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me to find out more about this Jesus I thought I knew. Over the next few weeks I read all of the Gospels

again—this time looking beyond the lessons Jesus taught to see just what kind of person he was. I realized

that although I had been a Christian for over two decades, I had no concept of who Jesus was as a person

and no idea how I could change that. The harder I tried the more frustrated I became. I threw myself

headlong into my ministry, hoping to bury the hunger and the questions that the stranger had triggered.

Four and a half months after that initial encounter things were about to get even stranger. I had set apart the

morning to study for an infrequent opportunity to teach in our Sunday morning services, but a series of crises

prevented me from ever opening my books. First, the volunteer sound tech had a chance to go out of town

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and would not be there on Sunday. Could I find a replacement? Someone else stopped by who wanted to

complain about how unfriendly our church was. She had been attending for two years and had not once

been invited out by anyone.

Then Ben and Marsha Hopkins came by to tell me they wouldn’t be at home group that night. This was the

third time in a row they were going to miss, not a good example for someone who was my assistant leader.

When I pressed them, they finally told me that they weren’t happy with the church and were considering

leaving. I tried to talk them out of it. I’d invested countless hours getting them ready to lead a home group

on their own—---how could they leave now? “Our children are enjoying a youth group at another church

closer to our home and we’ve been uncomfortable for some time with how impersonal this church has

become.” When they first came here they were almost ready for a divorce. I had spent hours with them

helping them rekindle their marriage. Now just as they were getting to a place where they could give

something back they were running off to greener pastures.

Then finally to top it all off the pastor called right after lunch to cancel a meeting he had asked me to

schedule with two of our elders who were having some concerns about our building program. He said he

just didn’t feel like dealing with it today. It had taken three weeks for me to arrange that meeting. I was

furious and had to get out for some fresh air.

My office door betrayed my frustration to the rest of the office as it slammed shut harder than I intended. It

startled my secretary and drew looks down the hallway. I motioned back to the door exasperated, as if it

had made all that noise on its own. As I looked back my eyes fixed on the ever-familiar sign: “Jake Colsen,

Associate Pastor.”

I still remember the first day I walked through that door, surprised that the nameplate was already in place

and awed with the responsibility it placed on my shoulders. I had never planned to enter full-time ministry

but the day I walked through that door I felt all my dreams had finally been fulfilled. Four years later those

dreams proved as elusive as ever.

The son of working class parents, I had grown up in church. Even through the tempestuous teen-age years of

the early 70’s I never strayed far from my spiritual roots. Graduating from college in 1979 with a business

degree I ended up handling commercial real estate in Kingston, California, a sprawling metropolis in the

fertile farmland of Central California. The economy had exploded in the 80’s and early 90’s and I had

built a lucrative practice and a stellar reputation.

My wife and I had helped found the congregation I now worked for. Fifteen years earlier a few families and

some college students, disillusioned by the power games being played in the traditional church we

attended, decided we’d do better starting a new one. We met in homes for a while, treasuring the

fellowship we had together, but soon rented a building and hung out our shingle for the community. In the

early days growth had been slow, but in the last 10 years we’d grown to over 2000 members, constructed

our own building and had a full complement of pastoral staff.

How flattered I was when the pastor invited me to join that staff to oversee the business affairs and to help

with pastoral care. I was 39 at the time, very comfortable in my profession and raising two young children.

The adult Sunday school class I taught was one of the most popular on the schedule and I’d just completed

two terms on the church board.

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He told me how much I was needed. That I could free him from responsibilities he wasn’t gifted to meet.

Even though I was making more than enough money in real estate, I knew it was just money—the god of

mammon, as I’d heard it preached. Was I wasting my life on my own pleasures? What did my life really

count for? I rarely had time for the things I thought most important and took the job hoping I could finally

put that nagging guilt to rest.

And it did for a while. For the first year or two I was caught up in the importance of being on staff at a

growing church and actually having time to pray and study the Bible. Soon, however, the workload became

oppressive. I not only worked full days but was out five and six nights a week. I didn’t even have time to

dabble in real estate on the side as I had planned to help offset my lower paycheck.

When my frustration peaked, I often sought solace in a long walk. I told my secretary I’d be out for a while

and left the ministry complex headed for a park two blocks away. It had often been my refuge and

sometimes prayer closet, though I hadn’t been out there much in the oppressively hot months of the Central

Valley summer. Today it was in the lower 80’s—a sign that summer would eventually pass and the cooler

days of autumn were approaching.

Turning the corner, however, I was surprised to see the park filled with children until I remembered that

my wife had said it was going to be a minimum school day for our kids. Disappointed, I scanned the park to

see if there were any quiet corners I could stake out. That’s when I noticed him—a lone figure on one of the

benches across the park. Even from this distance he looked like the stranger I’d seen in San Luis Obispo.

My heart skipped a beat. I had often prayed that God would give me an opportunity to talk to that man, but

had given up any hope of that. The thought of him brought back incredible memories of that morning and

the hunger it had tapped in my heart. I was almost certain it couldn’t be him, but I thought I’d at least take a

closer look while I was here.

As I approached him, he appeared to be the right height, but that was tough to judge with him sitting down.

The build and beard looked similar, but he had on sunglasses and a baseball cap that made it hard to be

certain. He seemed to be staring off in the distance, unaware of my approach.

