One of the hardest stories to tell is your own. Mostly because you know too much, and you tend to be a bit conflicted on the topic. I can see now our Father had a real purpose and plan in it all. I felt a call to ministry when I was 9 years old. My father was a Jew and my mother an Irish catholic, but they both abandoned those worlds in the 60’s, choosing drugs and Buddhism to find God. It was all macrobiotics and marijuana, living off the land and rejecting society. That witch’s season almost destroyed our lives, but then in 1974 a Christian family took us in. We had been wandering homeless for over a year, living out of a pick up truck and scraping by. Our lives turned in a direction we never saw coming, and within a year I came to Christ and felt the calling to preach. I don’t really understand the ministry, and I’ve suggested to our Lord over the years it might not be a good idea for me. It was so clear to me then and it’s even clearer now that He called me, but I still feel like an imposter as a pastor. I’ve always felt that way, even with the certainty and clarity of my call. I guess that’s what drives me again and again to Jesus. I was invited by the presbyterian church to come out here and start a new spiritual community for the city, a different sort of startup. That’s why I’m here. I was glad when they said to me “go plant a church in San Francisco.” God had already planted a church through me in Atlanta, but that never felt like home. This place does. I love this city because it’s as ruined as I am, and that’s how I know its hope is my hope.
God is good.