Last Saturday, I had the solemn honor of preaching at the funeral of my Uncle Jerry. More than just an uncle, Henry Jerome Mathre was my Godfather, the Lutheran pastor who officiated at both my wedding and my ordination. Jerry was a pioneer in the field of Clinical Pastoral Education, a mentor to countless clergy and seminarians, guiding them in the delicate art of pastoral care and conversation. In his retirement, he embarked on a different kind of pioneering journey, embracing the freedom of RV life with his wife Nola, long before the age of ubiquitous cell phones and internet. He kept family and friends connected through occasional mailed newsletters, each bearing the title, “Gratitude is the attitude of the latitude of the beatitudes.”
Jerry had a remarkable capacity to find joy in the simplest things: a grandchild nestled in his arms, a rare bird at his feeder, or a breathtaking sunset painting the sky. His gentle, ever-present smile mirrored this innate gratitude. An early adopter of digital photography, he’d always include a snapshot or two of his “latitudes.” He journeyed from Minnesota’s summer embrace, spending time with his children and grandchildren, to the warmth of the Texas Gulf Coast each winter. His life, a testament to God’s grace, exemplified the beatitudes; he found wonder and joy in simply being a child of God. For his funeral passage, he chose John 3:16: “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son…” This verse reflected his deep, unwavering trust in God’s promises of love and forgiveness.
Though Jerry wasn’t a direct mentor in the traditional sense—I lament the informal pastoral lessons I missed by not spending more time with him—he was a guiding light. He showed me how a pastor could transition successfully from congregational ministry to chaplaincy. And he provided a joyful blueprint for retirement, demonstrating the possibility of living a full life on the open road. I often think of Jerry and Nola’s RV adventures as I embark on my own camping trips through the western United States.
I am profoundly grateful for the moments when our “latitudes” intersected. I hope we all have a similar figure in our lives, an “Uncle Jerry,” whose impact is gentle and subtle, rather than dramatic and forceful. We often celebrate the larger-than-life heroes who rush in, changing our lives in extraordinary ways. In doing so, we risk overlooking the daily faithfulness of God’s more gentle shepherds.
Who is one of God’s children who has offered you gentle guidance and support? How can you express your gratitude for the quiet, consistent impact they’ve had on your life?
Read about another gentle pastor who shaped my life and others. Heroes
Pastor John Keller 