MARCH 14, 2025 – One aspect of life that I enjoy with special relish is how random thoughts and encounters can lead to an especially satisfying outcome. It’s a bit like picking greens and wildflowers along a pathway, then discovering that when you stick them into a vase and tug and pull a bit, you have a perfect centerpiece for the dinner table.
I experience these “bouquets” on a fairly regular basis, and today was one such occasion.
By way of background, a certain close acquaintance recently underwent an above-the-knee leg amputation. As you can imagine, this outcome, born of medical necessity, was physically and psychologically fraught—especially for the affected individual, who has never been long-disposed to sedentary pursuits.
Yesterday afternoon my wife announced that she planned on the morrow to visit said acquaintance and asked if I wished to join her. “Sure,” I said.
Late yesterday evening, as I anticipated today’s visit, I thought about the amputee and pondered what words of cheer and encouragement I might offer beyond, “You’re looking good!” I considered the possibility that maybe the individual would not be looking so good; or, despite a healthy appearing countenance, might still be in a discernible funk, rendering a generically cheerful sounding greeting to be apprehended as patently disingenuous, despite the best of intentions.
After some time imagining what I could say, I felt a spark of inspiration. I thought about Pastor Jacobson—the associate pastor, fresh out of seminary, who was introduced to our Lutheran (ECLA) congregation way back in ancient times: 1991. He was barely 25 years old (I was 36), but he immediately impressed everyone as having the maturity of someone at least a couple of decades older. No doubt this gift of “early maturity” came at the price of late childhood/early adulthood cancer—first in one leg, then the other, leaving him a double-amputee. But clearly, such a devastating experience—Rolf had been a natural and rugged athlete—had worked its own positive miracle. Everyone could see that Rolf had an exceptional gift for understanding life and its burdens and travails but also its wondrous joy.
It didn’t hurt that he was imbued with all the qualities a congregation could want in a pastor. Rolf was an unusually curious scholar, a superb sermon writer; a highly gifted public speaker, always the natural gentleman, a realistic pragmatist, a genuine cheerleader, an empathetic listener, and he knew how to tell a good joke. His excellent musical taste was bonus territory. It was impossible not to really, really like and admire Rolf.
He was indefatigable and projected such intellectual and physical energy, you forgot altogether that he was in any fashion physically disabled. My wife says of him, “I could never figure out how he was able to get from his wheelchair to his post behind the lectern of the pulpit. I kept wanting to watch carefully to see how in the world he could make that transition so quickly smoothly and with no assistance, but no matter how alert I was, he was too fast.”
It’s true. Rolf got around every part of the church and adjoining quarters as quickly and effortlessly as the most athletic member of the congregation.
As the reader familiar with my “dreamworld” knows, I dream lots every night. Last night, I experienced an extended dream about Rolf in which we were engaged in a long wonderful conversation over lunch. When I awoke this morning, I delighted in the thought of re-connecting with Rolf; inviting him to lunch so that “he could pray, and I could pay,” as he used to joke.
I wasn’t sure when I’d last seen him. In the late 90s, I was quite involved in the church, and we’d become very well acquainted. A number of times we’d meet for lunch and dive into conversations that I found thoroughly enjoyable and rewarding. After five hugely successful years with our church (1991 – 96)—the congregation’s admiration of him only grew during that time—Rolf announced that he was moving on to pursue his doctorate at the Princeton Theological Seminary. After Princeton he returned to Minnesota to purse an academic career at Luther Seminary in St. Paul. For years, my bus to and from work passed by his quarters, but we never crossed paths. By 2004, I’d left the church—and church generally. After that I was no longer in touch with anyone who would’ve been in contact with Rolf.
This morning we drove to the rehab facility across town where our acquaintance is convalescing. To our surprise, however, he was not there. Another set of visitors had taken him to a Starbucks a few blocks away. We didn’t want to interfere with their visit, so we left word and returned home.
Upon arriving back at the ranch, I Googled “Pastor Rolf Jacobson.” Voila! In the next instant I learned that he is still teaching (Old Testament) at Luther Seminary, and that he is Dean of Faculty, which didn’t surprise me in the least.
I set about crafting an email with the subject line, “Blast from Past.” After extending the hope that he and his family are in good cheer and health, the missive provided immediate background that had led to the “Blast from Past”: the circumstances of the acquaintance; the inspiration provided via Rolf’s example; my desire to get together to hear his “take on the world as it now spins,” plus, of course, to catch up on life. I also hammered this out: “WARNING: I’ve been unchurched for over 20 years, coinciding with what I can best describe as ‘non-strident agnosticism’—but there’s a story behind it that I think you’ll find amusing, if not necessarily compelling. I won’t be the least bit put off if ‘you pray and I pay.’ My only ‘requirement’ is that you accept my invitation and insistence on treating.”
Not long after the email went out, Rolf’s delightful response came in. Soon over lunch we’ll be catching up on the past 29 years. What a perfect antidote to the daily news in these tumultuous times.
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© 2025 by Eric Nilsson
