Through the Rearview Mirror
By Clayton Blackstone
Through the rearview mirror How blessed all those in whom you live, Whose lives become roads you travel; They wind through lonesome valleys, come upon brooks, Discover cool springs and pools brimming with rain! God-traveled, these roads curve up the mountain, and At the last turn — Zion! God in full view.
Amblyopia, a metaphor for ministry
The medical community refers to my condition as “amblyopia,” one that occurs when the brain favors one eye over the other. It ignores the signals from the “lazy eye” resulting in vision impairment and a loss of depth perception. The most common treatment — an eye patch. I wore one off and on from 18 months of age to 10 or 11 without measurable improvement. Over the years, I’ve learned to manage 20/200 vision in my left eye, but I miss a lot.
Amblyopia suggests a great metaphor for 45 years of pastoral ministry. When traveling, Hazel sometimes says, “Did you see….” Because most of the time I don’t, I glance at it through the rear-view mirror. Lately I’ve begun to savor the pastoral vocation in a similar manner. Looking behind me allows for an appreciation of the beauty of what I missed of God’s providential oversight when my eyes were intent on remaining in my lane on a crowded section of Pastoral Ministry-95.
Mrs. Castleberry sent a shiver of terror down our 11-year-old spines when she assigned the daunting task of writing a paper on what we wanted to be when we grew up. However, I found the task easier than the other 11 members of my Fifth-Grade class at Perham (Maine) Elementary School because, thanks to my farmer-pastor grandfather, I always wanted to be a pastor.
A vivid memory of working beside him on the dairy farm I grew up on — spreading manure during the winter — contributed to this sense of call. As we waited for the next bobsled load, he would lean on his pitchfork and hold me spellbound with “I’ve got a great text for Sunday.”
And I loved to hear Gramp recount his dramatic call to pastoral ministry. It came during a time of isolation from Gram and the kids because my dad contracted scarlet fever. One night, a voice like the one that came to Samuel woke him. From that moment on, pastoring wasn’t something he did, it shaped who he became. After a season of mentoring by his brother-in-law, Ross Fox, the Dunntown Advent Christian Church installed him as pastor, a position he held for 42 years.
I envied his dramatic call and wished for a similar story to spice up mine. Though we shared a love for pastoring, the way we were called could not have differed more. Apart from his influence, I cannot explain my sense of call, one I wrestled with only twice between 5th grade and my retirement in 2018 — my sophomore year of college when I pondered a life in politics and for a season after learning Cameo, our 15-year-old daughter, was pregnant and I considered moving the family to a remote cabin in the Montana Rockies.
During my teen years, I imagined myself as a dynamic preacher like Vernon Burtt, Larry Ross and Ron Walton, frequent evangelists at Camp NOMACCA or holding special services at Dunntown. Through the rearview mirror, I realize that dramatic preachers evoked dreams of greatness: great preacher, large church, hundreds of baptisms, denominational leadership. I wish I had outgrown my childhood fantasies before subjecting a congregation to them, but I’m a slow learner.
God's calling protected me from myself
God often forces us to adjust our dreams through the circumstances we encounter in life. As I survey the landscape, I realize the most significant shift in my vocational terrain occurred during the span of 12 years between 1984 and 1996, one as dramatic as the difference in geographical landscapes between the coast of Maine and the confluence of the Snake and Clearwater Rivers of Idaho.
We accepted the challenge to pastor Neighborhood Advent Christian Church knowing it would not be easy because the congregation had been traumatized by the immorality of its previous pastor. Yet here I would learn to laugh, to take myself less seriously and the importance of playing with family and friends.
With the nearest Advent Christian Church six hours due west, circumstances forced me to identify pastoral friendships outside of the pool I had swum in for the first decade of vocational ministry. As I tested the waters, God graced my life with Dave Roper, pastor of Cole Community Church in Boise, Idaho. Dave also provided leadership to Idaho Mountain Ministries, a ministry who hosted annual Shepherds’ Conferences to encourage rural Idaho pastors and their wives. Over time, I discovered the flame burning in Dave and Carolyn’s kingdom hearts had begun to burn in mine. He remains a beloved friend and fellow bondservant of the Lord.
About three years into my Idaho assignment, I received an invitation to candidate at what was then one of the largest churches in the denomination. My mind conjured up multiple reasons to accept, but my spirit refused to cooperate. Though I had never done it before, I told the 25 people gathered for worship that June Sunday of the invitation and my decision to decline. As we drove along the Clearwater River on our way out of town for a month of vacation a couple of hours later, I wept, believing I had reached the most fool-hardy conclusion of my life. Though the rearview mirror I now see how the Lord of the Church superintended the decision, protecting me from the realization of a vocational dream and from myself.
