Getting to the Last Page: Part 2

In one of my recent posts I said, “I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my own relationship with God and about how hard it is sometimes to give it a lot of thought or consideration because God is what I do for a living. I don’t intend for that last sentence to sound irreverent, but being a pastor sometimes makes it hard to spend time focusing on your own faith, on your own walk with Christ.”

At the heart of what I was feeling was something of a disconnect that can occur too easily: the separation of ‘professional’ ministry and personal faith. Part of the reason a pastor may experience this is because each week you’re responsible for preaching, organizing a worship service, perhaps preparing music, leading group studies, and visiting; and in the midst of all this—the appointments and events that fill our day-planners—our own relationship with God can end up on the periphery.

I know that I’ve felt this. Life can get pretty busy, and between making sure I fulfill all of my pastoral and family responsibilities my own personal faith can sometimes fall between the cracks. But when this happens, it doesn’t take all that long—but even then perhaps it takes too long!—to realize that something isn’t quite right. Something is askew.

And though all of my vocational responsibilities are getting done, some indefinable quality needed in the midst of fulfilling my vocational calling is missing. That indefinable quality is the one thing that is indispensable: God. And of course God is not a quality, but a person, the Person, the reason why my vocation exists at all. But because he’s not, strictly speaking, visible, we can, unfortunately, ignore him and carry on doing ministry on our own.

Now when I say we can ignore him, I don’t really mean that. Instead, we neglect prayer. We read books other than Scripture. We fail to spend time quietly meditating in his presence. We avoid dealing with our own spiritual life for the sake of the ministry and in doing so we inadvertently impair our ministry; that is, we hinder our own ability to serve others by being reminders of God’s grace and light.

But the fact is that the two cannot be separated; professional ministry and personal faith go hand in hand. It is the dynamic between the two that makes a pastor. I say that, of course, and I believe it, but I am not always the best example of it.

So all of this is going through my head, and in my case I’m trying to find my way back to that balance, and while in my office one day I come across—accidentally?—a book. I was looking for a completely different book, which I never did find. The book whose spine drew my attention was Henri J.M. Nouwen’s The Living Reminder: Service and Prayer in Memory of Jesus Christ. I actually took it off the shelf because I couldn’t read the spine! It’s a thin book, less than a hundred pages, and I once I had it my hands I took a quick glance at the introduction. Here is what I read:

“What are the spiritual resources of ministers? What prevents them from becoming dull, sullen, lukewarm bureaucrats, people who have many projects, plans, and appointments but who have lost their heart somewhere in the midst of their activities? What keeps ministers vital, alive, energetic, and full of zeal? What allows them to preach and teach, counsel and celebrate with a continuing sense of wonder, joy, gratitude, and praise? These are the questions of this book.”

And as soon as my eyes poured over these words, I knew I had to read this book. It was just one of those moments where it felt like what I could have regarded as a coincidence or accident—the plucking off the shelf of a book I wasn’t even looking for—was actually a God moment.

That being the case, I’m reading it in anticipation that God wants to say something to me through these pages. I don’t know precisely what yet and maybe I won’t know right away. I’ll hopefully have more to share later. But right now reading this unassuming little volume feels to me like a small, seemingly insignificant act of obedience. I’m hoping and praying that my reading will bear rich fruit even if my doing so only results in a small nugget of insight or encouragement. That alone is reason enough to get the last page.

Receiving (and sometimes missing) grace

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my own relationship with God and about how hard it is sometimes to give it a lot of thought or consideration because God is what I do for a living. I don’t intend for that last sentence to sound irreverent, but being a pastor sometimes makes it hard to spend time focusing on your own faith, on your own walk with Christ. And even saying my God is what I do for a living misconstrues the truth and misleads. It’s a weird vocation in that who you are is all mixed up and can get all confused with what you do. If I weren’t a pastor, I’d still read my Bible, but I wouldn’t see sermon outlines in every passage I read (not that I do this all the time but it does happen). If I weren’t a pastor, I’d still pray, but I wouldn’t be leading a whole congregation in prayer each week. Being a pastor means blurring indistinguishably the line between the personal and professional or vocational.

