The trauma of transition is sometimes a major mortar attack on pastoral offspring. Husbands and wives may be agreed that a move is within the plan of God for their lives and ministry, but convincing the kids can be tough. That can make the grownups start questioning their earlier decision.
Jerry and Arlene McKnight thought they had handled the thousand-mile move from Winnipeg to Dearborn, Michigan, as well as could be expected. No one likes to uproot, of course, and crossing the border to begin ministering in the United States was an extra consideration. But the opportunity as associate pastor of this large Lutheran church was exactly what Jerry was cut out to do.
Both husband and wife had known rocky adolescences; they had not even become Christians until after their first child, Melissa, had been born. That had made them eager to raise their children with care. They also wanted to implant a positive attitude toward Christian service.
They could understand the reluctance of Craig, their second child, to leave Canada in the middle of high school. His younger brother, Kurt, was not as upset—but Craig had a hockey career on the line. A muscular blond left wing, he had scored forty-two goals and made thirty assists as a sophomore. Did American high schools even know what hockey was?
All during that fall, as the Michigan church concluded its search and extended its call, the debate at the McKnight house churned. Craig resisted strongly. But one day as Jerry was in the car with him, he said, “I’ve been thinking some more about it, Dad, and if you really think it’s God’s will for us to move, I’m willing to do it.”
Jerry was grateful for that and said so. As things turned out, Craig’s junior season was salvaged after all. The house did not sell for several months. Arlene and the children remained behind in Winnipeg, while Jerry began his work in Dearborn, flying home a couple of days every two weeks. This went on throughout the winter.
Jerry found out the local high school did have a hockey team, although as winter sports go, it was no match for basketball.
The family finally moved south at Easter break. Jerry remembers:
By this time, Craig had played another stellar season—and the old resistance was back. His coaches were talking about next year, his senior year: it was going to be his greatest. The drive down from Manitoba was very quiet, I recall.
Three weeks later, on April 17, Craig turned eighteen—and issued a shocking announcement: He was going back to Winnipeg. He’d been in touch with the coaches, and they were sending him a ticket.
The family was not even fully unpacked yet, the blur of names and faces in a new church responsibility was still swirling—and now this. It was a Friday night. Arlene began to cry, while Jerry paced the floor weighing his options.
What was I supposed to do—stand in the doorway and wrestle this big 190-pound kid to the floor?
I asked him where he was going to live. He gave a name. The family was absolutely pagan.
He’d also been involved up there with a certain girl we were less than pleased with.
But his mind was made up.
Jerry finally decided he was powerless to stop Craig from going, and he didn’t want him leaving alienated. He agreed to drive his son to Detroit’s Metro Airport. Craig awkwardly told his mother good-bye, brushing aside her tears and saying with mock maturity, “Get ahold of yourself, Mom!” Father and son then headed off into the night.
“That was about the saddest moment of my life,” says Arlene softly, a mother who never aspired to be a pastor’s wife in the first place, let alone leave her country or face the ramifications of a headstrong son.
Near the airport, Craig had a question. “Is flying safe?” He’d never been in an airplane before.
“Yeah, it’s safe,” Jerry replied. “But I still can’t believe these people sent you a ticket. I’m going to pull up to the curb and wait; you go inside, and if they actually have a ticket waiting for you, wave it to me.”
The boy piled out of the car, grabbed his two suitcases, and went indoors. Five minutes later he was back … ticket in hand. “Here it is,” he said, looking straight at his father. “I love you.” And he was gone. Says Jerry:
It was raining. I cried all the way home. I was mad. Mad at God for moving us to Michigan, for letting this happen, all kinds of things.
In a smaller church, such a departure might have set tongues to wagging and raised some uncomfortable questions for Jerry and Arlene. In this large metropolitan congregation, however, it created no ripples. The McKnights were left only with their personal feelings of regret and worry.
Craig had left the control of his parents, but he had not moved beyond the range of God. Sometime in early July, he had a spiritual experience that reordered his values. He broke up with his girlfriend. He decided he belonged back with his family. “I’m coming back home,” he said on the phone.
