If It Ain't Broke...

Earning my local pastor’s license turned out to be a mixed blessing; in spite of our theological differences, Nate and I made a good team and we took albeit the egocentric foundation set by Bill Denlinger and continued to grow Trinity Heights upon it. The first year of the Course of Study at Claremont School of Theology afforded me the opportunity to study under the likes of William Baird and Jack Verheyden, a truly thrilling experience for one who had chosen to pursue an alternate route into the ordained ministry. The congregation was amenable to my appointment as their associate pastor, and all was good. Sometimes I like to think that my career could have been spent in Flagstaff (Dad’s thirty-five year reign in Arvada proved that it could be done) but the politics of envy and jealousy were not about to let such a thing happen. With the input from his cabinet (superintendents from each district of the conference) Bishop Elias Galvan deemed that local pastors should not—could not—serve as staff (associate pastors) at large churches. To do so would establish a precedent that would not favor Elders (seminary graduates) and this was obviously against the establishment’s grain. And so it was that the little burg of Williams, Arizona (about thirty miles west of Flagstaff) was raised as the likely spot that our now family of four (Rebecca blessed us with her arrival in November of 1986) would be relocated.