The Pastor

1. An Unplanned Vocation: Becoming Pastor Pete

I was a pastor long before I knew I was a pastor; I just never had a name for it.

Unexpected calling. Eugene Peterson never intended to be a pastor, viewing the role as marginal and often tainted by professionalism. Growing up, he respected scripture, Jesus, and church, but not the transient, self-promoting preachers he encountered. His early experiences fostered an anticlericalism, making the eventual embrace of the title "Pastor" a profound surprise.

Relational identity. The term "Pastor Pete," coined by children and youth in his congregation, resonated differently than formal titles like "Reverend" or "Doctor." It felt relational and affectionate, aligning with a deeper, unnamed calling he had always felt. This shift from a functional to a relational understanding of the role was crucial for his vocational clarity.

Fitting the glove. The realization that he was a pastor, though abrupt, felt like finding a glove that fit perfectly, integrating seemingly random life experiences into a coherent calling. This vocational identity emerged from a lifetime of observations and interactions, culminating in a profound sense of purpose that he could not now imagine living without.

2. Montana's Sacred Ground: Roots of a Pastoral Imagination

What I do know is that for sixty-five years now this place has provided a protected space and time to become who I am.

Formative landscape. Peterson's Montana home, built by his father on Flathead Lake, became sacred ground—a place of hospitality, healing, prayer, and reflection. This physical place, with its mountains, lakes, and forests, deeply shaped his imagination, grounding his faith in tangible geography rather than abstract spirituality.

Family influences. His mother, Evelyn, a passionate storyteller and singer, led Sunday evening meetings in remote logging camps, instilling in him a "sacred imagination" through songs and biblical narratives. His father's butcher shop taught him respect for material, humility, and the dignity of people, including those marginalized by society.

• Mother's stories: Samuel anointing David, making him identify with the "least likely."
• Father's butcher shop: Learning "negative capability" and treating customers (even prostitutes) with dignity.
• Unlearning: The "Holy Saturday" story of Prettyfeather taught him about holy rest and compassion for the desolate, challenging his work-driven assumptions.

Resistance to secularization. This Montana grounding provided a bulwark against the secularized, market-driven caricature of American pastoring. It fostered a conviction that faith must be lived in specific places, connecting the "on earth as it is in heaven" reality to the soil and stone of his immediate surroundings.

3. Vocation Over Job: The Artist's Insight into Calling

Artist was not a job; it was a way of life, a vocation.

Distinguishing calling. Peterson learned the crucial difference between a "vocation" and a "job" from artists he met in New York City, particularly Willi Ossa, a church janitor who was a serious painter. These artists pursued their craft as a way of life, regardless of external affirmation or payment, embodying a deep, intrinsic commitment.

Willi's prophetic warning. Willi, deeply disillusioned by the German church's capitulation to Nazism, painted Peterson's portrait as a gaunt, grim figure with flat, empty eyes, warning him that the church would "suck the soul out of you" if he became a pastor. This portrait served as a lifelong reminder to guard his vocation from the corrupting influences of institutionalism and performance.

Guarding the call. The artists taught Peterson that a vocation is a calling, not an assignment to be quantified or evaluated. It demands primary allegiance to God, not to the expectations of a denomination or congregation. This insight became vital in resisting the pervasive American tendency to reduce pastoral work to a job description driven by success metrics and consumer demands.

4. "Shekinah": God's Glory in the Unassuming Church

The Shekinah faded out. The glory stayed.

Beyond stereotypes. When his three-year-old daughter, Karen, didn't recognize a traditional New England church as "a church," it highlighted how deeply ingrained stereotypes of what a church "should look like" were. This experience, coupled with Rabbi Paul Ivrey's story of the "Shekinah" (God's dazzling presence in the humble, rebuilt temple), became a foundational text for understanding his new congregation.

