Snow is falling hard outside my window. It's supposed to; it's winter in Idaho. Shoveling it, driving in it, playing in it all go with the territory here. This is what winter is supposed to look like. Unless, of course, you're from Florida.
Guess where I'm from.
I am a stranger in a strange land. Marrying a Montanan, I found myself drawn away from my native tropical homeland to the rugged beauty and wonder of the Rocky Mountain Northwest. Its wide vistas and clear streams cascading through mountains seduced me to leave behind all that I knew of palm trees, beaches, and hurricane season.
Maybe you do, too. As Eugene Peterson describes it in Run with the Horses, "The essential meaning of exile is that we are where we don't want to be. We are separated from home. We are not permitted to reside in the place where we comprehend and appreciate our surroundings. … But this very strangeness can open up new reality to us."I have chosen this life. And I've been here more than 11 years, serving two churches and now planting another, with our elders' support, at the other end of the valley that's exploding with growth. Still, sometimes I wonder, What am I doing here?
So, how can we learn to love the place where God has called us, even when that place is far from home? Jeremiah's friends wondered the same thing: "How can we sing the songs of the Lord while in a foreign land?"
When the people of Judah went into Babylonian exile, God spoke through Jeremiah. He told the people to build homes there and settle. "This is what the Lord Almighty, the God of Israel, says to all those I carried into exile … 'Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Marry and have sons and daughters; find wives for your sons and give your daughters in marriage, so that they too may have sons and daughters. Increase in number there; do not decrease. Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper'" (Jer. 29:4-7). The fate and the quality of life for those exilic Hebrews went hand-in-hand with the welfare of the place they lived.
The same is true for pastors who have been called to minister in a land that's not their own.
Build a Home Here
To a great extent, our wellbeing as pastors also depends on our willingness to work for the welfare of the place where we live now.
Our people can sense when we continually long for another land. Their willingness to follow our leadership hinges on how secure they feel about our presence among them. Do we care about this place? About these people?
Like those people of old in Babylon, we too need to "build homes" where we are, even when that place comes loaded with paradox and challenge.
Some dedicated pastors have even purchased burial plots at nearby cemeteries as the surest sign of their intention to be faithful regardless of the cost. I must confess I am not that brave, but I have "built a home" in other ways. I coach Little League baseball, serve on community leadership boards, and enjoy local recreational activities with natives. My family and I plant trees in our yard and spend many hours remodeling our home.
When we first moved here, I bought a full-size pickup truck. That may be no big deal for most folks, but for this city slicker from North Florida, it embodied a clear commitment to "build a home" at the crossroads of my call.
A colleague at a nearby church had a harder time. Occasionally, I would run into one of his parishioners in town. When I asked how things were going at their church, the feedback was positive. However, one note of confusion and disappointment seemed to bleed through their generally upbeat comments.
"It's a little strange," they'd say. "He's in real close contact with his former church. He often asks us to pray for them and their needs. A few times a year, he goes back to visit them. It doesn't seem like he's settled in yet."
He hadn't. Texas was still his home state. Despite his best intentions, he just couldn't seem to "build a home" in Idaho.
Within two years, he was gone—back to Texas. His people saw the signs. He'd never fully moved in. He hadn't really unpacked. And the people guarded themselves against getting too close or following his leadership. They didn't know if he was really working for the good of this place and these people.
How can you truly build a home wherever the Lord has placed you? Here are a few suggestions:
Cross-cultural Sleuthing
Take a page from our missionary brothers and sisters. They understand the importance of immersing themselves in the culture as a way of becoming more effective in their calling. Begin to see yourself as a missionary to your place. This means becoming a cross-cultural sleuth.
Read mission and sociology literature to understand better how culture shapes people. Years ago I vividly remember reading Peace Child, the story of Don and Carol Richardson's work among the Sawi people in Irian Jaya. Their struggle to understand a culture that made little sense to them gave me encouragement to do the same. The Richardsons persisted, and it paid big dividends as they eventually discovered effective ways to communicate the gospel.
