The transformative power of Pastor Jeffrey Tacklind
Story by MARRIE STONE
Photos by Mary Hurlbut
There’s a well-known passage by the 13th-century Persian poet Rumi that I often use as a guide in my relationships and my work: “Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there.” Last week, I met Pastor Jeff Tacklind there.
Jeff, obviously, is a man of God. His congregation at Church by the Sea describes itself as “a community of believers endeavoring to live as God’s people with Christ as the central focus.” Grounded by his own humanity, Jeff is quick to confess he has more questions than answers. Like many, he’s curious, humble, vulnerable, and still as much seeker as prophet – the very traits of a remarkable pastor.
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Pastor Jeff Tacklind addressing his congregation at Church by the Sea
I come from a long line of dedicated agnostics. Which is to say that although Jeff and I approach life from different perspectives, we still found a wonderfully rich field on which to meet.
This is a story about that field, where Jeff meets anyone who arrives. It’s the story of a pastor, but also a philosopher, a writer, a musician, and a scholar who approaches the world by embracing all its paradox and complexity. It’s about Jeff but – in its specificity – it’s also a universal story about all of us.
Sowing small town seeds
Jeff spent his formative teenage years in Crestline and Lake Arrowhead, the mountain town equivalents of Laguna’s seaside village (albeit even smaller). A middle child, sandwiched by sisters, Jeff enjoyed a sheltered childhood. His parents – now in their mid-70s – are still devout, married, and living in Jeff’s hometown where he and his family will spend Thanksgiving.
After graduating from Rim of the World High School, Jeff imagined he’d follow in his father’s engineering footsteps. He began his studies at Cal Poly Pomona, but soon discovered that science, while interesting, wasn’t his calling. “That was my first crisis of not knowing what I wanted to do,” Jeff says. “I like science and physics, but I don’t love it. And you have to love it.”
Not until Jeff worked as a youth pastor at a summer camp – where his roommate was hiring at a big church – did he realize the ministry was a career he could pursue. “It was always a passion, but not something I thought you could do vocationally. The church where I grew up didn’t offer paid positions. I was delighted to discover I could follow this longing. I continue finding such meaning in what I do. I feel very grateful.” He went on to obtain his master’s degree in Philosophy and a Doctorate in Semiotics and Future Studies.
Not only did he find his fit in the church, he found it again in rediscovering his small town roots. Whether by upbringing or woven into his DNA, small towns spoke to Jeff. “My parents had an appreciation for the small town,” he says. “It was interesting coming to Laguna and finding that feeling again. Laguna is very different [from Lake Arrowhead], but we also have one high school for the town. We also have the Patriot’s Day Parade. I love it. Small towns were always such a fit.”
He attributes much of that “fit” to the human desire to be known, and to cast his roots deep instead of wide. After spending his younger years in a large church in Fullerton – where he was often recognized, but unable to sufficiently connect with the congregation – he felt isolated. Being seen by many isn’t the same as feeling deeply understood by few.
Little Church by the Sea is quintessential Laguna
Jeff discovered The Church by the Sea in 2001. He and his wife, Patty, had been married less than a year. Jeff was planning to take a position at a big church. But he received a surprise call from Brad Coleman, then the lead pastor at Church by the Sea.
“When we walked into this little church, in this little town, I knew this was it,” Jeff says. “Patty and I both felt like we would be known. We felt a real belonging and acceptance. We felt safe. That’s such a deep human longing.”
Because the little church was already filled to capacity with over 300 members and not an inch of space to expand, it freed Jeff to consider how to make the community stronger and healthier without making it bigger.
The congregation might be as diverse as Laguna itself. Full of artists, musicians, creatives, and intellectuals, the community provides a rich mixture of thought, if not geography. It’s quirky and multi-generational, full of longstanding characters and newcomers. It’s Laguna.
What separates the shepherd from his flock?
Jeff incorporates his background in philosophy and semiotics, his love of C.S. Lewis and Tolkien, his gift for metaphor and allegory, and his passion for music into his sermons.
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Jeff’s office reflects his wide range of reading, thinking, and curiosities
“Church is like a one-room schoolhouse,” Jeff says. “You can only teach one lesson, and everybody needs to take something from it. Wherever you are on your journey, you can grab hold.”
Jeff translates complex ideas – whether spiritual, philosophical, or scientific – and makes them accessible to his congregation. “Good philosophers and scientists have a sense of wonder and play,” Jeff says. All the disciplines echo each other. “If we pursue truth with a sense of wonder, following the beauty and elegance, if we have a sense of playfulness, we can hold onto these ideas longer.”
“The Winding Path of Transformation:
Finding Yourself Between Glory and Humility”
This past July, Jeff published his first book. It wasn’t without its struggles. Yes, he wanted it written. But that didn’t mean Jeff wanted to write it. Any artist is familiar with this feeling of resistance. It’s the entire subject behind Steven Pressfield’s The War of Art (a book Jeff knows well).
“When are you going to do this?” asked Cathleen Falsani, who eventually wrote the book’s foreward. “So how’s the book coming?” asked Jeff’s friend, Mark Metherell, who didn’t live to see it published.
