How I became friends with a Cowboy pastor from Oregon

Sermon on Romans 14: 1-12

During our summer vacation up in Northern California we met Tom and his wife. Two rednecks. And by that I mean proud, outspoken, self-proclaimed rednecks. Who carried guns and knives around on their belts and didn’t wear masks and called the Coronavirus a hoax. As you might imagine, there could have been a lot for me to disagree about with them.

Yet, my curiosity usually wins when I meet people who seem to live a life so very different from mine, I just love to get to know them and to hear their stories.

We met Tom the minute we pulled up at our campsite. He was our next-door neighbor, living 100 feet away in his Trailer. It was that one campground I was really disappointed at. I had booked a spot next to a lake. At least, that’s what the map suggested. Turned out, the lake was a dried-out reservoir. Awfully muddy. The first day, the kids even tried to go in and nearly got stuck in the stinky mud-hole. Since the showers were closed, they really regretted that adventure when I scrubbed their bodies under cold running water. Lesson learned, I am sure. So, when we pulled up at our campsite and started stretching and checking out the place, I had very low expectations of our 4-day stay there. No lake, no showers, just trees over trees. At least, we had space.

When Tom spotted us he came over to say hi. Actually, to yell “Hi”. Because he is of very hard hearing and refuses to wear his hearing aids. Over the next days that was kind of funny, since everyone on the entire campground could listen to our conversations. Him yelling at me, me yelling back. Even though we never argued. It was hilarious.

Tom introduced himself as the pastor of a Cowboy church from Prospect, Oregon. His church was going to have a camp-out that weekend next to us. I quickly decided not to tell him that I am a pastor, too. A redneck Cowboy pastor wearing a Trump-hat, I figured, wasn’t going to love a woman being ordained. And I didn’t want to spoil my connection to him. I wanted him to tell me about his life and his church and his faith without getting into arguments or judging each other.

The first night, Tom brought us firewood. The real, thick wood that would keep the fire going for hours. And he reassured us that he would be on guard for us and if anybody tried to harm or attack us, he would make use of his fire-weapons to protect us. I can’t say I felt safer after that conversation or even after I learned that he had another 12 guns in his trailer, but I did appreciate the care and love he showed towards us immediately. It probably helped, that the kids and I are blonde and that Theo looks like a boy from a Northern European picture book. After our first encounter I told the kids: You don’t have to tell him, I am a pastor, ok? He might not take it too well.

My kids love Tom, especially Theo. He adores Tom. Tom is everything Theo ever wants to be: He has dogs, he knows how to cut wood, he has guns, he goes hunting and fishing. What else could a 6-year-old boy ask for? The second night he brought us a rainbow trout, freshly caught and frozen. The most delicious fish I have had in a long time.

And Tom loves Theo. He showed him all his guns with my permission. Because I came to trust Tom. He even let Theo shoot his air gun once. And he promised Theo to take him hunting whenever we would come visit him again. Theo will probably never forget this promise, he keeps bringing it up at least every other day.

I was super impressed with Tom’s story. He grew up in a large family in the countryside and had to work hard early on. He also started drinking early on and said about himself, that he was one of those “rough guys” and that he was so lucky that his wife stuck to him nevertheless. She had always been a churchgoer and so he went with her. “But I always sat in the back, waiting for it to be over. My wife was happy if I didn’t disturb the peace. That’s what she called a successful Sunday service.”

And then, when he was totally down and drunk, he met Jesus. And I have to admit, it’s one of those stories that always make me feel a little uneasy. Probably, because I never acted out and never really had to be saved from my style of life. And probably, because it’s such a beautiful, life-changing event.

So, Tom became active in a church. The kind of guy who will fix anything, who spends his days at church, who is the first one to come and the last one to go after cleaning up. He loved his church, he loved Jesus. Over the years, he discovered, that Christians are only people after all. There were leadership issues, there were trust issues, there was some adultery happening around him. Tom didn’t judge people for what they had done. But he couldn’t understand how things were kept secret and that nobody wanted to face their failures and change.

So, Tom prayed to God and prayed and prayed and finally heard the call. To start his own church. He never went to seminary, he never even went to College. But he knows his bible and he loves his God and he wanted to serve the people.

He started out in a barn. A cowboy at heart, he wanted to serve other cowboys at heart. People, we usually call rednecks, I guess. And he did. Within 16 years, he grew his church to up to 120 members. He was their full-time pastor, while working full-time as a garbage man. That was his bread-earning job. Only in the last couple of years, his church started paying him a “housing allowance”.

