And it has nothing to do with my previous employment and experience in denominational life, in spite of what some may think. Yes, I have been hurt and disappointed and wrongfully treated, but then who hasn’t? As the saying goes, “Join the club!” You cannot be engaged in meaningful ministry without making yourself vulnerable to misunderstanding and there’s often nothing you can do to defend yourself.

This may come as a shock to many life-long friends and family, but I believe God is leading me to follow Jesus into places where no one else is going and in ways that few evangelicals may understand, much less engage in. That may sound like I’m putting myself on a pedestal, but I honestly don’t mean to do that. Living and serving in the completely secular culture of the UK has radically altered my priorities and assumptions about what it means to follow Jesus, something that previously seemed so easy to do within the utopian Christian bubble of “come and see” evangelical churchianity. For those who may be avid readers, the following books have shaped my thinking and plans for future ministry.

While it may seem that American evangelicals have completely penetrated the middle class culture of the Deep South, I can remember being startled that only 10% of the population in the traditionally “Bible Belt” counties of western Florida attend an evangelical church. The SBC represents the largest single grouping with approximately 5% attending their weekly services on a regular basis; and I would be willing to guess that the numbers have declined even more over the past five years.

I love Bill Easum’s open remarks in Unfreezing Moves: Following Jesus into the Mission Field:

Faithful congregations follow Jesus into the mission field to make disciples who make a difference in the world. Jesus’ command to “Go make disciples of all nations” (Matthew 28:19) describes the heart and soul of any authentic Christian community of faith, because it is Jesus’ Last Will and Testament. Faithful congregations intentionally go out from the congregational mission post to make disciples; congregations that omit this purpose are unfaithful. No individual, congregation, or denomination is excused from this mandate, because disciple-making is the reason the Church exists. Take disciple-making away and our congregations have no justification for existence.

In the closing story to St. Luke’s Gospel, as well as throughout the Acts of the Apostles, we encounter a series of “road stories.”…In every instance Christianity is depicted as a movement away from the center of religious institutional, professional life into the fringes of the mission field.

Once again, God asks Christians the question: “Will you follow me again into the mission field?” If we wish to be faithful and claim the future for Jesus, we must quit trying to save our institutions and be willing to follow Jesus into the mission field, even if it means abandoning or sacrificing our institutions. The basic purpose of Christianity is to be with Jesus on the mission field. Every faithful hero in the New Testament joined Jesus on the mission field. The purpose of Christianity has nothing to do with health or growth.

So consider this a brief update of where I’m heading for the immediate future. While I do have some specific plans in mind, it’s going to take some time to get reoriented to American life, including getting settled into new employment and a host of other things. I’ll keep you posted as details unfold, so that you can either pray for God’s provision and/or for my sanity—not sure which is the most pressing issue right now. The future is exciting! We can always look forward to life when we’re learning to rest in God’s love and mercy.

What do you see as your primary role (in Wales)?

My wife and I view our role as missionaries to Wales, no different than any couple sent by a denominational mission board, except that we are self-funded—partly through our employment in local ministries and partly through the support of churches via Grace Church Planting Ministries (GCPM). When a church becomes one of our partners through GCPM, they are supporting a missionary family and not just one person. My wife is the full-time manager of a local Christian bookshop, Harvest Books & Crafts, and this has opened tremendous doors of ministry for me, both within local churches and among marginalized people who come into the bookshop seeking advice, counseling, benevolence, spiritual guidance, and friendship.

My primary role is two-fold at the present time: (1) serving as a church development worker for Temple Baptist Church in Pontypridd and (2) ministering more widely in South Wales and beyond. Even our fellow missionaries with the Southern Baptist Convention in South Wales work primarily through local churches, helping them build a more effective ministry of outreach to their town, region, and nation. The only difference is that Temple Baptist Church pays me a part-time salary for three days per week. Without this income support and my wife’s income from the bookshop, we would be unable to remain in Wales.

Sometimes it’s difficult to make a clear distinction between the work I do with Temple Baptist and the ministries outside of that role, since there is a lot of overlap. For example, I might act as the regional coordinator of a large mission team from the states, working with a wide variety of local churches to insure proper placement of the teams; and yet I also have responsibility to effectively deploy that same team’s resources assigned to Temple Baptist Church.