Learn from the biographies of missionaries who wrestled with how to "sing the Lord's song in a foreign land." Hudson Taylor received great criticism from his peers for adapting himself to the culture of China in his day. His trailblazing methods are now the norm for missions personnel around the world. We who are missionaries to the inner city, to suburbia, or to small town America can learn a thing or two as well.
Learn the local lore. Visit people in workplaces that are unique to that area. Did you know that Idaho grows more than just potatoes? I didn't, until I moved here. One of the other major crops of Idaho is sugar—that's right, sugar! Where I'm from, sugar comes from only one source, a splintery cane, with juice that's dark and murky and so sweet you can barely drink it straight. Out here they make sugar from things that look like overgrown turnips. They call them sugar beets, and they make silky white, great tasting sugar—but I had no idea how. That is, until I visited Ron.
Ron worked for a major sugar beet production factory. When I visited him in his workplace, I got a detailed tour of the process of turning sugar beet roots into something I am proud to stir in my iced tea. My time with Ron taught me a lot and gave me yet another way to speak the language of the locals. It meant something to Ron too. He and his work are important to God. They needed to be important to me too.
Weave your learning into sermons, newsletter articles, Sunday school classes.
The ruts of the original Oregon Trail run right through this part of the country, and in some places are still quite discernable. The people who settled this land a little over a hundred years ago were amazing, risk-taking, visionary pioneers. Whenever I want to challenge our people to reach higher, go farther, or grow deeper, I remind them of their heritage. Complacency doesn't fit a people whose identity is shaped by great-grandparents who cleared the sagebrush in order to create beauty out of chaos.
When you do this, the ears of your people perk up. Your research will pay big dividends because it communicates one message loud and clear—you care!
Be a Tourist in Your Town
It can be fun to see yourself as a tourist in your own town. The snows of winter made it impossible for our family to take our usual post-Christmas vacation this year. A winter storm closed the high mountain passes over which we were to travel. Disappointment shrouded our home like a dark cloud. Our children mourned the loss of seeing their grandparents.
Wanting to do all we could to ease their hurt, my wife and I planned a week full of activities that took advantage of all our area has to offer. Since the roads in our valley were mostly clear, we shopped, ate out a lot, visited museums, and took in a number of movies. We went skiing and hunting. My three boys and I enjoyed some quality time walking snowy fields for wild rooster pheasants and sitting in cold duck blinds wondering why in the world we got up so early on our vacation.
We did things we seldom have time to do right here at home. We acted like we would act had we actually been on vacation somewhere far away. The only difference: we came home each night to sleep in our own beds. It gave us a new appreciation for the wonder of where we live.
The next time you have a free weekend or a few days off, sit down with the events section of your yellow pages and see your area as you would with a vacation planner. It'll help you fall deeper in love with the people and places of your "exile."
Visits to Your Homeland
Every two or three years I need a Florida beach fix. Now, don't get me wrong, the beaches of the Northwest are stunningly beautiful, with surf-tossed waves crashing with regal power on the mountainous coasts. Their majesty enraptures me. But, I need to swim, and putting on a wetsuit to do so isn't my idea of a great day at the beach.
I want my body to sweat in the hot summer sun and to feel the exhilaration of refreshment as I run into the swirling waves of the Atlantic. Though I don't often pine for my homeland, I do need to visit it now and again just to stay connected to my story.
The Israelites in exile did that. Though not permitted to return home in great numbers, individuals and small groups occasionally returned for very specific reasons. The news upon their arrival back in Babylon gave the exiles a lift. Jeremiah's letter did as well. Even if only vicariously, they stayed connected to their homeland.
I don't talk a lot about my Floridian roots, but every so often I'll sneak a southernism into a sermon or newsletter article. It makes people laugh and puts them at ease knowing that I'm comfortable both with where I've come from and where I am now.
