Any friend of Earl Roberts was proud to say so. But Earl and I weren’t just friends; he mentored me in ministry. He died in October 1996 at the age of 93. He picked up pneumonia on a trip to Jackpot, Nevada. Earl liked to play cards and slots now and then.
I never asked Earl for advice about pastoral ministry, and he never offered any. But during the nine years I served the Victor Federated Church in Victor, Montana, Earl always seemed to know when I was worried. He’d learned a lot about worry over the years because he took risks his whole life and saw them work out. He was a rancher, an auctioneer, owner and operator of a real estate company, and a drummer in his own dance band.
He was also head usher for fifty years at the Victor Federated Church.
I don’t suppose being an usher is all that risky, but he’d seen enough in the church over the years to know how risky a pastor’s life can be. I think that’s what we had in common.
Why worry?
Earl was raised on a ranch in the Big Hole Valley near Jackson, Montana. The Big Hole is an expansive, grassy, high-mountain ranch valley, in southwestern Montana. It is virtually treeless. On a sunny day-almost every day-you can see snow-capped mountains for 360 degrees. It frosts almost every night in summer. Such weather prospers mosquitoes, natural grasses, and trout.
Earl always took time to hunt and fish. To him it was a spiritual duty. We used to go fishing on the upper Big Hole River. He wore baggy, rubber hip waders, which he filled with brook trout. The limit was twenty fish, but he could stash more than that in those things.
On days we fished the Big Hole River, we left the Bitterroot Valley at five in the morning. We crossed the Continental Divide to the eastern slope at Chief Joseph pass, had a big breakfast in the Big Hole Valley at Wisdom, and then drove to Jackson to fish on a ranch near where he grew up. On the trip over, as we passed the landmarks of his youth, he waxed about ranch life in the Big Hole at the turn of the century. He told about driving a horse-drawn wagon full of vegetables and whiskey from Missoula to Wisdom (about 150 miles) at the age of 15. He told about neighbors and Indians and Cutthroat trout as long as your arm. (The fact that I saw him, at 80 years of age, cut, split, stack, and sell a hundred cords of wood off his property the same summer he re-roofed his huge, old barn by himself, gave credence to his stories.)
On the way home he philosophized about life and fishing and God:
“Dave, the good Lord wants a man to go fishin’ now and then because when you’re out there fishin’ there’s only one thing you can think about: the end of that hook. It takes your mind off your worries and lets you relax. When you start worrying, you only make a mess of things. I don’t worry about nothin’. The good Lord’s taken care of me the whole way, and there’s no sense in changing my course now.”
Go fishin’
Earl never bragged about how hard he worked, but he boasted frequently about the value of faith. Before a dangerous surgery for cancer, he told the surgeon: “Doc, I want you to know that I am in God’s hands. If I die in surgery, I don’t want you to feel bad; it won’t be your fault; if it’s my time to go, then there’ll be nothing you can do to save me.”
Earl never spent a minute regretting what he might have missed: “Enjoy today. There’s no guarantee there’ll be any tomorrow. I’ve known many a man who has slaved at his job his whole life, never taking time to enjoy himself along the way, so that he can have a great retirement. Then he retires and his wife dies, or he has a stroke. Then what has he got? Nuthin. You’ve got to enjoy life for today. Then you can take life as it comes with no regrets.”
Earl seemed to know when a setback in life should be fought and when it should be settled with. Knowing the difference between the two is an art, which only experience can teach. I’d like to think an hour spent with Earl was worth a year at the school of hard knocks. “When it rained on our haying operation,” he said, “and the grass got too wet to bale, I’d tell the crew, ‘Boys, the good Lord wants us to go fishing, and I intend to keep his order.'”
Earl Roberts was a master aphorist. One winter morning when the thermometer at our home registered forty degrees below zero, I asked Earl how cold it was at his place. “Well, Dave, it’s so cold that the thermometer’s hit bottom and it’s pulling on the nail.” His favorite one-liner on material possessions has helped me through many bouts with the Tenth Commandment: “If a man can’t be thankful for what he’s got, he can’t handle anymore.”
Earl taught me how to play the hand life deals and keep smiling. That’s good advice for ranchers and pastors. He’s gone now. But losing a friend in Christ is heaven’s gain.
My only advice to that great fisherman, Saint Peter, would be to make sure he checks Earl’s waders.
Dave Hansen is pastor of Belgrade Community Church in Belgrade, Montana. In this column, he explores how church leaders from earlier generations can mentor us today
1997 by Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.
