Remain On at Ephesus

This is the time of year that I get a bit more reflective about the number of years serving in one place. Jane and I moved to Milford in 1986, and my first Sunday of ministry as pastor of Milford Baptist was an Easter Sunday. That year, Easter fell on March 30, so by now, I’ve completed 33 years in one place, and by Easter this year, will be a few weeks into the 34th.

When Paul, the elder, wrote to Timothy, the younger, he gave instruction to stay in one place. “As I urged you upon my departure for Macedonia, remain on at Ephesus so that you may instruct certain men not to teach strange doctrines,” (1 Timothy 1:3). 

We don’t know how long “remain on” meant for Timothy. It certainly didn’t mean that he would never leave. But since Paul was, when not imprisoned, generally on the move, it was remarkable advice to Timothy.

We are not sure if Timothy welcomed the instruction. I can imagine some push-back responses. 

• “But Paul, this isn’t my home, and my family is so far away.”

• “But Paul, I don’t really like big-city life.” 

• “But Paul, I don’t like the culture, or the climate.” 

• “But Paul, I get tired of dealing with the same old people and their same old problems.”

• “But Paul, Ephesus is so wicked; so worldly.” 

• “But Paul, I want to be on the cutting edge, like you, not forgotten in the backwaters of a settled, pastoral ministry.”

But there are, on the other hand, blessings in a “remain on at Ephesus” ministry. You get to know people’s lives in depth. And yes, change is most often slow, but you have a much better chance of seeing change over a score of years rather than a score of months. You get to know people’s families, and extended family connections. Often times, extended family doesn’t get it. “Why does my Dad trust this pastor more than he trusts me?” And yes, there is the problem of one’s own predictability. The church family knows the pastor’s tendencies. But guess what? I also know yours. Some of it is double-edged. I carry the weight of peoples’ secrets that will remain unshared forever. And funerals of people I love are killers. To quote the song, “every time we say good-bye, I die a little.” But then, when one remains on at Milford, there are a lot less good-bye’s