One Sunday morning I had been asked to preach at our church and I gave a practical illustration of how Christians can make a difference in the lives of others. We had taken a young heroin addict into our home, against the advice of the local police (they knew him), and we were able to get this formerly homeless man placed in a Christian drug rehab center in Birmingham, England. Today he is a vibrant Christian who is serving on staff with that ministry, and they recently sent him to Sydney, Australia, where he is establishing a new drug rehab ministry there.

Several days later, I received a phone call from a woman whose friend heard me tell that story and she was desperate for someone to help her 22-year-old daughter, a heroin addict and a prostitute. The young woman has suffered several serious setbacks, but we are still engaged with her family and ministering to them as God opens the doors for us.

So to answer your question, we are simply sharing the Good News with those who don’t know Christ; and we really don’t mind what path the Lord takes us down to share His grace. It can be a lead through the bookshop, a contact through the local church, a support role to encourage church planters throughout Wales, or helping American mission teams learn a new culture and share their faith with those in South Wales.

Some days seem so ordinary—no different than if we were back in the states and living a normal Christian life—and other days highlight the massive cultural transition we are experiencing for the cause of Christ and the extension of His kingdom. Our Christian friends in Wales often express their gratitude for those who come here to labor alongside them and encourage them in the faith and our non-Christian friends candidly share their disbelief and bewilderment that we would move from the white sands of northwest Florida to the valleys of South Wales. “Are you mad?” they sometimes say; and occasionally I tend to agree with them.

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READ THE NEXT ARTICLE HERE –>: “Our Ministry in Wales, Part 2“

Quietly he slipped out of the cool sheets and made his way downstairs to put on a pot of coffee. "Better make a full pot this morning," a voice echoed inside his head. "Yeah, right! I'm gonna need it!" He grimaced at the aches and pains that had caught up with him over the years, but it didn't slow him down too much. Not yet, anyway.

A little sad-eyed spaniel greeted him in the kitchen. Rocky was just two years old, so to be safe they kept him out of mischief each night with a small airline kennel: he loved his little plastic igloo, but he couldn't wait to go outside. "Hurry up, Rock!" Jim whispered in the pre-dawn stillness as he turned the key in the door's lock, "I've got to go just as bad as you do!"

The aroma of freshly-ground coffee beans heightened his anticipation of that first delicious cup. Eventually, the machine coughed out its last drop of water and, with mug in hand, the sleepy middle-aged man climbed the stairs to his home office. Originally built as a bedroom barely large enough for a twin bed and a small chest, the previous owner had converted it to a writer's hideaway with a spacious work surface, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and a beautiful westward view of the mountains. He had been sequestered there until midnight the previous evening and here he was again, only five hours later.

"Why do I live this way?" he wondered to himself. His taskmaster—a slim aluminum laptop with a pulsing white light—waited for him with unnerving patience right where he left it. As he raised the laptop's screen to its working position, an incomplete document stared at him. He jumped when he heard the sound of laughter, like the smothered tittering of toddlers playing secretive childhood games. No children in this house, he reminded himself, but was he just hearing things?

As his foggy mind finally engaged with the substance of his writing project, he wondered if the hours invested in this ridiculous document would be worth it at the end of the day. Did anyone realize the personal cost involved in his craft? Summoning all of his life experiences and vocabulary to make words come alive. No, they don't, he mused. He was growing weary of writing speeches that never seemed to make a difference. Maybe it was just a game after all.

The really sad thing, though. His constituency didn't really give a rip about the content of his speeches, as long as he continued to kiss their babies, promote exciting projects for keeping young people off the streets, make the community big shots happy, perpetuate the lies about their honorable past, and falsely assure them of a bright future.

A career as a speech writer was not Jim's original intention when he graduated twenty-five years ago with a B.A. in psychology. He always loved people, so why not study what makes them tick? And if God and Susie had not entered the picture, he would have continued his university studies for another five or six years, graduating with a PhD and pursuing private practice as a psychiatrist. And oddly enough, that's exactly what he found himself yearning for this morning. A shrink! Someone who would listen as he poured out his bitterness and frustration, then tell him it would be alright.

