Saved by a Signature
He's been professing Jesus for decades and falling short for just as long. Somewhere in there, he found the joke — and the joy.
Tom Petersen got baptized the day before his sixteenth birthday. It wasn’t exactly a spectacular moment. No one in his family was particularly religious. They weren’t hostile to Christianity, they just hadn’t given it much thought. He got baptized because his Eagle Scout application required a pastor’s signature, his mom knew a former neighbor who happened to pastor a small church, and that pastor — after signing the paperwork — gently suggested that showing up for a service now and then probably wouldn’t kill him.
So he showed up. Once, then again, then enough times that the water eventually followed. Decades later, he’s still showing up — through college drift and marriage and church committees and a church split he’d rather forget, through dark seasons at work and the loss of loved ones and a pregnant wife with cancer, through a corporate career and into a retirement he’s now spending on the faith he spent most of his life half-living.
He’s also still laughing. Mostly at himself.
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I have always tried to live my faith according to my deepest personal values.
By that, I mean living a faith that reflects my sense of humor.
Which mostly shows up when I mock myself for how badly I live out my faith.
The Backstory
I didn’t grow up in a Christian household. Our family didn’t reject Christianity; we just didn’t think about it. But when I was completing my Eagle Scout rank in Boy Scouts (as it was known then), I needed to have a pastor sign my application (as was the requirement then). My Mom knew of a former neighbor who was pastoring a small church, so we met with him. He agreed to sign off but gently suggested that showing up for church once in a while wouldn’t hurt me.
I did show up, more than once, and I got baptized the day before my 16th birthday.
My faith ebbed and flowed, feeling distant in college, and rising in importance when I got married. (Coincidentally, my wife got married the same day.) We attended church regularly and I did church leadership things like serving on committees and chairing boards. I even helped launch a new church following a nasty church split, which I regrettably contributed to in outsize ways.
Through the years, I professed Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior. Yet I continually acted in ways that didn’t reflect Jesus’ call on my life. I kept trying to do better, but I kept falling short.
I figured I had two choices. I could condemn myself for never measuring up to God’s standards and give up on my faith (i.e. “Satan’s plan”). Or I could diminish my sense of failure by making fun of it, trusting God to show me the right path. I chose the latter.
Serious Stuff
It’s not that I don’t think faith is serious stuff. After all, we’re talking about the dire prospect of an eternity separated from God. The stakes are high. It’s important that we get them right. And it’s important that we help others get them right.
Nor has everything in my life included a laugh track. I’ve experienced pain and discouragement of some dark years at work, the loss of loved ones, and a particularly unpleasant episode of a pregnant wife with cancer.
But the passage of time has allowed me to see how God was present, guiding me through those dark times. I can now rejoice in what was so painful in that moment. And I thank God for providing a healthy wife and grown children who are now almost as funny as I think I am.
What’s So Funny?
I think it’s funny how I try to complicate my faith. I find it funny that I try to add layers of activities and performance to make God’s free gift of salvation feel like something I caused to happen. I think it’s funny that I stress about minor things such as what people think of me, whether my work is good enough, or why drivers refuse to use turn signals.
If we really believe that Jesus is the Christ, then why do we keep acting as if he isn’t sufficient for us? (Sorry, I just stopped making this about me and brought you into the conversation. If you don’t do these things, then feel free to ignore the question.)
So, I think the way we approach faith is funny. (There I go again, indicting you, too.) I also believe humor connects people and is a God-given way to express joy. The Psalmist even says God laughs (Psalm 37:13). And if Paul and Silas can pray and sing hymns in prison (Acts 16:25), then I can rejoice, even if people insist on being horrible drivers.
Current State
This has all brought me to today, which is the best time in my life so far. I completed my corporate career and have embraced retirement as an amazing opportunity to finally get serious (albeit, humorously) about my faith. For all the years when I didn’t live according to what I believed, I am humbled to now have the time and freedom from my (mostly self-imposed) constraints to grow through serious reading and study. And, when I’m not making it about performance, I am learning to obey, submit, and abide.
Encouraging others to pursue faith in retirement is the focus of my Substack, “Repenting of Work.” I also write devotions for two workplace ministries, serve on our church’s outreach committee, and travel every year with a team to a partner church in Mexico City.
But the most impactful ministry is volunteering with a Christian recovery program, coming alongside a man who has faced addictions, incarceration, and homelessness. He is leaning on his faith to allow God to carry him to a new life. His grace and resilience are teaching me far more than any encouragement I might offer him. His example is guiding me from my worry and striving to finding joy in God. (He, too, is almost as funny as I am.)
So, in summary, I was distant from Jesus, then accepted Jesus, and now relish this season of spiritual growth. But I still often act like I’m in control, despite evidence to the contrary.
And I think that’s kind of funny.
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