“Prairie Flower Baptist Church is in the middle of a cornfield, and we have a congregation of 100 people,” Pastor David Cotner says, describing the Washington, Iowa, church where he serves. “We have younger people, older people, babies, kids, teenagers, young adults. And we’re thriving!”

Sensing a possible incongruity, David plows forward with an important distinction—thriving isn’t the same as huge. “In the church world, the predominant mindset is that bigger is better,” he says. “Big buildings, big staff, big budgets. I’m not against big churches, but bigger is not always better. You can be a small church and do ministry well.”

“In the military, the more elite you are, the smaller the organization,” David adds, then turns back to the beginning of his story.

“I can’t believe the church took on this fresh, green, naive young man, but I didn’t think that at the time,” Dave says. “I was 26. I had four years in the military, Army paratrooper, two deployments to Iraq. Married, a couple of kids, a Bible college degree. So I thought, ‘I’m good to go.’”

“Those first five years in the ministry ate me alive. I was a train wreck of a disaster,” he says, telling how he walked into “an old church, a legacy church, historical church—however you want to phrase it” that was founded in 1854, seven years before the Civil War started.

“When you walk into an older church, there are things set in stone that you’d better understand. And if you violate what’s set in stone, you’re in a world of hurt. And so I came in like a wrecking ball—full of vigor and passion and vision—and started making a plethora of changes. Good changes, but way, way, way, way too fast.”

David starts listing “all the typical things,” like music style and platform dress codes, then interrupts himself to admit, “My personality is very fire and fury, hot and heavy, dynamic and energetic.”

“When I came to this rural church, people were, like, ‘Slow down. Take a breath. It’s okay, just chill. You don’t have to change everything today.’”

As if to prove his point, Dave does, in fact, take a breath, then continues.

“Before I preach I’ve got systems in place, like stroking my Bible cover three times, checking my mic three times, checking my hands—because every Sunday they shake.” (Well, what would you expect from a guy who spent four years jumping out of airplanes, wondering who packed his parachute?)

Dave says it all came to a head in 2018, “the hardest year of my entire life. Nothing beats it—worse than Iraq. It was the darkest, most depressing time period of my entire life.” He continues his story at full tilt, telling details that pastors rarely acknowledge: “I never contemplated suicide as intensely as that time period. Dark thoughts, very dark thoughts.”

What pulled him out? “The grace of God,” Dave says, “and I’m not saying that to be cliché or cute. The grace and mercy of God brought me out. Despite the debacle, our associate pastor and five deacons were firmly united behind me—a supportive leadership team, a supportive wife, and great guys like Mike Augsburger [pastor of Soteria Des Moines] calling me and encouraging me.”

“Dave Callison of Iowa Regular Baptist Camp came down to talk with me. And he definitely encouraged me, but he also rebuked me about some foolish mistakes. I was making my own pain and my own hurt, and I needed to hear those words—a rebuke.”

All of this points to a lesson about change management, Dave says. “Humility is key. The young guys (I’m still a young guy) need to be humble and patient.”

During the “train wreck” he kept hearing the same question from the church’s old guard: Have we done it wrong all these years?

“The older generation is not dumb,” Dave says, having learned a hard lesson. “It’s not like they did everything wrong and now we’re gonna do it so much better. We need to embrace things that worked in the past, work together, and make changes moving forward.”

Looking at the shepherd’s staff leaning against the wall, Dave says, “This is going to sound wonky, but every time I leave the office, I do a double check. I’ll look at the shepherd’s crook and say, ‘Go shepherd the flock of God,’ and then I touch this fishnet here and say, ‘Be a fisherman,’ and then I touch the bobblehead on my desk and then I turn off the lights and leave.”

A passion for aggressive change while also obsessed with unchanging daily routine. Don’t try to explain it. “I used to hide it from people because it’s super weird, but over the years, the church has picked up on this and they’ve embraced it. They’ve embraced me.”

Kevin Mungons is a Chicago-based writer and editor. Darrell Goemaat is director of photography for Regular Baptist Ministries.