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Jeff’s book is available in paperback at all major booksellers
“It wasn’t written after-the-fact,” Jeff says. “It was written very much in-the-midst. It’s a book about transformation – and how God does that – in the complexity, paradox, messiness, and tension of life. It wanders through these different seasons of change that happened. There are stories from my own life about hearing and discerning God. Moments when I didn’t know what was going on. Moments of doubt. That was all part of the journey.”
The struggle itself proves the book’s worth. If writers are honest in their message, that message rarely comes easily.
“There’s this expectation that pastors have it all figured out,” he says. “And I’ve never felt qualified.” The book is tangible evidence of Jeff’s qualifications.
Shaping the personal into the universal
The Winding Path is full of tender, vulnerable moments. Jeff recalls one Halloween when a co-worker dressed “in costume” as him. “Everyone thought it was hilarious,” Jeff wrote. “He had on one of my sweaters, was carrying my mug, wore a terrible wig, and did his best to mimic all my mannerisms. I was horrified.” Of course the gesture was intended as compliment. Imitation, as Oscar Wilde reminds us, is flattery’s sincerest form. But Jeff had doubts. He wrote, “I felt naked and exposed. I wanted to disappear. I’m afraid that maybe I’m the reason that everyone is laughing. That I’m the joke and everyone is just too polite to let me in on it.”
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Jeff’s iconic style is comforting and accessible
The book teems with this kind of raw exposure. Not for the sake of pity or sympathy, but as a means of universal connection, and a method of aligning himself ever closer to God. Jeff wants you to know he’s standing in that wide open field – outside ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing – waiting for you to join him so he can tell you he knows, he’s been there, he gets it.
In another passage, Jeff grapples with an email he received from a friend-of-a-friend and fellow Christian, taking issue with one of Jeff’s blog posts that “quoted a known homosexual.” Jeff describes his blood boiling with defensiveness. “He pleaded with me to simply present God’s truth…which I’m assuming meant quoting Scripture… exclusively,” Jeff wrote. “Why do we do this? Broad sweeping statements of rejection of anyone we find a particular disagreement with, even when the disagreement is completely unrelated.”
One senses an immediate safe space with Jeff. Whatever your beliefs or doubts, your struggles or your grief, your shame or insecurities, he’s been there. He’s heard them. He’s prayed over that problem and, if he hasn’t, he’s open and willing to try.
Jeff writes honestly about his marriage with Patty (a dance teacher, fitness instructor, and wellness coach), and all the feelings of jealousy and unworthiness that necessarily accompany long unions. “As Patty grows in new ways, I can tend to shrink back,” he writes. “I feel judged, or inferior, or inadequate. I start to feel threatened or scared. Like maybe I’m not enough for her.” Marriages – even happy and fulfilling ones – aren’t without their trials. And from those trials, something deeper can often be found. Jeff is honest about that, too. “Under the embarrassment was something more than I could hope for,” he writes. “True acceptance. And as painful and costly as it might be, there was nothing I wanted more.”
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Jeff with his wife, Patty, and their children: Gabe (17), Lila (10), and Mia (15)
And he writes about fatherhood, with all its heartbreaks and intimate moments. Surfing with his son, fly fishing with his two eldest. He relays a moment of pride, celebrating a perfect report card, followed by a boomerang of pain when his son discovers the coveted award (a discount card for local restaurants and shops) has been lost. Jeff captures his heartache as he watches his son attempt to conceal how much he cared about this meaningful win. The story has a happy, and then suddenly complicated and unsettling, end, as honest stories often do. There is the conclusion, and then there is the lesson. This is Jeff’s gift – exposing his own humility in all its complexity. In the process, he creates something bigger and more universal for the rest of us to experience for ourselves.
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Jeff sharing his passions, and a tender moment, with Lila
“Carl Rogers said, ‘What is the most personal is the most universal,’” Jeff wrote in the book’s preface. “I wrote the book taking that by faith,” Jeff says. “This is the book that came about from something really personal. But I’m not alone. I hope it proves helpful to people in finding their own story within it.”
The elegant tension of contradiction
Jeff embraces the middle space – that in-between, murky ground where self-discovery happens. As writers darken the page and pastors lighten the heart, Jeff does both. And there’s nothing contradictory in this tension.
Not only does his book explore the lovely paradox between glory and humility, self-doubt and confidence, curiosity and faith, so do Jeff’s life and teachings. Certainty, Jeff argues, is a dangerous state. Truth lies in the quest and the struggle. It exists in the middle.
There is a field. Let’s meet there.
Last week, Jeff gathered with his congregation at the Sawdust Festival grounds for a Thanks-Chili celebration. Some members brought their favorite chili recipes. Others filled in the side dishes. Musicians played. Worshippers sang. A community came together – 150 strong – under their shared love of Christ.
“I stood next to friend of mine and he said, ‘This is church,’” Jeff says. “You feel the intertwined family gathered together. People who are walking through life together. The deep bond, the joy, the lightness of a shared meal. That’s a lot of the fruit of church. The common bond and camaraderie and family connection. Not because we’re achieving or attaining some big thing. But because there’s so much compassion. It’s a healthy sign that the church is growing and generous.”
A moment passes before he adds, “I’m proud of this church.” He stares at the ground with a smile – whether in glory or humility, I can’t tell. But I’m pretty certain it’s both.