When the national doughnut franchise, Krispy Kreme, decided to open its first Idaho store a couple years ago, they located it just up the freeway from us. Knowing that Krispy Kreme doughnuts are a staple of the southern diet, I warned them in a sermon of the new temptation threatening my waistline and lurking so close at hand. The next time Pastor Appreciation Month rolled around, what do you think they gave me? You guessed it—a Krispy Kreme gift certificate. Framed!
You may need to reconnect with your homeland periodically as well. Allow yourself and your family the freedom to return from time to time. Especially if you have high schoolers in your home, who have left behind a sense of their emerging identity to follow you into "exile," give them opportunities to revisit their friends and old hang-outs. Healthy transitions sometimes take years. Build a home where you are, but take a trip back to your roots once in a while.
Pray on Behalf of …
After giving the exiles advice about settling in, Jeremiah exhorts them to pray. Prayer can be one of the most effective tools we have for learning to sing the Lord's song in a foreign land. Through prayer, we learn to sing notes we never thought possible to reach. Prayer takes us to a master class where we can sit at the feet of the One who knows what it means to be a stranger in a strange land. The Singer, as Calvin Miller describes Him, can teach us to sing too.
Pray privately for the Lord to give you a heart for this people. You may feel very little for them in the early going. Even if you are glad to be among them, your spirit may be slow to feel the tendrils of love encircling your flock. That's okay. Give yourself the freedom to fall in love slowly.
When I first met my wife, Nancy, I knew almost immediately that she was someone very special. Her beauty, her sharp wit, her disarming sense of humor cast a net over me that I was only too glad to surrender to.
She, on the other hand, needed a little more time. During the first few months of our courtship, I learned to be patient and give her time and space. Nancy fell no less in love with me than I was with her, it just took a little longer.
It may take a while for you to begin feeling love for the people around you. Be patient with yourself and with them. Pray for them by name and by family. God will eventually give you the gift of a feeling of love.
You may have occasion to pray publicly among them too. Seize those moments to pray for their needs, their interests, their region's prosperity. Show them you care about what they care about, even if it isn't at the top of your priority list.
If you live in an agricultural setting like I do, pray for those who make their living off the land. As the agricultural markets go, so go their spirits. If you live in the suburbs, lift up the local officials who bear the heavy weight of managing suburban sprawl or the local teachers whose classrooms are overcrowded.
If your exile takes you to the inner city, enter your prayer time with the heartache of a mother who fears for her children's safety.
Wherever you live, use your mouthpiece on the public platform to give voice to the prayer of your people's hearts.
Finally, find a few trustworthy souls among your congregation with whom you can pray openly about your own struggles to understand this place and to love these people. Admit the awkwardness of settling in to a strange place, and invite them to pray for you. They know it intuitively already. Transparency will only help both you and them.
Tell stories about yourself and your foibles in attempting to call this place home. My folks can't help but laugh when I describe backing my truck into the only power pole in the middle of a field surrounded by acres of open land.
When I describe getting hopelessly lost on a country road they know well enough to drive blindfolded, for some strange reason they find it amusing. Go figure.
People are willing to try and love you as you are. They're hoping you might be able to return the favor.
Singing the Lord's song in a strange land isn't always easy. Grief and uncertainty may cause our voice to tremble a bit. But God wants us to sing nonetheless. The word of the Lord through Jeremiah to the exiles gives us hope that we too can find blessing in exile.
Ten years ago if you would have asked me if I'd be living in Idaho this long, not to mention planting a new church here, I would have said, "No, I don't think so." Something's changed since then, though.
This past April Nancy and I attended a new church planters' conference in Orlando. Sitting by the hotel pool one night and talking with a local Floridian about Idaho, I found myself oddly nostalgic for Boise.
Where did that come from? I wondered. The palm branches above and the humid night air I knew so well as a child suddenly felt strange to me. Though I love the Sunshine State, boarding the plane the next day, I was ready to go home—to Idaho.
David Goebel is now planting a church in Boise, Idaho, with the Presbyterian Church (USA).