Catacombs Presbyterian. For two and a half years, his nascent congregation worshipped in the basement of his home, an austere "catacombs" setting. This environment, free from conventional church aesthetics, fostered an identity rooted in the early church's humble beginnings. It allowed the congregation to shed romantic and consumerist illusions, focusing on God's presence rather than outward appearance.

God's way, not ours. The "Shekinah" story taught Peterson and his congregation that God's glory often appears in unexpected, unimpressive places. It challenged the American tendency to define church by human plans, accomplishments, or market appeal. Instead, they learned to recognize the Holy Spirit's work in their "mixed bag of humanity," embracing their identity as a "colony of heaven in the country of death."

5. The "Badlands": A Season of Deepening and Unlearning

Ecstasy doesn’t last. But it can cut a channel for something lasting.

Post-achievement malaise. After the initial euphoria of organizing a new congregation and building a sanctuary, Peterson entered a six-year period he called the "badlands." Congregational apathy and a draining of his own adrenaline left him feeling ineffective and disillusioned, questioning his competitive, goal-driven approach to ministry.

Pilgrimage and perspective. Annual family pilgrimages to Montana, traversing the Dakota Badlands, became a metaphor for this arid spiritual season. These journeys provided space for reflection, helping him realize that spiritual growth, like natural cycles, includes periods of dormancy. He learned to submit to conditions where his competitive skills were "actively destructive."

Chastening and purging. The badlands became a refining fire, purging ego and the addiction to adrenaline and visible results. It was a time for unlearning the "American way" of constant activity and achievement, and instead cultivating patience, presence, and a deeper trust in God's unseen work. This period was essential for integrating his identity and preparing him for a "long obedience."

6. Eucharistic Hospitality: The Pastor's Wife's Sacred Work

To live no tight, neat role is truly sacrificial, it is also truly creative because it leaves us open and free (dare we say) like God himself.

Jan's unique vocation. Jan Peterson's role as a "pastor's wife" was not a job description but a sacred vocation of "Eucharistic hospitality." She cultivated a welcoming presence in their suburban neighborhood, making connections and fostering community in a society marked by isolation and inhospitality.

Garden as metaphor. Her organic garden, inspired by a chemist neighbor, became both a literal source of food and a metaphor for nurturing life and connection. It taught them to see all meals as Eucharistic, linking daily sustenance to the ultimate act of Christ's hospitality at the Lord's Table.

• Growing food: Connecting to creation and healthy living.
• Organic gardening: Resisting chemical shortcuts and embracing natural processes.
• Meals as Eucharist: Transforming ordinary gatherings into acts of thanksgiving and community.

Beyond stereotypes. Jan's quiet, unself-conscious hospitality challenged conventional notions of "women's work" and "church work." She created a space where people felt seen and heard, fostering relationships that deepened naturally, often surprising them with unexpected grace, as seen in the Morrison family's story of communal care.

7. The Unbusy Pastor: Trusting God and the Congregation

To insure the greatest efficiency in the dart, the harpooners of this world must start to their feet from out of idleness, and not from out of toil.

The burden of busyness. Peterson realized his relentless work ethic, driven by fear of failure and the need to "run this damn church," was making him a failing parent and an ineffective pastor. His five-year-old daughter, Karen, counting his consecutive nights of meetings, prompted a crisis and a decision to resign.

Reorganization, not resignation. Instead of quitting, Peterson proposed a radical reorganization to his elders: he would become an "unbusy pastor," focusing on prayer, study, and unhurried companionship, while they took over the administrative "running of the church." This shift was met with initial skepticism but ultimately embraced.

Harpooner's idleness. Melville's metaphor of the harpooner, who must "start to their feet from out of idleness, and not out of toil," resonated deeply. It affirmed the strategic necessity of quiet attentiveness and spiritual readiness over frenzied activity. This allowed Peterson to cultivate the "invisibles" of pastoral work, trusting his congregation to manage the visible operations, thereby restoring dignity to the laity's "full-time Christian work."