I couldn’t take my eyes off him, and my heart was pounding wildly.

What if this is him?

What should I do?

As I walked past him, his head turned and I immediately averted my eyes. It can’t be him. I couldn’t decide.

I didn’t have any idea what to say and had dawdled about as long as I could without saying something to

him, so I moved on down the sidewalk. I was ten yards past when I had enough courage to pause briefly

and pretend to overlook the park as an excuse to let my eyes run back to the man on the bench.

It certainly looked like him.

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His head started to turn and I turned away again feeling awkward. Before I knew it I was walking away from

him again. Fifty yards up was another empty bench. I meandered to it and sat down, able now to look

back. The man was just getting up from the bench and started off in the opposite direction.

Oh no! What do I do? I guess it’s now or never.

I jumped up from the bench and started after him, catching up a few feet with every step. Finally I was close

enough that I either had to pass him by again or speak. “Excuse me, Sir!” The words popped out of my lips

before I knew for sure they were coming.

He stopped and turned towards me. “Yes.” One syllable was a lousy sample, but the voice sounded close.

“This may sound funny, but you look like somebody I saw a few months ago on the coast in downtown San

Luis Obispo. Any chance it was you?” His sunglasses stared back expressionless. If I could just see his eyes,

I’d know for sure.

“As a matter of fact I was over there a few months ago, but only for a few days. Did we meet?”

“No, but someone who looked like you broke into an argument some people were having in the downtown

district.”

“It could have been me,” he answered shrugging his shoulders.

“This was an argument about religion. And if you’re the same man you stepped into the debate and spoke

about Jesus and how much he really loved people. Does this make any sense?”

“It does. I talk to people all of the time, especially those who are seeking spiritual things.”

“My name is Jake Colsen.” I stuck out my hand to shake his.

“Hi, Jake. I’m John,” he responded, offering his hand as well.

The next breath didn’t come easily nor the next few words. I felt like I’d lost my breath to a stomach punch.

“Are you the same man who spoke to those people? It was a Saturday morning. Did you see me there?”

“I don’t specifically recall your being there, but it sounds like the kind of conversation I often find myself in.”

“Could we talk for a moment?” I glanced at my watch realizing I had only 30 minutes before an

appointment back at the office. I motioned toward the bench not far away.

“I’d be delighted.” We walked over and sat down, both of us gazing out over the park.

“This is going to sound strange,” I finally began, “but I have been praying for the chance to meet you. Your

words really touched me that day. You spoke about Jesus as if you had been with him personally. At one

point I even wondered if you were John the Apostle.”

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He chuckled. “That would make me a bit old, wouldn’t it?”

“I know this sounds crazy, but as I had that thought you stopped in mid-sentence, turned toward me and

nodded as if you were agreeing with me. I tried to chase you down as you left the group, but I seemed to

have lost you in the crowd.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be then. At least we’re here now. What did you want to talk about?”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Are you John?”

“John, the disciple of Jesus?” He smiled obviously amused at the prospect. “Well you already know my name

is John, and I do claim to be a disciple of his.”

“But are you the John?”

“Why is that so important to you?”

“If you are, I’ve got some things I want to ask you.”

“And if I’m not?”

I didn’t know what to say. I had been deeply affected by his words whoever he was. He seemed to know

some things about Jesus that had certainly escaped me. “I’d want to talk to you anyway, I guess.”

“Why?”

“Your words in San Luis Obispo moved me deeply. You seem to know Jesus in a way I’d only hoped to. I’m

a pastor, on staff at a church in town—City Center Fellowship. Ever hear of it?”

“No, I don’t think so!” he shook his head.

His answer offended me a little. Why wouldn’t he know about us? “Do you live around here?”

“No. Actually this is the first time I have been to Kingston.”

“Really? What brings you here?”

“Maybe your prayers,” he said laughing. “I’m not really sure.”

“Listen I’ve got to go in a few minutes. Could we meet again sometime?”

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“I don’t know. I really don’t have the freedom to commit to an appointment. If we need to get together

again, I’m sure we will. This happened without a schedule.”

“Could you come over for dinner tonight? We could talk then.”

“No, I’m sorry. I already have something tonight. What’s going on?”

Where to start? I had so much to ask but only 20 minutes left before I had to rush back to the office, and

even then I’d be late.

“I am really frustrated. It seems like everyone I’ve talked to lately is running on empty—even Christians I’ve

known for decades. I met with one of our elders yesterday, who I’ve always thought to be a rock. Jim’s

pretty disillusioned with it all these days. He told me he often wonders if God is even real or if this whole

Christianity thing is just a crock.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I tried to encourage him. I told him we couldn’t live by sight but by faith; that he’s done a lot of wonderful

things for God and he’ll honor that someday. We just have to be faithful and not trust our feelings.”

“So you told him he didn’t have the right to his feelings, or his questions?”

“No, that’s not what I said.”

“Are you sure?” The question was gentle, not accusing.

Taken back, I replayed what I had said to him.

“Understand something, Jake, this life in Jesus is a real thing. It’s not a game. When people sense

something’s wrong, you know what I’ve discovered? Something usually is.”

“And I told him to ignore it,” the words were spoken more to myself than to John. I shook my head at the

realization.

“Do you think you helped him?”