To Be A Pastor

I've been reading Eugene Peterson,  which makes me wonder how I got so old without reading Peterson's books before.  His writing is wise, spiritual, literate, and very, very human. Pastors are the subject of most of his work, and he draws from a wealth of experience after decades in the pastorate. I highly recommend him

One thing that struck me this morning as I read one of his books was his description of his boyhood in Montana. He describes the people he met there in his town as being eccentric, delightful and real characters--with few exceptions.  One exception, he confesses, were the ministers he knew.  For the most part, they were phonies, mostly interested in hunting and fishing, who could not wait to get away from their  churches to hit the woods and streams.  It wasn't that they were bad men, just not spiritual men.  They wanted what everyone else did--comfortable,  uncomplicated careers followed by long, smooth retirements.  It never occurred to them that their true calling might be at odds with their comfort. 

I know those men.  In fact, I've been one of them.  That's the problem with those of us who claim to stand in for God--our words may be lofty, but our true thoughts go no higher than our stomachs and no wider than our investments.  It never occurs to us that we are supposed  sacrifice our lives for the sheep.   We keep thinking we are supposed to be rewarded for every little favor we give them.  We live as if our calling to word and sacrament were a commodity to be sold rather than a sacrificial gift. 

The spiritual world is far from us.  We get all tied up in problems and pleasures. The spiritual world is not our reality--it is a ghost which we sometimes glance out of the corner of our eye.  

We seek God, but we do not desire Him. We seek him the way a drunken beggar seeking a rich traveler on the street, to give us what we desire sow we can spend it upon our own version of happiness.  We pursue God for the sake of something else.

Lately, I feel as if I've returned to my pursuit of God.  My heart has not been empty, as the saints say, nor have I heard him as the Hound of Heaven, following my footsteps. He may have very well that He has been following, but I have not heard him.  My television, radio,  and cell phone drown out the footsteps of the Almighty in pursuit.  My heart has not been empty, either, since it has been too crowded with trivialities to notice.   I have been like those preachers Peterson knew in his boyhood--stately,  eloquent, and shallow. 

So I have returned to my pursuit of God, to see His face and know His ways. My pursuit is different than I was in my youth. I pursued Him then, thinking I was going to change the world or save the globe.  I imagined myself, as the disciples often did,  on some lofty throne,  doing great things for God's kingdom.   Now I seek Him  for the sheer beauty of it.  I'm not going to win the world for Jesus, but that doesn't matter.  Now, I pursue Him so I can see the world with Jesus.  The more I see him, the more I admire His handiwork,  both in nature and in His children. 

Being a pastor is I want to do, purely for the love of Him, and His sheep.  To be a pastor is to stand on the edge of wonder.  It is a privilege God has given to a few to walk towards Him with crooked staff in hand through green pastures , still waters, and valleys full of danger,  leading his sheep to Him, with them  sometimes bleating and complaining.  but with them all the way, then one by one, I follow him, close enough to see their eyes shine as they catch a glimpse of Glory.

Pastoring the Pastors, Part 1

I once heard John Maxwell tell about his minister father who served as a pastor from the 1920's to the 1950's. After retirement  he made a list of names of his fellow graduates from  seminary in the '20's and what happened to them later.  Out of the twenty men who  started with him, only two retired as pastors.  The majority dropped out of ministry in  the first five years. 

Sad, when you think about it. The ministry is a career with a very high casualty rate being tough on pastors and families alike. There is a reason we call the ministry "spiritual warfare."

Recently, I did something similar to what Maxwell's father had done.  I made a list of twenty names of ministers I have known in my thirty-two years  of ministry, who had served for at least five years, and what has happened to them.   I admit it was not a scientific list.  I just put down the twenty ministers in my church that I had known the best.  But I think it is a fair cross-section.   Here's what has happened to those twenty

--Six of them are currently out of the ministry.  As far as I can remember, none of them left voluntarily. They left because of strife within  their church, their family, or both. 

--Seven of them transferred out of our denomination.  Not one of those six would ever think of returning.   Ever.  In most of those cases family strife, internal strife, or denomination strife caused the change.

--The other eight are still are serving  within the denomination or have already retired.

After looking at the list,  It seems that more people are burned in the ministry than are blessed by it. According to one survey,  seventy percent of pastors reported that the ministry had had a detrimental effect on their families.   The pressures of the ministry are devastating and  long term. 

--Here are some statistics that appeared in Alan Fading's blog

--Eighty percent of seminary graduates do not stay longer than five years.

--Fifteen percent of foreign missionaries return home after a single year due to burnout and depression. Thirty-two percent of planted churches die within four years.

--The ministry is one of the highest professions for clinical depression.

I admit this may be a subjective judgment, but I cannot help but think that our little denomination is particularly unfavorable for ministerial retention and satisfaction. I have met many former ARP pastors, but I have never met one who wanted to come back in.  The main reason they cite for this is a lack of support.  There is a general impression among those who have left that they were abandoned.  I  remember a comment that one former colleague said to me after I had left a church--"What friend got you?"

I take remarks for what they are worth.  It is natural for those who have been hurt to make comments which are really just sour grapes. Many of those I have met,  even while saying the church abandoned them, will name individuals in the church who helped them.  Yet the complaint seems so universal that we must take it seriously.  If only one  of these hurting pastors is right, then that is one too many. 