Ironically, sometimes all that goes along with being a pastor can have the effect of crowding out consistent prayer time and Bible study. The very thing I want to teach others to do, I struggle to get done myself. Again, the language of “do” intrudes. The word “be” is much better. But I can’t teach others to be something I myself am not. I can’t pass on habits, spiritual or otherwise, that I don’t myself practice. I worry about this – I worry about how my own failures and weaknesses affect my congregation and how perfect I need to be to be the pastor they need me to be.

Underlying this sometimes, and in some ways, is a failure to grasp grace. Core to the good news is that God comes to us—forgives, redeems, reveals, makes new, and heals—without any effort on our part. We don’t deserve this. He doesn’t have to extend this grace, but grace—and love—are his character (as are holiness, mercy, goodness, justice and many other attributes). He passes on salvation not as a prize for good behaviour but out of an overflowing of good will toward his creatures.

I admit I don’t get grace well enough—that is, while I understand it theologically and biblically and intellectually, many of my attitudes, reactions, moods, and ways of thinking have not yet been sufficiently transformed (converted!) by the reality of this grace, by the reality of who God is. And who he is for us.

I hope admitting such a thing isn’t too startling in coming from a pastor. All I know is that when I look at myself, I see so much need for spiritual transformation. I can discern endless cracks in the walls, leaks in the plumbing, and drafts coming in from the outside.

One of the things I don’t like about being a pastor is that I spend a lot of time not being transparent. That is, most of the time around folks in my congregation it isn’t appropriate to admit to my own struggles and weaknesses and flaws. This is true even if one of my struggles is particularly dogging me at the moment. Finding a place where one can be spiritually open with all the messiness found in even a pastor’s heart is not easy. Companions are not easy to locate. Or maybe I’m not very good at recognizing them when they’re standing right in front of me. Maybe part of me feels I have to be closed off even to people outside the church who could be potential spiritual companions.

Even when posting on this blog, I’ve been quite cautious about the degree of my openness and how personal and direct I allow myself to be—it’s not an anonymous blog and people I know, including some from my church, read it (once in awhile anyway!). Exercising discretion in disclosing personal matters is something every pastor learns quickly.

Part of me wonders (and is still very much figuring out) how a pastor is supposed to relate to his congregation—what he should be and what they would like him to be and what he ought to be could very well be three different things! Though doubtless there is at least some overlap.

Whatever the relationship, certainly grace plays a central role. For even if the pastor does disclose a personal struggle (though not one damaging to his authority or credibility or the well-being of the church; that is, not serious moral failure) that startles some or is simply unexpected in its honesty, hopefully people will still see the pastor as pastor even if the cracks and flaws are more clearly seen. Certainly that is how I hope my people see me—and it’s how I hope they see one another: though broken, God-made; though flawed, redeemed; and though struggling with sin, rescued from its slavery. Seeing one another through the eyes of grace means seeing one another as God does—means relating to one another how God does. We don’t (hopefully!) expect moral perfection of ourselves; and neither should we expect it of those around us.

My prayer for the coming year—though not a steadfast New Year’s Resolution—is that I can learn to rest more comfortably in God’s grace and that I will be, in my attitudes and actions, more transformed by this same grace. I wonder how much our church lives—our journeys of faith and relationships with God—would change if only we had a deeper grasp of not only grace but of the God who in mercy continually extends it in our direction.

We are not alone . . .

Though I don't read anywhere near enough, I do try to plant my nose solidly in a book as much as possible. And usually I have one or more books on the go. Both as a pastor and even simply as a follower of Jesus, I read in part to know I'm not alone, to be reassured that my own experiences, frustrations, failings, hopes, and aspirations don't completely mark me off as an oddity among my brothers and sisters in the faith. Thankfully, I often discover that I am not alone.

One of my favourite writers at the moment is Mark Buchanan, a pastor and writer from BC. His reflections and explorations of the Christian life have a way of penetrating mind and heart. And I think this is so because while he is a pastor he freely admits to his own failings (though not necessarily specific sins) and places himself among the body of Christ rather than above it. He writes on the Christian life as a means of dissecting the issues that he himself has faced as a disciple of Jesus--and in so doing he manages to unearth truths from Scripture, distilled through his experience, that reverberate and echo in my heart as well. Though often we feel alone in our struggles as believers, we are usually not the first to feel what we feel and to face the problems we face.