I met some of his people. I listened to some of their stories. Most of those people would be labeled “white trash” by people. Most of them lived with that label and never knew something else until they met Tom and his church. Tom showed them that they are worthy in God’s eyes which makes them worthy as people. No matter what others say. All of them shared the same experience. They had been real down, abandoned by parents and partners. And Tom had preached to them in a way that they were able to see the future. Many have a history of alcoholism including Tom. So, there is no alcohol at their church. Not even at their barbecue.

Of course, my kids didn’t keep silent and eventually told on me. Toni came back, saying, “Mom, I am sorry, but I told Tom’s wife that you are a pastor, too.” I just laughed to myself and thought, o well, here we go. Let’s see. That night, the church held their worship service outside including a barbecue. Which was the most important part for my kids. That morning, Theo woke up and first thing he asked was “Did I miss the barbecue?”

I felt a little uneasy about the whole sharing food thing during COVID-19 and we happened to come home too late that day for the barbecue, yet in time for the service. Since Tom had just retired, his successor preached. A formerly Southern Baptist pastor, to fulfill all the cliches one could have. They sang praise songs, I even knew some, they prayed, it was a holy space, a worship space.

Afterwards, Tom approached me. He asked me: “Are you guys Christians?” And I replied: “Yep, I am a pastor, too. Like Toni said.” He smiled and said: “And I totally understand why you wouldn’t tell me at first. I would have done the same if I was you. I mean, you must have thought that I as a Cowboy pastor might have issues with women pastors.” I just nodded, surprised about his honesty, and understanding. He kept going: “You know, many pastors are that way. Many believe that women shouldn’t serve. But I disagree with them. I am a fighter for women in ministry.” And he told me how people kept misreading Paul’s arguments about women and that it was the only biblical thing to believe, that women should serve as pastors.

After the service word spread that I was a pastor, too. Surprisingly enough, even that Southern Baptist pastor said Hi and called me pastor Tia. I seriously couldn’t believe it.

What people had a much harder time to grasp was that we lived not only in California, but even in Berkeley. There was pity in their voices, so I highlighted how much I love living here. And you all know, that, living in Berkeley, basically spares you to tell people where you stand politically. It’s called the people’s republic of Berkeley for a reason.

At the same time, nobody really seemed to know how to pigeon-hole us. We were Christians from Germany, living in Berkeley, hanging out with Cowboys at heart, letting our kids admire their guns, listening to their stories. None of this made sense. One guy even said: “So, you are from Berkeley and your husband even works at the university there. And you still talk to us?”

That question showed the core issue we face these days. People don’t expect each other to listen anymore across the divide or even to talk to each other. These Cowboys don’t usually get to talk to someone like me. Just like I don’t usually get to talk to Cowboys. Even if people of different backgrounds meet, the prejudices are so strong usually, that no real conversation is possible. Which is a true pity. Because we miss out on each other’s lives and experiences.

When this guy asked: “And you still talk to us?”, I said: “Of course! You know, there are good people in Berkeley and good people here. We just need to listen more and judge less. That’s all.” And everyone smiled and nodded. Because I had just called them good people. And that’s not what they usually get called by Californian progressives like me. The next day, a couple even intentionally walked up to our campsite to talk to me. They wanted to know more about our church. And they wanted me to listen to their stories. Within 40 minutes they told me their entire lives. Lives full of hardship that were turned around by the acceptance and love of God and Tom as their pastor.

And I didn’t call them good people to flatter them. But because after the 3 days of getting to know Tom, I truly believe, that these are good people. People, who want to be seen for who they are and not for where they come from and how often they have been married or how many stepdads they have or whether they live in trailer parks. People who work hard and love God and their neighbors. Great people, generous people, caring people.

Did we agree on everything? No. Tom told me that he was ProLife and that the pope had left the righteous doctrine by not condemning homosexuals. So, no, we weren’t totally on the same page theologically or ethically or even morally. Some of my prejudices proved to be true. So did his. And yet, when we parted, Tom not only gave us all his leftover firewood. He also told me: “I know how hard it is at times to be a pastor. I will be praying for you. And if you ever need somebody to listen to your sorrows, let me know. I will be there for you.”

“Why do you pass judgment on your brother or sister? Or you, why do you despise your brother or sister? For we will all stand before the judgment seat of God.” Amen.