and where I frankly felt a little more useful. I was going to study law.

And then I met Eugene Peterson.

Up until that point, I was aware of Eugene Peterson but wrote him off as the author of a “popular” Bible translation—my two semesters of Greek encouraged me to use this word, “popular,” pejoratively…little did I know at that point that Peterson was a Semitic languages scholar whose translation, The Message, was a pastoral attempt to help his congregants better hear and read Scripture, it was not the first or the last time Eugene taught me a lesson in humility and listening. I picked up the book “Working The Angles: The Shape of Pastoral Integrity.” This was my second conversion.

For the first time, a light was beginning to shine on what it meant to pastor not simply as a job but as a vocation. It would not be long before I had read every book I could find by Peterson. Eugene was drawing me into a deep life of doing for God that flowed from a being with God, a way of “saving souls” while finding my own. Eugene wrote as an artisan, a tradesman who crafted pictures out of words. Eugene was a storyteller in the heritage of Jesus himself, drawing people into the expansive world of Scripture and making its world seem not so distant from our own.

Before I met Eugene, people would ask me what I did for a living in different social situations and I would always respond “teacher.” I told myself that I did not want to push people away who might have reservations about the idea of talking to a pastor but really I am just not sure I believed in what I did—really, I am not sure I knew what it meant to be a pastor.  Eugene’s wise words and contemplative faith saved my own faith. Not my faith in Jesus, or in the power of the gospel, but my faith in pastoring— in doing thousands of seemingly irrelevant tasks faithfully, of committing to Scripture and prayer above all else, of discerning a vocation of deep spirituality in the midst of a demanding job description. Eugene Peterson awakened me to the reality that it is a profound and fearful thing to call one’s self a pastor. It is now a title I wear with great pride and even greater humility.

In an interview recently, Eugene said his hope for life’s work was simple, “I hope I can be part of changing the pastoral imagination of pastors in America.” To that prayer, I know the Lord has answered “Well done, good and faithful servant.” Eugene was my pastor. And by judging from my own experiences with my colleagues, Eugene was a pastor to thousands of other pastors and thus his congregation is in the millions. Though I never met Eugene, I apprenticed myself to him, acquainting myself with his generous mastery.He gave me a trade, he passed down tools of Word, gospel, prayer, and poetry, he invited me into the kind of work that dignifies a man, that makes him grateful for a hard day’s labor. He made me want to be a better pastor and a better man. He writes, “A life of congruence. It is the best word I can come up with to designate what I am after…”^[2]From Christ Plays In Ten Thousand Places

I am not only grateful for Eugene’s life but forever shaped by it. I have great joy in the thought that at this very moment, Eugene is beholding and smiling at the face of the Savior he loved so dearly—I hope that Fyodor Dostoevsky, Gerard Manley Hopkins, Karl Barth, and John of Patmos are there for the first brunch by the lake as well.

Thank you, Eugene. You have been my companion in finding my way as a pastor, it is lonely work, and I needed you. ^[3]From Eugene Peterson’s The Pastor. The afterword is a “Letter to a Young Pastor”

To those with minds whose imaginations paint with every color until the canvas is stained with streaks of brown and black.

To those who write scripts of loneliness, abandonment, and failure.

To those who only remember songs of lament, even on a bright and warm autumn day.

To those whose breathing grows shallow, whose chest feels heavy, whose shoulders ache from unseen burdens.

To those who are well-acquainted with the harrowing darkness of the middle of the night.

We have too many testimonies of anguished brothers and sisters who lived with the pain day in and day out to say that there is any formula for healing. For most of us, life is not linear, some days go up and others go down. But just because there is no formula does not mean the promise is void. The promise proclaims to us no matter the darkness, the light will break through. No matter the swells of the waves, they obey the command to be still. No matter the grave, life will rise up.No matter the depth of despair, there is hope.

We need hope, we need it to sing over us, to bring our distorted realities into focus, to repair our broken imaginations, and to lift our heads. Hope often connotes something in the future. Hope is not simply that it will all work out in the end. It will. But what does it hope look like right here, right now?  For those mired in the struggle of mental health, what hope is there? As C.S. Lewis writes achingly, “I need Christ, not something that resembles him.” We need hope, not something that resembles it. Hope is not an outcome, it is the very presence of Jesus. Jesus knocks at the door, he comes in and he sits down to a meal with us. He says to us simply and without qualification or prerequisite, “I am.” I am here, I have overcome, I care for you, I have healed you, I am healing you, and I will heal you. I am.

For those brothers and sisters fighting, clawing, despairing because your own brains are double agents, betraying you, isolating you. There is hope for you, there is healing for you. It doesn’t depend on you, saying the right words or performing the right rituals.  1 Peter 5:7 invites us to cast all of our anxieties upon him because he cares for us. The Greek form of the verb translated “cast” (epirito) does not designate a period of time (past, present, or future) it simply acknowledges it as a fact. Essentially, Peter is saying, “Jesus does not tire of your wrestling with mental health, he does not grow weary, or heavy-laden by anxieties past, present, or future. He will take them, he will carry them. Every single time, every single day. He will never fail.”

You are welcomed as a beloved child. Jesus will always come to you. There is hope now and forevermore. Cast your anxieties upon him, every moment if you need to, he cares for you. Grace and peace to you.