“Great!” Jerry replied. “We’re coming up next month to pick up the rest of the furniture we left in storage, so you can help me load and then ride back with us.”
But by the time they arrived, the hockey coaches had been at work again. Plans for the new season were now in full bloom. A new living arrangement had been worked out. Craig was wavering.
The night before they were to head south, he said, “Well, I’ve changed my mind; I’m going to stay.” That was more than Arlene could swallow.
I guess I really flipped out. I zinged a pillow across the room and screamed, “I’m so mad at you!” He jumped up and ran out the front door. Kurt ran after him—in his underwear! It was a wild scene.
I guess I go too much on my emotions. Jerry is more steady than I am.
But we had to leave him there again.
In October, Craig was finally felled by that most basic of human needs, especially in a growing kid: his stomach. He was an avid body builder, able to bench-press four hundred pounds, and his hosts simply couldn’t—or wouldn’t—replace the calories as fast as Craig burned them up.
Suddenly the memories of Arlene’s kitchen took on a new warmth.
“This is ridiculous—I’m not eating!” he complained on the phone. “They don’t feed me. I’m coming home.”
Jerry burst out laughing.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Home to stay?”
“Yeah. I’ll play for Dearborn High this season.”
By two o’clock the next afternoon, a ticket had been sent, and Jerry and Arlene stood waiting at a Northwest Orient gate for their son. Out came a disheveled young man in jeans only a mother could love. Arlene reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek anyway, and he did not resist.
Unfortunately, the phone calls to Winnipeg did not cease, and once again Craig began talking about returning. That was enough to spur his father into direct protest. He called the high school principal. “Tell your guys to knock it off,” he demanded. “The kid’s gone through enough. They’re worried about a hockey season; I’m worried about his life.” That put a stop to the wooing.
Craig’s senior year on the ice did not go particularly well, the style of play being different in several ways than he was used to. Jerry caught the blame for that, of course.
But in the end, Craig managed to graduate and went on to do well in college. He is close to his parents still, as an adult, and has maintained his Christian walk. The rupture of his teen years may have scared everyone, including him, but it proved to be temporary.
Reflections
by Louis McBurneyIt’s important to recognize that family situations, health reasons, and many other things are important to consider in evaluating a call. Certainly a son’s hockey career is not life-and-death, but it’s still important. All we have to do is look back at our own adolescences to realize how very important those kinds of things can be to a young person. I have counseled any number of people who felt their whole life had been scarred and traumatized by a move during adolescence, whether because of the ministry or some other reason.
PKs aren’t the only kids who have to uproot, of course. A lot of people in our culture do it. But that doesn’t make it ideal, even when the transition is smooth. Military kids often seem to handle their transitions very well, but you talk to them later in life, and they say things like “I never had a really close friend. I always knew I was going to be leaving, and it was too painful to go through the separation.”
Pastors must not forget they do have a choice about whether to accept a call. Too often I see men and women develop almost a compulsion: “Here’s a call! What do we do? We can’t say, ‘Well, no, we don’t feel this is the time for us to move.'” On the inside, they are thinking, We’ll never get a chance like this again.
That is a fallacy. If a couple is doing good ministry, chances are they’ll be called for many years. Even if they keep saying no, chances are offers will keep coming if they’re ministering effectively. They need not be impatient.
Pastoral couples in the shoes of the McKnights need to remember that it is all right to share these hurts with a congregation. There may not be an immediate response of warmth and care, but that is all right. People are sometimes uncomfortable with pain and distress and will seem to back away. To the hurting person, that feels like rejection and disinterest. It’s not; it’s usually fear. The people don’t know what to do or how to handle things.
At that point, it’s important for the hurting person to go another step and say, “I need to talk to you; please wait and listen.” Take more initiative; don’t just sit and say, “Boy, I wish somebody cared.” The carers are there; they’re just afraid.
Copyright © 1985 by Christianity Today