The inkjet printer responded quickly to his final keystroke and the pages began piling up in its receiving tray. Now all that remained was to shave, shower, and get dressed for the main event downtown. When he stepped out of the bathroom, Susie was waiting her turn, bright pink coffee cup in hand.

She playfully teased him, "You must have gotten up before the chickens!"

"Yeah, nearly three hours ago. What a weekend, huh? And today's supposed to be a day of rest."

"Well, you knew about the long hours when you took the job as senior pastor. I warned you, didn't I?"

"I know, Suz, but I'm wondering if it's really worth it? I feel like I have turned into a sermon machine, churning out two full manuscripts each week; and I'm writing the adult Sunday School curriculum, leading a men's Bible study, and teaching every Wednesday night as well. What a treadmill!"

"You're doing a great job! Everyone talks about your sermons and Jill says the weekly requests for CD's have gone through the roof, not to mention the downloads from the church website. Hey, you're my favorite pastor and still pretty good lookin' too!"

"Gee, thanks, but I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this. It just seems so…well…pointless. And I can't see any visible evidence that I'm helping people at all, other than filling their heads with truth. We don't seem to be making a difference in our community and I don't see people walking more closely with Jesus. At all! And that's what really bothers me."

When Jesus asked the question of his disciples, “Who do people say that I am?” he discovered that most people thought he fit the profile of a prophet. According to the disciples’ answers, some thought he was John the Baptist back from the dead (beheaded just prior to the above conversation) and others felt he was a modern-day reincarnation of Elijah or Jeremiah. The most important question, however, was directed at the disciples themselves: “Who do you say that I am?” Peter’s famous response, “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God,” was the right answer. It was a God-inspired response, to which Jesus then declared, “And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it” (Matthew 16:18).

And yet in the brief years of his public ministry, Jesus never planted, organized, established, or built anything remotely similar to what we might call a “New Testament church,” nor did he increase the number of his disciples beyond the original twelve men. They were always with him together with a few other close friends like Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. Amazingly, Jesus seemed content in this relatively small group of friends. Good dialog, deepening relationships, and geographical mobility blended together as Jesus and his friends casually meandered from town to village to open countryside. They lived together and learned together. They made mistakes and they often lacked faith and all of them fled for their lives when things fell apart…and they were forgiven…together.

They were being groomed for a mission: to announce and proclaim what Jesus called “the good news” about God’s kingdom.” At the same time, he performed miracles among those facing unbelievable hardships of disease, disability, and death. When Jesus finally sent his disciples on that mission to the “lost sheep of Israel,” they followed the example of their Master: they drove out demons, healed the sick, raised the dead, pronounced judgment in the towns and villages that proved unreceptive to their message about the nearness of God’s kingdom.

Jesus and his disciples did not go to church on Sunday, although Jesus could often be found in the synagogue on the Jewish Sabbath (Saturday) and he taught daily in the Jerusalem temple toward the end of his ministry. But he was also just as comfortable in the home of tax collectors and the riff-raff of society. It was rightly observed—whether in the synagogue, temple, or hillside—that he taught as one having authority, unlike the teachers of the law (Matthew 7:29; Mark 1:22). He went where people gathered and people seemed to gather wherever he went; and continuously he proclaimed or heralded or spoke about “the good news” (or “gospel”) of the kingdom. Simultaneously, he seemed to “lock in” on the needs of those around him, performing all manner of miracles in their lives and demonstrating God’s compassion for them. His message was validated by his practical ministry in their lives.

In all of the conferences, seminars, workshops, retreats, and training events I’ve attended over the years, no one has ever really connected the dots from the life/ministry of Jesus to whatever-you-call-it campaign or methods being offered. I wonder why?