A lesson from a hero who didn't wear a watch
But then came the most ministry transforming moment — one I thought would finish me off. In Thornton Wilder’s “The Angel that Troubled the Waters,” based on John 5:1-4, the angel spoke to the physician who came to the waters hoping to be first in line to step into the pool and be healed after the waters had been stirred. “Without your wounds, where would your power be? It is your melancholy that makes your low voice tremble into the hearts of men and women. The very angels themselves cannot persuade the wretched and blundering children on earth as can one human being broken on the wheels of living. In love’s service, only wounded soldiers can serve. Physician, draw back.”
My “Physician draw back” moment came in the fall of 1992 when our 15-year-old unmarried daughter Cameo informed us she was pregnant. I had registered for a Winterim course with Eugene Peterson and been asked by Advent Christian Witness editor, Robert Mayer, to inquire to see if he might agree to an interview. When I wrote Dr. Peterson with the request, for reasons which in retrospect remain unclear to me now, I mentioned our daughter’s pregnancy.
Four months later, I traveled to Vancouver, BC. After class on the agreed-upon day, Dr. Peterson instructed me to go to his office, walk in and wait for him. I arrived a few minutes early and confess my curiosity got the best of me. I surveyed his library, observing two things: all the titles were in Hebrew, Greek or another Semitic language and the absence of a clock on the wall or his desk.
He arrived promptly at noon, much to my surprise since I noticed he wasn’t wearing a watch. “It is a habit of mine that drives my wife crazy,” he replied in response to my observation. Then, for the next 15 minutes, my vocational hero pastored me. He asked about our daughter Cameo and my wife Hazel then prayed for our family before turning his attention to the interview, bringing it promptly to a conclusion 45 minutes later.
It struck me later that not once during this 60-minute gift of time did I feel rushed. Later, I compared this experience to ones I often subjected folks I pastored to. That day, I removed my watch and have never worn one since. I also began to build white space between appointments to allow for leisured leaning on pitchforks conversation waiting for the next load of manure to arrive.
Things just don't turn out the way you thought they would,
but sometimes that's good
Soon into my reordering of pastoral priorities, I realized getting together with the men of the congregation after work robbed them of time with their wives and children. Since the last thing most wives wanted at 5:30 AM were in-depth conversations with their husbands, Meet Me for Breakfast was born, an hour, give or take, doing life with guys one-on-one at a local breakfast spot. Those conversations included lots of listening, little advice-giving and no sermonizing. Through them, I learned experientially what Peterson wrote of in “The Jesus Way.” The prophet Elijah spent time in a cave hiding from his nemesis, Jezebel. His orders eventually came not in hurricane or earthquake but a still small voice: “Elijah, I want you to anoint Hazael as king over Syria, Jehu as king of Israel and Elisha to take your place as prophet.” “Elijah would never see the results of his prophetic work. None of us in kingdom work ever do. We plant sequoias,” a realization lost on me in 5th grade but fortunately not so much any longer.
I take consolation in an awareness that we remember CS Lewis as a literary critic, apologist and novelist, but none of these correspond to his youthful dreams and hopes for his future. Lewis died a failed poet who found greatness in other spheres of writing.
As I ponder then put words to screen, I try to remember one thing that went according to the vision for ministry that formed in my head during my college days and the early days of vocational ministry. I believe I prayed with the best of motives, engaging in what I believed to be meticulous attempts to discern the mind of the Lord to whom I committed my life. Perhaps a few will come to mind after I submit the draft of this article, but none comes to mind now.
But of this I am certain, in hindsight I am grateful for the sequoias I planted under whose shade others will rest.
Clayton is husband to Hazel, Dad to Cameo and Elliot and Pops to Ashton, Aidan, Declan, Arla, Elsa, Niall, Nora, Owen and Louisa. Since retiring in 2018 from 47 years of vocational ministry, he divides his time between travel with Hazel, grandkids, tending to the demands of a 1947 house, preaching on alternate Sundays at Sheffield Chapel in Sheffield, Mass., often exploring with Hazel roads never driven before, as well as occasional nods in the direction of writing.
Rev. Clayton Blackstone, “Through the Rearview Mirror,” The Advent Christian Witness, Fall 2021