Nuclear powered pastor

For decades, Jim Schleif’s job was to keep nuclear power reactors stable. His new job involves a mightier force.

Schleif was named pastor of First Congregational Church, United Church of Christ, in Port Washington last month.

Before he began studying for the ministry, he served on a U.S. nuclear submarine and in the commercial nuclear industry in the vital role of keeping nuclear power systems running.

Schleif has been appointed the First Congregational pastor in what is called a “settled position,” meaning his tenure is determined between him   and the church, not a diocese or synod.

The new pastor adds a consistent presence at a church that needed it. First Congregational had been in transition since its pastor left shortly after Easter in 2024. Schleif, 69, is in a part-time role providing everything he can for the congregation of 300.

“It adds stability, predictability and reliability, and it adds confidence among the church body that we have a pastor,” he said.

“My goal is to offer the church half-time ministry that feels like we’ve got a full-time pastor.”

This, however, wasn’t Schleif’s full or part-time planned profession.

The 1975 West Bend East High School graduate excelled in math and science but wasn’t sure about college. An armed services vocational test qualified him for the Navy’s most prestigious program — nuclear power — and he was pitched on the idea of working on submarines.

“They only took volunteers,” Schleif said. “I was intrigued by them, and I was willing to do it.”

In addition, Schleif could do basic training in sunny San Diego.

“Sign me up,” he said.

In the Navy, Schleif was an electrician’s mate charged with responsibility for  maintaining and monitoring a 365-foot-long fast attack sub’s nuclear reactor. He was based in Groton, Conn., and went on eight-month deployments, spending as many as 50 days under water during the Cold War.

Escorting carrier groups and doing war games were among the missions.

“If we found a sub we didn’t know, we  would follow them and see what they’re up to — without them knowing we were there,” Schleif said.

The sub’s work schedule went on six-hour shifts with little time for sleep. Schleif worked in operations, then recovery, then maintenance or repair, as well as casualty drills and field days, which he said meant “Rub-a-Dub-Dub, clean up the sub.”

“You were lucky in a 24-hour-period to get a couple of hours of sleep,” Schleif said. “If a meal was served at a time I could be getting some sleep, I slept.”

The nature of the work also took its toll.  Conditions were cramped and Schleif was sometimes in contorted body positions working with his hands on parts he couldn’t see.

There was a good reason for the challenging schedule while at and under the sea.

“How do you keep them from going batty? You keep them busy,” Schleif said.

The sub regularly reached depths of 400 feet but could do deeper if necessary. It sometimes sat in certain thermal layers in the ocean that minimized detection by sonar.

The isolation, he said, was the hardest part. Photos of the surface or occasionally looking out the periscope were the only views of the outside, and messages from family were few and far between.

“You’re not getting Wi-Fi 400 feet underneath the ocean,” Schleif said.

He and the crew of 105 to 120 spent Christmas in Perth, Australia, went through the Panama Canal, made a stop in Italy and were in the Indian Ocean during the Iran Hostage Crisis in 1979.

He left the Navy as petty officer first class to work in the commercial nuclear industry, first in Illinois, then at Point Beach near Two Rivers.

Accidents at Three Mile Island, Chernobyl and Fukushima had a detrimental effect on the industry, he said, but nuclear power today is safer than perceived with robust regulations and safety standards. He said he never got exposed to as much radiation as pilots and flight attendants at high altitudes.

Schleif worked his way up to become the leader of all operations crews at the Two Rivers plant, and he coordinated with area communities and the state on emergency plans.

Schleif never lost his faith during that time, but he lost a church community, either from being at sea or working on Sundays.

In 2005, the first seed of ministry was planted in Schleif’s life. He attended Grace Congregational UCC in Two Rivers.

“During an evening of prayer and scripture and meditation, three words came to me in visions – teacher, preacher, healer,” he said.

“I ignored it for seven years. I had no credibility and hadn’t been to church in a meaningful way.”

The signs kept coming, however, and in 2013 Schleif attended Chicago Theological Seminary.

“Once I said yes it was like the disciples on the road to Emmaus. Doors opened,” he said.

Schleif was ordained in 2016, and in 2022 he was named executive director of United Church Camps Inc., which offers relaxation and retreats at three sites in Wisconsin.

In 2024, Schleif was winding down that career and he had already been talking to First Congregational about becoming its pastor. When the job opened, he took the interim role as a test run.

Leadership wasn’t the church’s only challenge. Its elevator to the second-floor sanctuary broke, and without the ability to maintain access for everyone in the fellowship hall, attendance waned to around 50 per Sunday.

“I give the church leadership credit for standing by their commitment to making sure worship was available,” Schleif said.

The elevator got fixed around Christmastime, and weekly attendance nearly doubled to sometimes more than 100.

In January, the church called Schleif for the settled position. In addition to solidifying the leadership spot, it allowed the church to return to an active role in the ecumenical community with parishes in Port Washington and Saukville.

Schleif has found his leadership positions in the Navy and commercial nuclear industry helped him navigate some of his new congregational challenges.

He was concerned, however, that at 69 years old he wouldn’t be First Congregational’s pastor for as long as he or the church would like.

Someone at a clergy retreat told Schleif not to worry.

“If what you’re doing is good, don’t worry about time. Just let good be good,” he was told.

A few days later at the church, he was told “whatever time you give us is going to be a blessing.”

Schleif, who lives in West Bend, often gets joined at church by his wife Beverley, a practicing Catholic.

“We’re excited to be here, I sense the church is excited to have us here,” he said.