Those who have kept in touch with me since our arrival in Wales nearly four years ago might remember Steve, another heroin addict that God brought into our lives. We took Steve into our home for several weeks and eventually discovered Betel of Britain, a faith-based drug rehabilitation program in Birmingham, England. Through contact with Betel, I arranged for a telephone interview and he was offered immediate placement. He graduated their eighteen month residential program just a few months ago and has now become a member of their staff at a brand-new ministry location in Sydney, Australia. When I was speaking about God's True Fast (Isaiah 58) a couple of weeks ago, I used that encouraging example as an illustration of God's amazing grace.

Someone shared that sermon illustration with a close friend, the mother of a young woman that I will call Jessica. She asked if I would meet with her and Jessica later that afternoon. The mother did most of the talking, until the stepfather joined us, and I listened to their painful ten-year journey. Jessica faded in and out of conscious participation in our discussion. She had not slept in days: most heroin addicts sleep very little. She was skin and bones, and her face an ashen grey color. It broke my heart. By the time my wife arrived home, I had already telephoned Betel; however, their key staff had already gone home for the day and we would not be able to explore this option until the next day.

When I talked with Betel staff the next morning, they offered Jessica a tentative placement dependent upon a satisfactory telephone interview later in the afternoon. Thankfully, Tuesday's interview went well, so now everything hinged on Thursday's court appearance. A lot of cooperation would be required to pull this off: between the probation service, the magistrates' court, and Betel of Britain. Would the magistrate's allow a faith-based residential rehab program—especially one they had never heard of—as a substitute for the legally specified prison sentence? Would the UK's probation service be willing to transfer jurisdiction to Birmingham? Could Betel accommodate the requirements of the magistrates and the probation service without jeopardizing the integrity of their program?

Our entire church was mobilized to pray. The family had exhausted every option: mental health specialists, medical staff, probation officers, and Her Majesty's Prison Service. Each had applied their unique expertise to isolated aspects of Jessica's problem—mental, physical, chemical, and geographical—but no government system can effectively deal with the whole person. I knew that Betel would be the only place where she could really receive the proper care, support, discipline, friendship, mentoring, and all within the context of a Gospel community.

Yesterday was intense. First of all, the clerk of the court (a senior legal expert who advises a panel of three lay magistrates on the nuances of British law) expressed her surprise to see so many family and friends gathered in support of Jessica. She said, "In all my years of sitting on this bench, I have never seen such a show of support by family and friends for one defendant." I was introduced as "the family priest" by Jessica's solicitor (we had just met briefly before the case was heard in court). The clerk asked Jessica to stand and said, "I hope you realise how fortunate you are to have your family and friends supporting you. They obviously want the best for you."

Jessica was facing immediate imprisonment; however, due to my involvement in getting placement (and a letter to that effect) at Betel, the court suspended the prison sentence. But justice is not blind: they could not simply overlook her guilty plea, so they extended her probation for two more years and included a weekly drug testing component for the next eighteen months (the duration of the residential program at Betel). If she chooses not to remain in this program, then she will probably be facing time in prison once again.

The probation service and Betel (in Birmingham) have been working for the past twenty-four hours to co-ordinate their respective responsibilities in Jessica's case. This has been successful, which means that she is now free to enter Betel's program on Monday. Her parents will be taking her there first thing Monday morning.

Please pray for Jessica over the weekend. The powerful temptation of heroin will not be easy to resist between now and Monday, because she has been a very frequent user. Basically, someone in the family is having to keep a close watch and make sure she remains safe until they can get her to Birmingham. Tonight she will go to her birth father's home until Sunday afternoon; then she will return to her mother and step-father's home for one more night.

You can imagine that Satan will do everything within his power to prevent Jessica from being delivered from drugs and placed within a loving Gospel community in Birmingham where she will daily learn more of the love of Jesus Christ for her. Now, I believe the devil is on a tight leash determined by the sovereignty of God, but we can be assured that he will rage with all his might against anyone involved in this situation (me included). So please pray for everyone's protection and the glory of God in Jessica's life.

