I killed Eugene Peterson.

You and me, we did it. With every hipster haircut and church growth conference and the Twelve Ways to Double Our Church Attendance course we took. It was a dagger in the heart of who he was. I never knew Eugene Peterson, not personally at least. But those who walk alongside of me know he has been the most influential pastor and writer in my life. He was the singular voice whispering in my ear, “Settle down, you’re not that big of a deal.” Every page he wrote, it seemed, was spoken to where I was currently living in my vocation as pastor. He never shouted at me. Just the opposite. He ignited my imagination about what the church could be, should be. He called me to repent of carrying people’s expectations. He told me every Sunday morning that I had nothing to prove. More than that, he regularly helped me see with clarity that the good news of Jesus is actually really good. Eugene Peterson was the lone siren calling out to boats filled with young pastors, warning them of impending shipwreck.

HE SAVED ME

For more than a decade, one of his 35 books has been a staple item in my devotional time. I first read The Contemplative Pastor. A friend gave it to me. The title sounded hokey so I let it sit in my backseat for six months. One morning I picked it up and found that every feeling of pain, disappointment, heartache, and calling had already been unearthed and was being carefully dusted for the prints of pastors who had come before me. Long Obedience put me in touch with my Jewish roots that I had tried to forget. Working the Angles, Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places, Running With the Horses—really every book is about the same topic: rhythm, rest, vocation. Ultimately, it didn’t matter what topic he was writing about—returning exiles or the imagery in nature or John the Apocalyptic—he was really just writing to pastors, for pastors. I am a better person, a better pastor because of his influence in my life.  And I killed him. He was 85 and it appears that he died of natural causes, but in some real way, I killed the spirit of his message.

FICKLENESS

Every time I picked up another church growth book, downloaded another leadership podcast, or sat at the feet of business prodigies seeking out the silver bullet of ministry, I killed Eugene Peterson. Every hour I spent tweaking the SEO on my blog, every time I tweeted out a well-crafted, well-timed photo of our auditorium filled with people, every time I surfed a church staffing website looking for a better gig, I strangled the lifeblood right out of what made Eugene Peterson so special. I came across a video of Eugene Peterson a couple of years ago on YouTube. It’s an old interview shot by NavPress. He and his wife are at their mountain home. It was the first time I had ever heard his voice. It’s funny how that works. I’ve read dozens of his books, but I’d never heard him speak. I think he would have thought that ironic—reading, but not ever hearing. I think he would have smiled at that and reminded me how words are always linked to a voice. It’s obvious he never sought fame. I think often of how he lived his life. Mostly because I have sought affirmation and notoriety. Yes, fame. It always feels empty when I get a taste of it. While he rarely wrote about recognition (a little bit in his autobiography, The Pastor), he did write relentlessly about faithfulness. His life of one wife, one church, one calling is a perfect picture of the faithfulness of God and his joyful submission to it. In the most poetic cadence he relentlessly invited us young pastors into the rhythm of preaching and pastoring and praying that required no special rubric or business acumen. It was the showing up that he kept encouraging.

And then in the most ironic turn of events, I was at a silent retreat with a few pastors this weekend when I heard the news of his death. I say ironic because I began meeting with these pastors a few years ago after two of us discovered our affinity for Peterson’s writings and our attraction to his upside down version of pastoral theology. Every month we meet and eat and pray and pull out all the silver bullets we have collected that month. We confess our weaknesses and dream about a church built on the faithfulness of God and regular people who aren’t coming for light shows and motivational speeches. I’d bet my library we quote Eugene Peterson (or at least someone he quoted) once every time we gather. The three of us mourned as we overlooked the Blue Ridge Mountains. We shared our favorite stories he told. We vowed to do better. We talked late into the night about our concerns. Who will be the prophetic voice the church needs now that Eugene Peterson is gone? We shook our heads knowing someone important has left our presence. We repented for killing him.

Eugene Peterson saved my life. But I still killed him. We all did.