When a pastor becomes ordained, he is no longer a member of any church, but is now a member of presbytery. Presbytery is now responsible for his spiritual well-being as well as his spiritual discipline.  A pastor's spouse may join a church, as may his children,  yet everyone knows that if the pastor leaves, or is asked to leave, the family goes with him.  The spiritual care of the pastor's family therefore depends upon what presbytery decides to do with the pastor. If the presbytery removes a pastor from his church,  they are also de facto removing his wife and children from the church as well.  At that point, the entire family is left without the spiritual support of a Christian church.   Yet at this time, when the pastor and his family needs help, who stands with him?  There will be an expression of concern from the Minister and His Work committee,  a few calls of assurance from others that they will be there for them if they think of anything to ask, and if they are not too busy.   There will be an offer to have lunch sometime, and lots of people wiling to pray for them, since prayer is cheap and never takes much time, but that's about it. 

Pastoral care of pastors is a hit-or-miss proposition.  If they have close friends in powerful places, they may receive tremendous support. If they do not, they can be all but ignored. 

Let me ask a few more practical questions.  Why do we not have a structure in place to help pastors?  Why do we not have a structure for helping pastors transition into other careers?  Why do we not assign particular churches to look out for displaced pastors and their families?  Why do we not have regular debriefings of pastors who are forced to leave churches, to see how we may help them, and more importantly to see what we can learn from them?  Why do we not have support groups for pastors and their families?  Why do we not have a system of regular pastoral visits of pastors and their families?  Why do we not work with pastors in helping them establish and maintain their spiritual disciplines?  Why do we not have anyone on a presbytery or synod level who is responsible for the pastoral care of pastors?   Why do we continue to solve our pastoral problems by asking the pastor to leave, even when we know it is not the pastor's fault,  when we know that the problem is with the church, but it is easier to replace the pastor than fix the church?

The reason is obvious. Pastors are expendable.  There is always a line of naïve young men lining up to move into even the most difficult situation,  ready to be chewed up and spit out, like their brothers before them.

When I have brought these things up in the past, I have been accused of wanting to have bishops in the church, who would exert power above. That's our problem--we only see the relationship between pastor and presbytery as a power relationship.  Having a person responsible for being supportive and friendly seems beyond our grasp. 

In John 17,  Jesus prays in His high priestly prayer that the Father would make us one with one another as we are one with Him.  In John 13 he tells us that loving one another is the mark of being a disciple.  So--where is the oneness?  Oneness is not something we work to have. It is there already.  We are mutually accountable to each other, whether or not we even know each other.  If one of us is injured we all suffer.

Sometimes, our little denomination reminds me of a partially dead tree.  Here and there we see new, green life, and we rejoice for it. But we also see dead branches, cut off from the rest, rotting and termite riddled,  where the life never touches.  The whole tree suffers because of it.    

It comes down to this--we ministers need to see ourselves as members of each other's families.  When one brother stumbles, other brothers need to help him,  both officially and unofficially.  We do not have to know them well to recognize the organic connection that exists between other members of Christ's Body--in particular members of our own Presbytery. That is the unity we want in our churches. It ought to what we crave between pastors as well. 

Called not to preach

More than forty years ago, I was called to preach.  Now, for the first time, I have been called not to preach. 

I hope it isn't permanent.  I  still want to get back into the pulpit of some church somewhere as soon as possible.  I like preaching--anyone who has done it for long would say the same thing.  I teach preaching now, as well as other pastoral studies but teaching and preaching are not the same thing.  I want to do it. 

However,  the opportunities for me to preach are just not there at the moment.  I have to conclude for now that God has other plans for me. 

I ask God why.  Can't I be useful? Haven't I been effective?  Don't I have something to say?  Have I gotten so old that you can't use me? 

I'm not alone in this thinking.  I have several friends who are temporarily or permanently out of pulpits who ask the same thing. They would fall all over themselves for a chance to stand in front a a congregation, any congregation and proclaim God's word.  In truth, preaching is a kind of addiction--once you fall in love with doing it, you want your weekly fix. 

I'm that way, I know.  But God has not called me to preach now. He has called me not to preach, but to teach my classes through the week and go listen to someone else on Sunday.

Now I'm about two months out of the pulpit,  and I'm beginning to understand a little of what God is doing.

When a preacher has been preaching for a while, a scary things starts to happen to him.  He starts to split in two.  There's a public "me"--Reverend "me"--and plain old ordinary me--mini "me."  Rev "me" is kind, wise and steady,  mini "me" is anxious,  stubborn and unsteady, just like everyone else.  Rev. "me" carries himself tall, straight, and dignified.  Mini "me" slouches on the couch with a coke in his hand,  watching TV, or yells at other drivers in traffic jams, or throw his racket down in disgust when someone beats him at racketball.  Rev. "me" rejoices at the good fortune of his colleagues.  Mini "me" fumes because that pulpit committee didn't even bother to send a return letter for that resume you sent.  Rev. "me" sympathizes with the plight of those less fortunate; mini "me" giggles over the youtube video of that dog running into a wall.  

You get the idea. 

Sometimes God has to slay Rev. "me" to get to mini "me."  The only way I can be real or honest is to take off the robe and the mask, and sit in the pew for a while like every other sinner.

On the whole, I guess I like Rev. "me."  But there's a few things about him that I don't like.  For one thing, Rev. "me" is a profound know-it-all.  He's got an answer for everything.  He knows how to approach God, and how God wants to be approached.  He's got his theology all worked out.  This is easy to do, of course, when he's never out of his own pulpit.  He never sees how other people do things except when he's on vacations, and he never much leaves his comfort zone.  But when Rev. "me" becomes mini "me"  he's in a whole new world. People worship in different ways, have new ideas,  have different burning interests. Some things he expected to be true are true. Other things are not quite as expected.  The world of worship is larger and more varied than we think it is, and we soon find out that there is life outside the narrow confines of our traditions. 

So the past few weeks have been a good learning experience for Joy and I. We haven't yet settled on a place to worship regularly, but we have had some good experiences and met some fine people.  Nevertheless, I pray regularly for God to call me to preach again.

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