why I’m here, and where I believe God is taking us

I didn’t set out to become a pastor. I became one because there was a need here—right here in this church. I was already serving as a chaplain, but the pastor at the time was struggling more than I realized. He asked me to come alongside him and help carry the load. The congregation affirmed that call, and I’ve been doing my best to serve faithfully ever since.

But the truth is, God had been calling me long before that. Even as a teenager, I knew God wanted me to preach and shepherd His people. I ran from it. I went my own way. But God never gave up on me. He pursued me relentlessly. My wife saw it in me even when I didn’t want to see it in myself. She kept encouraging me to answer that call, and eventually, I couldn’t run any longer.

This church—our church—is special. It’s small, rural, and has a history marked by both division and reconciliation. Born out of controversy, it spent years finding its identity, and just a decade ago, we merged with the very church we split from half a century earlier. Despite everything, we’re still here. And I believe that’s not by accident. God still has a plan for us.

But I also see something that burdens me deeply: our people seem tired. I sense that many wonder if God can still use them. Some feel forgotten, others just worn down. And here’s what I want to say to you:

Yes, God can still use you. And yes, God wants to.

If I could light a fire in the heart of every person here, it would be this: The old ways don’t work anymore. We’ve lost the cultural home-field advantage. But that’s okay. The early church didn’t have it either. What they had was courage, creativity, and conviction. And we can have that too.

It’s time to be bold again. Time to stop trying to get back to the way things were. Time to rise up and be the subversive, life-giving force that Jesus called His church to be. It’s our sacred responsibility to train up a new generation of faithful believers—not by retreating, but by stepping forward into the darkness with the light of Christ.

Here’s the vision I believe God has given us for the next few years:

In a world drowning in lies, we must become a people of truth.

In a culture of loneliness, we will be a family of friends.

Where confusion reigns, we will be a voice of clarity.

Where death is celebrated, we will bring the hope of life.

But I won’t lie to you—the road ahead is not easy. Our biggest threats aren’t outside pressures. They’re inside us: stagnation, irrelevance, and fear. And we must face them together.

What keeps me going? The knowledge that Jesus never gave up on me—and I won’t give up on Him. His words in the Beatitudes remind me of the kind of person I want to be, even when I feel weak, lazy, or inadequate. Only He can help me press on.

And why now? Because I’m 62 years old, and I know I don’t have time to waste. God gave me a second chance, and I intend to make it count. When I look 20 years down the road, I want to be the old man in the back of the church, watching the young leaders we raised up carry the torch forward. I want them to look my way and say:

“Thank you, Pastor, for seeing something in me when I didn’t see it myself. Thank you for never giving up.”

That’s the legacy I’m living for. And I want you to live for it too.

Let’s rise. Let’s build. Let’s fight for the future—together.

In Christ,
Pastor Peter Ceccardi

Lord Jesus,

You never gave up on me, even when I ran, even when I resisted, even when I was blind to what You saw in me. Thank You for Your mercy. Thank You for calling me still.

I lift up this little church You’ve given me to shepherd. You know our history. You know our struggles. You know how tired some of us are, and how much we’ve wondered if You’re done with us.

But I believe You’re not done—not with me, and not with us.

Breathe life into dry bones, Lord. Wake us from our slumber. Rekindle the fire that once burned. Replace our fear with courage, our weariness with strength, and our apathy with holy urgency.

Teach us to be bold, creative, faithful witnesses in a world that has forgotten You. Make us a people of truth, clarity, and friendship in a culture of lies, confusion, and loneliness.

Help me to lead well—for as long as You give me breath. Let the seeds I plant now bear fruit in the lives of those who will come after me. And when they remember me, let it not be for sermons or successes, but for a quiet faithfulness that never gave up on what You could do through broken people who believed.

Build Your Church, Lord—and start with us.

In Your mighty name,
Amen.