The modern shepherd on his all-terrain motorcycle

I looked at this photograph and began thinking about how to describe this modern shepherd compared to my stereotypical perceptions. In terms of responsibilities, I doubt that the shepherd’s job description has changed much over the centuries: to look after the flock by leading them to good pasture, making sure they have a clean source of water, providing remedies for their sicknesses and ailments, and a place to roam without being in danger from predators. However, my image of a shepherd was completely blown apart by Jan’s photograph. Back in July, I posted a blog entry about sheep and shepherds, inspired by another blogger; but it never occurred to me that a shepherd might wear a full leather body suit and view his flock astride a bright blue Yamaha.

Seeing off-road motorcyclists around town is a common sight, but their presence has never once prompted the thought of “shepherd” in my mind. To me, I imagined them driving an old Range Rover or a small battered Jeep to visit their flocks on the hillsides. Obviously, I didn’t expect long flowing robes and a crooked staff like the shepherds in Bible storybooks or annual Christmas plays, but now my paradigm is completely shattered. I can no longer look at a motorcyclists protective clothing and think “he’s a bit over the top to get dressed up like that to pick up a loaf of bread and a dozen eggs.” Now it’s likely to be, “I wonder if he’s a shepherd?” Sure, there are many bikers that simply love “the look” and the thrill of riding these beautiful hills of South Wales for sport, but they might also be engaged in the more serious pursuit of tending a flock of sheep. You never know!

Being a follower of Jesus, my thoughts then turned toward the parallels related to pastoral ministry and looking after God’s people scattered across the world. And I wonder how many “modern shepherds” the church has failed to recognize because they don’t fit our rigid paradigms: i.e., they may not wear a suit and tie, they don’t need a pulpit to stand behind, they are increasingly mobile, they earn their living in the marketplace, they minister across a wider spectrum of believers, and they often have no theological degrees or titles or credentials.

And I think about the people we DO call “pastor” who have such a narrowly defined role that it makes me wonder if they truly qualify as God’s shepherds: their “ministry” primarily consists of preparing lengthy, detailed speeches to be delivered two or three times a week, like clockwork, to their “flock” (who, by the way, have to come to them to be fed). I’m thinking of a number of men in particular, though there are probably many more, who spend most, if not all, their time cloistered in a room filled with books, preparing sermons and writing books. They spend virtually no time with their flocks: they get others to do that sort of thing. They do not visit church members or visitors in their homes, workplaces, or hospital rooms. They do not offer pastoral counseling, marriage counseling, or perform weddings and funerals. If you telephone their office, they would probably treat it as an interruption of their time, and if you do manage to corner them after a Sunday morning meeting, they’re continually looking at their watches or staring across the room, as if they’re really quite uncomfortable and “out of their element” without a set of notes in front of them telling them what to say. They may be quite prominent as conference speakers and as published authors, and everyone introduces them as the “pastor” (meaning “shepherd”) of a local church.

And I’m thinking, “No, they’re not pastors!” A more apt mental picture (for me) would be more along the lines of someone who cooks your food at a hospital cafeteria; or a carvery chef at a buffet-style restaurant; or even a professional chef who gets paid serious money, like Jeff Smith (The Frugal Gourmet) or Wolfgang Puck or Gordon Ramsey (Hell’s Kitchen) or Emeril Lagasse. Whether it’s creating tasteless gruel or exquisite culinary delicacies, these chefs get paid to prepare food.

But you know what? Even if I spend a fortune as a weekly customer in one of Emeril’s restaurants and convince all my friends to do the same thing, it doesn’t mean he loves me or cares about me or rings me on my home phone if I miss a week. No, it’s all about creating unusual food combinations that rocket his celebrity status to the top of the charts. It’s not really about making friends and building life-long relationships, unless you happen to be his financial advisor. And he’s not going to visit me in the hospital or encourage me when life sucks: it’s just not his job.

But the pastor…that’s a different story isn’t it? Or is it? Is he really a shepherd, expected to spend lots of time with the sheep, or is it just his job to shovel food into the trough, expecting the scattered sheep to find their way to it? Does he know the sheep by name, like Jesus does? Does he care for them when they’re hurting or frightened or sick? Or is it someone else’s responsibility? Would he sacrifice himself to protect them from savage wolves, or is it their job to defend themselves based on a speech they vaguely remember hearing three years ago?