Dear Jim –
I just learned (from facebook of all places), that you are struggling with many health realities right now and are at home relaxing and in hospice care. I was immediately flooded with a huge smile, and a deep warmth in my Spirit – gratitude for your humor, strength, deep conviction, prophetic presence, and a humanity that always kept Jesus and people at the center of your life filled my memories. After I prayed for you and for Carol, I had to write a few words to send to you both, because I realize (as is too often the case), that I haven’t spoken to you enough recently, even though your life is one that looms large in my own story.
I first met you through Jerome Nelson back in about 2000, when I was still a struggling “almost seminarian,†all set and ready to leave the church and all her mistakes and disappointments so that I could go change the world through social work or community organizing – something high paying and no doubt earth shaking. But I met you, and some others on what was then called the “Urban and Ethnic Commission,†and you were part of what changed the trajectory of my life. I saw you – a towering, Santa Claus looking, loud, white pastor, walk into rooms full of different kinds of folk and adjust your posture, your volume, and your wide smile and crinkly eyes to match the diversity, the emotions, and the needs of each space. I saw you – with your thoughtfulness, your amazing (sometimes never ending) work ethic, and your way of life that wove together what you said you believed with who you loved, how you lived, and what you stood up for. I saw you – fighting for others, boldly interrupting injustice whether at board meetings or from the pulpit, on planes around the world and in prayer on your knees, in the halls of the US Capitol and in church basements.
I SAW you – I saw you and your witness. I want you to know that I see you even now, and your witness makes such a difference in my life.
You were the one who introduced me to Bread for the World – the advocacy group I would later work with for several years, and who I still support at each church I have been in ministry with. I remember one trip that you graciously invited Peter and I to go on with you to Washington, DC, to meet BFW staff and advocate for hungry people with our representatives. To save funds, you had us all share one small hotel room together. I curled up on a comforter on the floor that night, while you two slept in the one queen bed; well, while my husband slept and you watched “Lavern and Shirley†til 2 in the morning. 😊 I knew then, and many subsequent times, that you were both very human – and also larger than life. I remember meeting Carol, being in your home with wood paneling in Minneapolis, seeing her depth and obvious light (and her fabulous car out back!), sensing your devotion to your family and your love for the local church, feeling your anger at local racism, and your regular impatience with ministry that did not truly end up helping people. I remember you backing up what you said in systemic, power-aware ways, yelling on Sankofa buses, shifting around white men in power to make room for jobs for black leaders, making sure bank balances were visible and tracked and moved to the right person. I saw you vision, create, tear down, advocate, and passionately run toward others – not in a suit and tie, but in unbuttoned bright florals or jeans and cowboy boots. I saw in you that loud, white, human leaders could be trusted by leaders of color when their lives lined up with a witness like yours did. I realized that you could bring passion and tears and anger and fire and justice and preaching and prayer all together, and bind it tightly, all around Jesus; when I felt like I had to shave off parts of those strong, seemingly divergent branches in my own self, I would remember that you found a way to let it all co-exist – authentically, powerfully, faithfully.
I once worked with you for a season on the Paul Carlson Partnership – I remember you wanted to restart this fund largely to make good on the promises and history of sacrifice, projects, and families in the Congo. And you hired me, this young, fired up about justice not yet legit minister, desperately wanting to do global ministry the right way. After about your 100th trip doing global ministry the right way, you asked me, what would you call this new effort – the Paul Carlson – project? Fund? And I said – what about a “partnership,†because we need leaders in the Congo as much as they need us. You beamed at me, and you actually used my suggestion. And then you brought me into meetings with top denomination leaders, with funders, you let me write copy and publish and tell the story of Covenant World Relief and sleep on the floor of your hotel room in the nation’s Capitol. You showed me this too was ministry, this too was discipleship. You also told me embarrassing, brotherly stories about the President who you loved, and Board members who I don’t think you liked very much; you shared your favorite drinks and not your cigars; you told shady back stories and gave strategy for the mtngs before the mtngs, usually trailing off and losing your topic of thought more than once. Always so human – and so larger than life.
I asked you once, why do you care about justice so much? And you answered in a round-about way something great I am sure; but more than your words, what I remember was the feeling I got within your answer. I could tell that you had suffering in your life, that you knew what pain and lack and maybe several kinds of poverty were like. That you didn’t always fit yourself, and so you fought for other misfits. That you had stared down some demons. That your synergy with the black church had indelibly impacted your charismatic tongue and your depth of faith in a powerful, liberating kind of God. I felt this in how you were, and I knew – your story was woven into the redemptive and justice-bringing story of Jesus. And I trusted that in your humanness, and in your prophetic leadership, you would always be driving, fighting, loving, pressing for this whole-Gospel kind of faith.
Jim, your very presence poured into a young, twenty-something white girl, who wasn’t sure she could trust the church to really address injustice, brokenness, or even just not act like —- so much of the time. And you cut through the noise, you threw tables over, and you constantly witnessed to a real kind of faith. One I could see myself being part of, one I could start to believe I could even help lead, when you and others kept moving me toward leadership. I will never be sure what you saw in me; but Jim, what I saw and what I still see in you, is a good and faithful servant. I see someone soaked in the truth of Scripture who courageously wiped that truth in big strokes across everything you did. People. Projects. International trips. Arguments over policy with a Senator. Mixed race couples seeking a safe church. Stopping to hand out cash on the street corner. Jokes and tears mingled at church meetings. Loving your land on an island. Singing at the church your family helped build.
I only know a small window of your massive leadership, ministry, friendship and life – but Jim, I believe I see you. I am so grateful for you and the witness that you fought for, with fire and with grace. I am sure at times you have felt unseen or uncertain, as we all do walking through the valleys and mountains of faith and leadership. But I want you to know, that in you I see the fire of the Holy Spirit, the compassionate embrace of Jesus, the wisdom and advocacy of our good God. In the same way that you poured this out on so many others throughout the years, my prayer, Jim, is that you now are resting in that Fire, that Embrace, and with that Wise Advocate.
I see God in you – I see God for you – I see God all around you. Thank you.
– Liz Mosbo VerHage; Lent 2020; Seattle, WA