This is especially comforting to me as a pastor, because sometimes, wrong or not, I can feel as though I need to have it more together than everyone else in church. It's though what makes a pastor effective is that he (or she) is immune to the daily toils and troubles that assault the rest of Jesus' followers. We have to exist and live somewhere between the clouds of heaven and the dirt of the earth. But this isn't true at all. And it may not even be what people in the pews think. I hope that it isn't. All I know is that I do not feel immune nor do I have the ability to don angels' wings and view matters from above. I am here just like everyone else. And, wonderfully, so is our God. He who is heaven also was on earth in Jesus; and he continues to be present here by his Spirit for those who trust him.

So I read. I read to know that I'm not alone. I read for other reasons too but that's not a bad place to begin. I'm currently reading Buchanan's book Your God is Too Safe. And this past Christmas someone gave me his book Hidden in Plain Sight. That one I've already devoured. I've also read The Rest of God and The Holy Wild. I heartily recommend any or all of them. Maybe as you follow Jesus, you'll discover in reading that you too are not alone.

Books and Pastors

I find that at the moment, books have become my pastors. The pastoral life can be confusing, isolating, bewildering, exhilirating, joyful, and frustrating. It all depends on the day of the week sometimes. And in the midst of all the challenges that that are likely inevitable, I too need people who can show me the way and ground me responsibly in my calling, both as a follower of Jesus and as a pastor. Such help often shows up in people who write books about this life in Christ that we find ourselves thrown into by the mysterious yet faithful grace of God.

Yesterday, I was wishing I had something helpful and encouraging to read. I started scanning my bookshelves--on which there is no lack of books!--and my eyes landed providentially on a book I purchased nearly a year ago but had barely touched: David Hansen's The Art of Pastoring: Ministry Without All the Answers. Already I've read a good chunk of this book and have been encouraged and challenged, not only in my pastoral calling but in my Christian walk in general. The chapters on temptation and eschatology are so far the ones that have challenged my thinking the most. I read something like this and I realize how much we misunderstand ministry and the Christian life. We try to boost ourselves and our churches up by employing management-style programs--which means we are ultimately trying to manage ourselves and our churches without recourse to God, who is our life and end goal. Reading Hansen reminds me that the life of a pastor is nothing short of being a "parable of Jesus," and that the pastor is but a concentrated example of what every follower of Christ is called to be. I will be processing the truths of this book for a long time.

I've also just started reading a book by Eugene Peterson and Marva Dawn, The Unnecessary Pastor: Rediscovering the Call. So far, so good. But almost every page Peterson graces with his pen rings with truths you felt but could never express or dared not imagine. And this book also makes me want to pick up more stuff by Marva Dawn. Another great book is Peterson's The Jesus Way. This, along with Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places and Eat This Book, represent Peterson's first three volumes of a projected five-volume opus on spiritual theology. Worth ten times their weight in gold, these books speak more than hundred of volumes on Church strategy, management, growth, and health.

I've realized that I tend toward books that tell me the truth rather than books that just give me good ideas or ideas the author proposes are good or are based on sound social science research or business techniques. I agree with Hansen, when he says, "I discovered that spending a day reading thirty pages of Karl Barth's Dogmatics helped me more in my pastoral work than a hundred pages of how-to literature." While I haven't read much Barth lately, I resonate with these words. I want depth. I constantly want to feed my identity in Christ. I want authors who will tell the truth, which may include being told things I don't want to hear. I want to read authors on the spiritual and pastoral life whose words are a prescription against the seemingly unwavering tendency I have to take shortcuts, avoid prayer, avoid loving people, and to do whatever I can except what I ought to be doing. I want authors who do more than quote Scripture when convenient for their purposes; I want authors steeped in the salvation-narrative of Scripture, the grand story of redemption given to us through the Father, Son, and Spirit. I want authors and books that remind me of the truth, because even if the truth sometimes hurts, it is still what sets us free.