8. Pastor as Writer: "Write in a Book What You See"

Write in a book what you see…

Integrated identity. In the badlands, Peterson realized that "pastor" and "writer" were two sides of a single identity, much like John of Patmos, who was commanded to "write in a book what you see." Writing became a heuristic process, exploring what he didn't know, a deep conversation with scripture and his congregation, rather than merely conveying information.

Beyond "godtalk." A conversation with a five-year-old, Charity, who asked her grandmother to "not have any godtalk," highlighted the danger of sterile, lifeless religious language. Peterson committed to writing that was "lived scripture," incarnating God's word in the ordinary details of life, free from cliché and abstraction.

Assimilation, not repetition. John of Patmos, immersed in scripture, never quoted but alluded, re-creating the biblical narrative within himself. Similarly, Peterson's translation of the Bible into contemporary American, The Message, grew from thirty years of pastoral work, translating the ancient texts into the lived language of his congregation, making the Bible "livable."

9. The Company of Pastors: Cultivating Shared Identity

Our vocation made us invisible. A pastor in America is the invisible man, the invisible woman.

Combating invisibility. Recognizing the pervasive "invisibility" of pastors in American culture, Peterson formed a "Company of Pastors" with local clergy. This diverse group met weekly to cultivate a shared vocational identity, providing mutual support and affirmation against societal nonrecognition and the pressures to conform to secular models of leadership.

Beyond therapeutic models. Initial meetings with a psychiatrist, Dr. Hank Hansen, trained them in mental health, but also clarified what they were not. While valuable for community service, the therapeutic model reduced people to "problems to be fixed." The Company sought to understand congregations as "mysteries to be honored and revered," focusing on God's grace rather than human pathology.

Rabbinic imagination. Rabbi Paul Ivrey, a member of the Company, introduced them to the Jewish practice of pairing biblical books of "ordinary life" (Megilloth) with major festivals. This "rabbinic imagination" provided a framework for integrating Sunday worship with weekday work, grounding pastoral identity in prayer, storytelling, pain-sharing, nay-saying, and community-building.

10. A Long Obedience: The Marathon of Following God

The essential thing ‘in heaven and earth’ is…that there should be a long obedience in the same direction; there thereby results, and has always resulted in the long run, something that has made life worth living.

Nietzsche's unexpected wisdom. Peterson found Nietzsche's phrase, "a long obedience in the same direction," to be a profound text for his pastoral life. It became a protest against the fad-chasing, self-centered individualism of American spirituality, emphasizing the sheer livability of the Christian life through patient, local, and personal faithfulness.

Patient, local, personal. This "long obedience" meant staying with his congregation, embracing the specific conditions of their Maryland suburb, and knowing them by name, not as projects or causes. It was about being a companion in their journey of following Jesus, rather than a leader imposing quick solutions or seeking dramatic results.

Harpooner's perspective. The metaphor of Melville's harpooner, poised in "idleness" amidst the chaos, reinforced the need for an "unbusy pastor" who cultivates quietness and attentiveness. This allowed Peterson to resist the cultural pressure to be constantly active and instead focus on the subtle, often invisible, work of spiritual formation.

11. Good Deaths: Preparing for Life's Final Act

Only where graves are is there resurrection.

Baptism and funerals. Peterson found baptisms and funerals to be the most fulfilling aspects of his pastoral work, as they inherently pointed away from the pastor's ego to the profound realities of death and resurrection. These rituals served as constant reminders of the self-negation required for a healthy pastoral vocation.

Personal encounters with death. His father's slow death from cancer and his mother's sudden passing brought the concept of "good death" into sharp personal focus. These experiences deepened his understanding of intimacy, grief, and the continuity of faith across generations, making him acutely aware that he, too, was "the next one."

Resurrection in the ordinary. The tradition of preparing people for "a good death" became central to his ministry, challenging the pervasive "denial of death" in American culture. He learned that resurrection is not just a future event but a present reality, practiced daily through relinquishment and renunciation, even in the seemingly mundane details of life.

Last updated: February 11, 2026