Terminally ill pastor, Odessa church on journey together

ODESSA—Five years ago, Mike Johnson served Caprock Baptist Church in Odessa as interim pastor. Last September, Deacon Paul Miller asked him to return as interim. A few weeks later, the congregation asked him to become their pastor.

Sandie Johnson stands beside her husband, Pastor Mike Johnson, both figuratively and literally as he leads Caprock Baptist Church and faces an inevitable decline in health. (PHOTO/Courtesy of Caprock Baptist Church)

Caprock Baptist Church issued the call knowing Johnson suffers from a terminal illness.

While both Johnson and the congregation enjoyed his previous interim pastorate at Caprock, Miller admitted making the initial call to Johnson this time was difficult.

“When I was considering who could be our interim, the Lord brought the name Mike Johnson to my mind,” Miller recalled. “I wanted to argue with him. I said, ‘Lord, you know he’s ill and is on oxygen 24/7.’ But God just left me hanging, and after a few days, I made the call.”

When Johnson began preaching there last September, he relied on a cane. Later, he became dependent upon a walker, then a wheelchair and now a motorized wheelchair.

Johnson was diagnosed with interstitial lung disease in September 2008. He believes he contracted the disease through exposure to Agent Orange during military service, but so far, the Veteran’s Administration has not confirmed that.

The disease causes the tissue lining of the lungs to harden, making it impossible for blood to bring the oxygen needed to the lung tissue. The disease is progressive, and doctors told Johnson his life expectancy after diagnosis is four years maximum.

Sign up for our weekly edition and get all our headlines in your inbox on Thursdays Email Address Mike Johnson (left) celebrates the affirmative vote by the members of Caprock Baptist Church who called him as pastor, knowing of his irreversible lung condition. Suffering from the debilitating illness has given him a special affinity for members of the church who likewise are confined to wheelchairs or suffer other physical limitations, he said. (PHOTO/Courtesy of Caprock Baptist Church)

He remembers clearly the day he first became aware he had a problem, when he stepped out of the cab of his pickup and couldn’t make it to the door of the building he needed to enter.

His doctor told him he probably had been making small adjustments for diminished lung capacity for months or even years before the day he had no more oxygen reserves. Doctors estimated his lung capacity on the day of his diagnosis at 46 percent. It has decreased since then.

“It’s a terminal thing. If I get pneumonia, then it’ll be real quick. So, it’s one of those things where you can’t dwell on it, because it could take a while, or it could take a short time,” he said.

About a year after the diagnosis, Miller called to ask if Johnson would preach at Caprock again. The church is located about 12 miles south of Odessa, near the intersection of Midland, Crane and Ector counties. Twenty-eight people were present the Sunday Johnson was called. Since then, Johnson has baptized four more.

Johnson praises the church for extending the invitation to him .

“I think it’s more a tribute to them than it is to me,” Johnson said. “I don’t see myself as the big guy here, the important person. I think for the church to take that risk—I mean, who would hire a pastor they know is terminal?”

However, he pointed out, many churches call pastors and other staff that they know will soon be gone after they graduate or find a larger church.

“They hire preachers they know are terminal, but they don’t mean it in physical sense, but they’re going to be gone all the same,” Johnson said. “But who would be willing to take on a pastor who they knew physically was terminal?”

Relying on oxygen from a tank and seated in a wheelchair, Pastor Mike Johnson preaches at Caprock Baptist Church. The congregation called Johnson as pastor knowing about his terminal illness. (PHOTO/Courtesy of Caprock Baptist Church)

Caprock Baptist Church includes members who have terminal diagnoses of their own. Johnson believes he may be able to speak to their trial with a bit more insight than someone who isn’t in the same predicament.

Johnson has shared with his congregation his appreciation for heaven.

“People for years have said that we need more hell and brimstone preaching, but I’ve come to realize we need more heaven preaching than hell and brimstone,” he said.

“I’ve known many men through the years who have told me, ‘Hey, I’m going to hell, that’s where all my friends are.’ So, they are looking at hell as a continuation of the party they’re having here, which it isn’t. But I think it’s because we’re pretty ignorant about what heaven’s like—that it’s far superior, not just in the sense of damnation versus salvation, but that there’s far more to look forward to in heaven than there is to be afraid of in going to hell.”

Maybe Christians spend so much time “selling fire insurance,” they neglect extolling the wonder of heaven, he continued.

“When you’re talking about the excitement of heaven, about what’s there, then the reason you want people to come to know Jesus is so they’ll be there to experience it, not just so they’ll not be somewhere else,” Johnson said. “The good news really is good news—not just not bad news.”

As a Christian, Johnson says, has been a citizen of heaven since he was 8 years old. Now, 55 years later, he is getting closer to seeing that homeland for himself.

“The thing I’m looking forward to is all these glimpses I’ve had of heaven all these years are not just going to be glimpses anymore,” he said.

Johnson also has found his illness has given him a point of connection with others who have serious illnesses. He recalled a recent counseling session with a man who had been diagnosed with cancer.

“I shared with him and his wife that what Sandie (Johnson’s wife) and I have discovered about being terminally ill is what a blessing this is, because it gives an opportunity to have conversations with your kids, your wife, your spouse, so the people you are close to can have closure,” he said.

Last Father’s Day weekend, his three daughters and their husbands and his 16-year-old son all came together so Johnson could answer any questions they wanted to ask. He didn’t want there to be any conversations that went unsaid.

“To me, it’s far more of a blessing than just dropping dead with a heart attack,” Johnson added. “Now many people say, ‘I don’t want to suffer,’ but you can be healthy and suffer.

“We were going through the same experience, so we had common language, common understanding. I wouldn’t recommend a preacher become terminal to deal with people like that. I’m just saying uniquely you’re able to not just say, ‘This is what you ought to do.’ Not just, ‘I sympathize with you,’ but, ‘I know exactly how you feel,’” he explained.

Recently, Johnson realized he had not fully considered how hard it would be for his congregation to see his health worsen, and he told them that. One woman responded, “We’re all going to get there, and maybe your being here helps prepare us for that time.”

Johnson remains certain of one thing—being pastor of Caprock Baptist Church is the right thing for him at this time. That made accepting the call easy.

“I didn’t expect to get an opportunity to (be a pastor), and it was my calling, so for God to do that, it would be kind of stupid on my part for that opportunity to come along and say ‘I don’t think I can handle it,’” he said.

With the same certainty, he knows he is on the receiving end of as much ministry as he delivers.

“This is a wonderful group of Christians who come together and they’ve been together for many years, some of them. They love each other,” he said. “The people come and encourage, push my wheelchair if I need it, help with my oxygen bottles.”

And he acknowledges the last few months have included struggles.

“It meant a lot of changes. It’s been a lot harder than I thought it was going to be. But it was the right choice in hindsight. As I look back, now I say that I can’t think of a better place to be than doing what I’m doing. The church I’m at, it was uniquely prepared for me,” he said.

“God called me to this church, so who am I to say, ‘Sorry, not qualified’—healthwise or otherwise?”