The Wagon Train
Robert L. Withers
Who will make it? Who might make it? Who has no desire to make it? It seems that I’m a wagon master guiding a long line of Conestoga wagons in route from St. Louis to Sacramento. Some of the wagons contain families, some close friends, a few are maneuvered by individuals. How many will reach Sacramento? I don’t know. It is my fervent hope that we’ll all arrive together. That we’ll negotiate hostile territory, unforgiving weather, imposing mountains. That we’ll survive our individual and collective ineptness. I don’t intend to give up on any one; I don’t intend to lose any wagon.
Yet, I realize that from time to time a wagon will veer off onto another trail, seeking greener pastures with greater promise than Sacramento. I know that alluring tails will be repeated around campfires of better lands with easier pickings than Sacramento. I know that some will lose heart when they first set eyes on the Rockies. That majestic range will appear all too imposing to Easterners, many of whom will turn around, or who will navigate either north or south so as to avoid the upward climb.
Individualism will cause some to break away from the wagon train, thinking that they can make it on their own. Their bleached bones will be found by those who follow behind us. Then there are those who are convinced that they know the times and seasons better than one who has already passed this way, who is familiar with the face of the heavens, the movements of the clouds, the subtle change in the wind. They will travel according to their whims, dawdling here, speeding along there, and thus set themselves forth as candidates to be caught in a blizzard, a drought, or a flash flood, with no one around for assistance.
It’s a long wagon train, contracting and expanding. Some join it for a short while. They are with you around the campfire singing, playing music, telling tall tails. They give you their hand in friendship and trust. They help you pull wagons from mud and repair broken axles. Then one morning as you arise and walk to their wagon with a cup of coffee you see that their place is empty, they have left in the night. There is scarcely a wagon wheel track indicating where they have been.
Members of the wagon train will talk about them for awhile. They sure told good stories, or could carry a tune, or had a great sense of humor. But now they are gone, they are not heading to Sacramento.
Few members of a wagon train are the victims of hostile forces. After all, one purpose of a wagon train is collective security, and if we stay together we’ll be okay. No, most wagon train members who end up lost find themselves that way because of their own decisions, decisions centered around self rather than Christ.
No pastor whom I have ever met enjoyed losing someone. Even when the most debilitating, hurtful and spiteful individual leaves a church I think the pastor wonders whether or not he or she could have done better. Could I have been more Christ-like? Should I have prayed and fasted forty days for this person? What would Jesus have done?
I only received one piece of “hate mail” while in Becket and it was during my first month of ministry. Had folks been a bit more communicative I’m sure I would have received more but our society is not into writing letters anymore. Most people who leave churches talk to everyone but the pastor.
When I received the letter in question I immediately drove to see my admirer. The person was not at home. I left a note. I then wrote a letter responding to the allegations and mailed it before the day was over.
It was an unpleasant day. Vickie was still living in the Boston area and so I had no one to talk to. I wondered if more people felt as my correspondent did.
Over the next year I would reach out to the person in question in any number of ways, from taking communion to the person’s home, to being solicitous in public worship, to digging a car out of snow. The individual left the wagon train anyway.
I think most congregants must be football fans because there is more Monday morning quarterbacking in churches than on ESPN. “This person would not have left if the pastor had done this.” “This family would still be here if the elders had done such and so.” On and on it goes.
I wonder if the Old West wagon master could look at the eager pioneers in St. Louis and tell who would make it to Sacramento? Who would persevere? Who would cause trouble? Who would challenge his authority? Who would contend that he could do a better job of leading the train? Who would attempt to break off from the train - taking others with him?
I suspect the old wagon masters had a pretty good eye for people, for the ones they’d enjoy working with and for the ones they’d suffer with. I also suspect that once a person or family signed on, that all but the most uncaring wagon masters did all they could to bring them safely through.
Didn’t Jesus teach us that our heavenly Father makes His sun shine on the evil and the good, and sends His rain on the just and the unjust? Don’t we see the Good Shepherd leaving the ninety-nine to search for the one?
It is, of course, a dilemma when one wagon places all the others in jeopardy. What does one do then?
Before my letter writing correspondent left the wagon train I telephoned one of my predecessors concerning the individual.
“I’ve tried everything I know,” I shared. “I’ve been to see him numerous times. I’ve taken him communion. I’ve dug his car out of snow. I always speak to him in church. I don’t know what else to do.”
“Bob, have you ever heard of back door evangelism?” the former pastor inquired.
“No, I can’t say that I have.”
“Sometimes, Bob, in order to get people in the front door of the church you need to get other people out the back door. Otherwise, they’ll keep others from coming or they’ll chase away the ones who are already there.”
That was a hard saying to swallow. I don’t know if I could intentionally open the back door for anyone. After all, I don’t want to lose any wagons.
But then, if one wagon insists on continually breaking ranks and distracting others from our goal of Sacramento, what do I do on that morning when I discover they have left their place and are driving out on the horizon?
Do I run after them? Do I plead with them to return?
Or do I gently close the back door behind them?
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