It was an ordinary Friday morning. After devotions, I lifted at the gym. I met my loyal little band of sermon feedback critics at the church, who offered their wisdom on Sunday’s sermon. I stepped into a meeting to help someone navigate a conflict and then, walking into my office, opened my laptop to a disheartening email that someone had chosen to leave the church.

Another Friday morning in the life of a normal pastor.

Back in my office, a call came through. “We wanted to let you know that Roger passed this morning.”

Roger Barrier was my childhood pastor. Roger was a faithful expositor of scripture and a gentle shepherd. He had a quick, shy smile and a calm presence. As much as anyone, Roger taught me to love and become a student of the Word. Roger taught me to pray. “Lord, make me a man of God at any and all costs.” I have prayed that prayer countless times in my life. And, just as Roger warned, it has been a costly prayer.

Roger’s eldest daughter was just a year older than me, so I saw first-hand that Roger’s ministry was not merely a platform ministry. He was a faithful, loving, and doting husband and father. Despite his significant local ministry, there was never a hint of impropriety surrounding Roger. Roger gave his full attention to the one in front of him. He also had a childlike sense of joy that accompanied him. If ever anyone had a glint in his eye, Roger did.

Roger invited me out for lunch after my senior year in high school. Over Macayos’s chips and salsa, Roger gave me a word about where he believed God was calling me that buoyed my hope in my pastoral calling, not just then, but in times of discouragement and confusion that lay ahead.

My undergraduate education was formational in many ways, but I regret the hubris that arose in me during those years. There was a time when I almost used my childhood church’s theology and philosophy of ministry as a foil. It wouldn’t be until I was in pastoral ministry that I was humbled enough to recognize what a treasure it was to have sat under Roger’s leadership.

Eight years after the Macayos lunch, Roger flew out to New Jersey to preach at my ordination sermon. He spent the morning walking Princeton’s campus with me, humbly offering me advice about my pastoral journey ahead. It has taken me sixteen years of pastoral ministry to recognize the depth of some of his advice.  

Just this week, I was reading the work of an author Roger had recommended decades ago, whose advice I had discarded during my seminary years. No, Roger was right. There was much insight to be mined from this source.

Every week, another prominent evangelical leader’s name seems to be splashed on the headlines with a moral failing. As a fellow pastor, such disclosures are sobering. Jesus warns the teachers with utter seriousness, “Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a great millstone fastened around his neck and to be drowned in the depth of the sea” (Matt. 18:6). “There, but for the grace of God, go I.”[i]

In a culture that latches onto the salacious, let us not miss the stories of those whose quiet lives of integrity radiate the warm glory of our King.

Roger’s ministry was marked by faithfulness, gentleness, and wisdom. And this extraordinary ordinary pastor now stands in glory. “For I am already being poured out as a drink offering, and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith” (2 Tim. 4:6-7). What was true of Paul was true of Roger. “Well done, good and faithful servant,” the Master will surely commend him.

[i] 16th century English reformer John Bradford is said to have said “There but for the grace of God, goes John Bradford” about a group of prisoners headed to execution. Indeed, Bradford would be martyred by the state. Bradford’s statement is similar to Paul’s in 1 Corinthians 15:10, “But by the grace of God I am what I am.”

Photo by Travis Williams