I once knew a man who pastored a small church by the sea.
The church was no bigger than a cottage, made of stone—with a little steeple, a paved path, and a flickering lantern near the front door. Anyone who needed prayer, help, or an extra hand knew that they could stop in and see the pastor as long as the lantern light was still on.
The church had a few parishioners—those who loved the Word of God, loved the children, the community, and their church.
The people of the town were good, but they were also a tough people who had dedicated themselves to the church and the Lord therein.
The pastor was a middle-aged man who was faithful. He had been there many years—and planned to faithfully serve for many years to come.
Through celebration and joy—death and grieving; through love and life—hardship and more—the little town, with the little cottage church by the sea, the little steeple, and the people in it, did not waver beneath the waves of this life—but remained faithful—keeping the lantern by the door lit so that any who would come and look inside would find a warm place to settle their woes and relieve them of their burdens at the prayer bench by the cross.
Everyone who stopped in or passed by knew that the church had in it a Rock, who was called the Christ, upon whom all could lean and cast their burdens, and He would never break or sigh under the weight of it all.
However, the pastor was not always so unshakable as his little town by the sea, or even, perhaps, the people in it, and he definitely wasn’t as unshakable as the Rock—that is, Christ—whom he served, nor the stone cottage church that rested upon this Rock.
Though the church and town, and even the people, came to see him as strong—and though his own faith in God made him seem unwavering—something inside him moved around like the sea on a stormy night at times. Doubts would sometimes flood the pastor, and he would wonder…wonder if anything he did was right at all. He would wonder a great deal at this life he lived.
On the surface, everything seemed fine. The pastor knew the Rock—that is, the Lord—and he always continued his duties and role of shepherding the people to the cross, keeping the lantern lit as often as possible. But the battle of the sea inside him seemed to strike like the waves of real oceans and tides crashing upon wooden boards at high tide.
When these battles came to be, he would not moan or wander off to the local pub; nor would he try to still the storms by his own efforts—but instead, he would look to the Shepherd’s Book, the “Word of God,” which helped him calm the storms, leaving a restful peace in his soul after the waves subsided.
The pastor would go for long walks in these seasons, praying to his Lord and asking Him for wisdom and relief from the trials inside him. One day, he went on a long walk down a wooded trail he had never wandered before.
…he realized the storm had given way to a peaceful rest inside him.
Then the sun shone, and the birds sang, and the valleys put forth their splendor and flowering daisies. It was then that the pastor decided he would rest for a moment from his weary travels. So he took a seat behind a great white oak tree, whose branches stretched out like rivers across the sky.
“Ahh—what a nice place. The sun shines, and the waters are calm. Why might we not just take it easy and lie down for a rest? Besides—it is a gift from God for a weary traveling soul such as myself.”
But as he rested, he began to forget things. Very deep, soul-satisfying things, like little treasures and words he had just learned in the stormy trials of his soul. He drifted off into a slumber in his rest and forgot all about many wonderful things he had learned in the dark of the storm.
A fellow traveler to town passed by him and said,
“Sir, we noticed you were a pastor; a man of the Word of God and a disciple of the King. Might we ask of you a simple request—would you kneel beside us and pray for and protect us while we go along?”
“Of course!” the pastor replied.
The pastor prayed a prayer of protection and thanksgiving. Rising to his feet again, he sent them along with a smile and a farewell.
But as the travelers moved along, he had forgotten all about them.
Another came—a man and his wife—and said,
“Pastor, might you spare us some bread? For we are in dire throes and have nothing.”
But the man, not wanting to disturb his peace any longer, sent them instead to town to find bread. Besides, he thought, he had been serving so much for so long—might it be someone else’s turn while he took a short rest?
But as the days grew short, so did his words, he noticed. His prayers became weaker—and so did his soul, which had been wrought with iron.
The beginning of his rest came from his weariness of constant, faithful stewardship, and his long, faithful battles were many; but behold, now his weariness came from his rest. The language that once his soul knew and lived by became hollow shells of what it once was.
Words such as obedience, wisdom, providence, victory, perseverance, righteousness, love, and worship—once words that were hard-won through tumultuous nights at sea and through many seasons of battle—became mere shadows of what they once were.
The normal practice of dedicated prayer for others, and his willingness to sacrifice for the church he stewarded and the people in it, became hardened. He found that he loathed the very sheep that he had previously decided he would lay down his life for.
Even thoughts of his own shepherd became distant – like a friend he once knew but no longer. As though the Rock Himself had passed him by.
Thereafter, the man, weary from his own rest, began to wonder when he had last heard the Lord’s still, small voice. He began to wonder if he had ever heard the Lord at all.
Though hollow and confused, the man was not yet a total loss. He noticed these things as a man might notice that his own body carried a cold or sickness—and though it seemed like the beginning of rolling a great stone up a hill—he began to pray:
“Lord God, My Father—
Forgive me. I am a feeble soul; weary from my travels; and yet have wandered by my own rest. I have tasted more than my share from the valley of pleasure. Restore my soul to Your table… where all good things must flow.”
The man rose from his slumbering place among the fields and began the walk back home. Night had now fallen, and his journey began with a strong north wind that blew out the flickering flame of his lantern.
Soon the wind carried with it rain that covered him and his belongings. To his surprise, the winds grew stronger, almost as though Creation itself were demanding that he turn and go back to the valley of rest and pleasure.
“But to what end?“ – He decided.
The man pushed through and fought hard against the wind and rain, and eventually made his way back to the small town with the stone cottage church by the sea, where the small steeple rose slightly above the skyline, and the little lantern outside the front door gave light to all those who needed hope and a shimmer of light.
Upon seeing the lantern light, the man began to cry. At once, he felt what it must have been like for all those weary and hopeless souls to come upon the Rock that is Christ at their first glimpse of that lantern light. To know there is a Rock so strong that any and all can rest their burdens and sins upon Him, and He will not crumble under the weight of it all. To know that there is a place, a little stone church by the sea, that will not shake or move by the wind and the waves, but will remain, year after year, and that the light by the front door will remain lit through the stormy days ahead—it overwhelmed him with tears of joy and relief that he, too could be carried by the great shepherd. All he has to do is glimpse at that flickering flame and remember — remember who calls him out by name.
The pastor walked into the old, familiar church and knelt at the prayer bench before the cross and prayed.
My Rock,
Though I wander and taper from Your will at times, You have never forsaken me. You never turn Your face from me, nor scorn me to pieces. Yet though I am but a weak winter lamb, You become the Shepherd to me and lift me from my crevices and broken places.
You strengthen me through Your gifts of grace, kindness, nourishment, and love.
You remind my soul of its true heavenly language; the words that mean so much to me because they were earned through storms at sea in the soul.
You straighten all that I have made crooked. You lead me once again to green pastures where my sins are no more, and my burdens are relieved from me.
Thank You, Great Shepherd, for remaining so strong—a Rock beyond the ages, who cannot be thwarted by the storms within me or by those who battle against Your doors. You rise above the test of time, and the days bow to Your sovereign kingship!
Let not my weariness from service and life become a wound, but rather scars which, in time, help strengthen my hands for the service to which they are called.
