This week I celebrated something more than a birthday. I celebrate my father. My father turns 70 this year, and as I reflect on his life, I can’t help but think of the way he has faithfully preached the Word of God throughout his ministry. My dad isn’t just my father—he’s my pastor. And the best memories I hold of him are wrapped up in that calling.
One of the most defining times of my life was during my confirmation years. I started in a class of three students, but as the weeks passed, those other students dropped out. Before long, it was just me—one student in a confirmation class of one. What could have been awkward or discouraging for some became one of the greatest blessings of my life.
My father had a unique way of teaching. We didn’t just skim through lessons or rush to finish a workbook. We went deep. Verse by verse, line by line. We examined each article of the catechism in detail. We dug into Scripture and explored why we believe what we believe. We studied the life of Martin Luther—not just as a historical figure, but as a man who wrestled with the Word of God and came out clinging to grace.
Some weeks, we would spend the entire class going through the creeds—word by word, idea by idea. It wasn’t merely an academic exercise; it was intentional and deeply meaningful. Those discussions allowed me to engage with the substance of what we believe on a personal level. I genuinely enjoyed spending that time with my dad, exploring the gospel, theology, and doctrine. I know that’s not how most teenagers would choose to spend their evenings, but for me, those conversations left deep memories.
Of course, I wasn’t a perfect student. I could have done better on my memory work. I could have been more diligent with my homework. But even in those imperfect moments, my dad gave me something far more lasting than a perfect grade: he gave me a passion for the Word.
I don’t believe Lutheran Christians are somehow “different” in that we’re the only ones who care deeply about Scripture. But in that little confirmation class, in our tiny church, something was lit inside of me. A spark of love for God’s Word. A joy in wrestling with doctrine. A deep, abiding passion that I have carried with me into college, into marriage, into the congregations I’ve joined over the years.
And yes—sometimes that passion has gotten me into trouble. I ask hard questions. I care deeply about doctrine. I can get worked up about things that matter to me. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Because every time I speak with conviction about my faith, I know exactly where that spark came from.
It came from my dad.
So this week, as my father celebrates 70 years of life, I honor him not just as my dad, but as the pastor who taught me to love the Word. I honor the countless sermons he preached, the confirmation classes he led, the quiet moments he spent guiding me through creeds and confessions. I honor the way he lived out his calling—not just in the pulpit, but in the living room, the church basement, and those one-on-one moments.
Thank you, Dad, for giving me this passion. Thank you for showing me that faith is worth studying, cherishing, and defending. Thank you for preaching Christ with conviction and love.
Thank you for preaching the Word.
Thank you for teaching me to love it, too.
I love you.
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