My Small Town Story

Learning to Love God and to Love People

Thank you to all of you for subscribing to Faithful Conversations! I am humbled that you chose to follow this publication.

My goal for this publication is to feel conversational (even though it is delivered over a one-way medium). Typically, when I meet someone for the first time, I like to get to know them. Who are they? What do they do? What is their passion? If you don’t mind, I’d love to share just a portion of my story and maybe we will find some points of connection with each other.

I was born and raised in a small town in Michigan about thirty-five miles north of Grand Rapids. My last name was plastered on billboards as one entered our town for my grandparents owned the only hardware store in Howard City. It was a small store with just about anything needed for a quick repair. When I was younger, I used to visit my grandparents at their store which, at one point, was located in a historic building ‘downtown’ Howard City. I would walk into this historic building to hear the wood floors creaking underneath my feet. On one side of the store, you would find typical hardware items. While on the other side, was a crafting section run by my grandmother. My favorite part of visiting the store was the location. Not only was it just a short distance from my house but it was also next to Ed’s Diner. When I visited my grandparents, they would give me a quarter to run into Ed’s Diner to get a donut. I can still smell the mixture of yeast from the donuts and the cigarette smoke that filled the air. Later, my grandparents moved the store’s location to a much larger space. It’s still there to this day. Even though I very rarely make it to Howard City these days, I still enjoy visiting the small-town hardware stores. Things are not as cheap as the big box stores but I love the friendliness of the staff and there’s always that one guy who knows how to fix everything.

I went to church in this small town. I often joke that I was born on a Monday and was in church on Sunday. Until I was in third grade, my family lived in the house behind the church. My parents faithfully attended and served at this church. My mom volunteered as the nursery coordinator from the time I was a newborn until I graduated high school. My dad served as a deacon and the unofficial fix-it man. We Mattsons were involved in everything. If the pastor wanted to wash the windows, well, then, we’d be there to watch him do it.

This church was your typical small-town Baptist church. They had their rules. They had a typical understanding of the gospel: that Jesus died for my sins so that I could go to heaven to be with him when I die. They would sing hymns and, occasionally, they would pull out the overhead projector for ‘choruses.’ They had potlucks and programs. I was there for all of them. Over the years they had great preachers and others who split the church. The same people would greet you at the door when you came to Sunday services. You get the picture. It was a traditional church experience.

What I remember most about this church is the people who faithfully served in various capacities. I remember all of my Sunday school teachers who taught me “Jesus loves the little children.” Looking back, they might not have always had the right theology, but they loved the Lord and they loved me. Yes, there were several things wrong with this small-town Baptist church. It was authoritarian at times. It was certainly legalistic. It took me a while to lose the authoritarian-legalistic mindset. It seems it has become popular for those who grew up in the traditional church environment, like I did, to deconstruct and throw the baby out with the bathwater. There’s a guilt-by-association mentality. If there is anything associated with these traditional churches then it is all evil. Certainly, some things need to be stripped away, but not everything associated with traditional churches is wrong. I tend to give these folks the benefit of the doubt that they honestly did the best with what they had. This certainly was the case as I consider the kind of church childhood I experienced. These people loved Jesus and they loved me. I will always be grateful for their faithfulness.

I left that church when I was eighteen to go to Bible College (perhaps at some point, I will write about that experience). After Bible College, I was married in that church to Rachel. We’ve been married for 23 years. Together, we have three children: Abby, Elijah, and Jonathan. My journey since leaving that small-town church has taken many twists and turns. My wife and I spent four years in Texas attending a seminary where I earned a Master of Divinity. While there, we attended a Baptist church. The people there were warm and welcoming. They loved Jesus. I enjoyed the pastor there. He taught me how to listen to differences of opinion with compassion. He also exercised great patience with this know-it-all seminary student. After graduation, Rachel and I moved back to Michigan so that I could attend another seminary to get my Master of Theology degree where I had a wonderful academic mentor, in this program, who taught me how to think. In this program, I studied theological method and aesthetics. This morphed into a passion for understanding human communication. This passion for understanding human communication pushed me to seek and earn a Doctor of Philosophy in Communication. While in these programs, I served as a pastor of a small church in a big town (someday I will write about this ten-year experience).

In my journey since that small-town church, I have come into contact with ideologies that go well beyond the scope of what was taught there. These ideologies have helped me reframe how I understand God, the church, the Bible, and the Christian life. This journey has caused me to ask questions about these things I always find my way back to the most important lesson I learned in my small-town, traditional church: to love Jesus and to love others. Isn’t this what it all comes down to? Love God and Love Others.