Pastor Ken

I was looking for a new church. Julie, one of my son’s old girl friends, invited me to hers. She told me, “It’s a brand new church, just a few months old. It already has about 60 attendees, and it’s growing pretty fast! The pastor is young…and just a regular guy.”
A couple weeks passed before I decided to check out the church. It didn’t look like much – it was a just a plain, vanilla colored commercial looking building, with no parking lot. I had to park four or five blocks away, then squeeze in among about 250 other attendees. Folding chairs. Concrete floor. A rented metal building shared with a dog-training business. The pastor stood on a low plywood platform, obviously hand-made.
I never got a good look at Pastor Ken, given the dense crowd, the flat floor, and the low stage, but I could tell from his mannerisms and plain vocabulary that he was indeed ‘just a regular guy.’ Someone who could be probably be trusted. Someone you might see at the gym. Or at the market. Or at a concert.
In contrast to the very unexceptional setting, the worship service was organized and uplifting. The message was good – I liked what Pastor Ken said, and the way he said it; he was earnest, humble and repentant. The music was particularly good for a new church in a room with zero acoustics. I put a detailed personal prayer request in the collection plate, and went on about my day.
A few weeks later, before I visited the ‘new church’ again, I found myself at the city market at an outdoor concert featuring a number of local Christian groups. The crowd was jammed in and over-flowing. Some were sitting on lawn chairs, but most were standing.
I wandered for a few minutes looking for a good place to stand. I stopped to chat with someone I had never spoken with before - the dad of one of the kids I coached. Just a moment or two later, a friend of the dad bumped into us in the dense crowd, and said hello. I didn’t recognize the newcomer at first, but the voice sounded familiar as he spoke to the dad. When he introduced himself to me, I realized who it was. Ken. It was the Pastor.
But my amusement with the ‘chance encounter’ turned to disappointment when the Pastor said – “it’s good to see you again!”
I thought ‘again? AGAIN!!’ The apparent ‘pat line’ made me instantly skeptical, almost angry. I thought ‘used-car salesman!’ I thought ‘politician!’ Say anything to sell the clunker or get the vote!
I replied politely to Pastor Ken “but… we have never met.”
Pastor Ken thought for a moment, and responded “but didn’t you visit our church? And fill out a prayer request?”
Ah! He had my interest again. I said “yes! I did… a few weeks ago!”
Seeming to go back into his memory for a moment, Pastor Ken said slowly, deliberately, “I remember praying for your request….I feel as if I already know you.”
I am the Good Shepherd and I know My sheep
Somewhere along the line, I had gotten the very jaded impression that typical pastors, in the interest of ‘executive time management’, took their collection of prayer requests, stacked them all together, waved one hand briefly over the pile, and said ‘most gracious heavenly Father - take care of these for me…You know more about them than I do; besides – I am late for my appointment at the country club.’
The detailed prayer request I left in the offering plate on my first visit to the new church? Well, it remains unanswered. But another earlier prayer had been answered instead – I found a church home!
My sheep hear my voice, and I know them…and they follow Me…