What I Don't Miss About Pastoring: Pastoral Pettiness

I've shared three things I really miss about pastoring. That means I can be petty now and share things I don't miss.

Speaking of being petty, I don't miss pastoral pettiness.

Most church members are oblivious to pastoral pettiness. It's something pastors only toss around amongst themselves. It's prideful, disgusting, but we do it anyway. And it can lead to a fall.

Don't get me wrong, I engaged in plenty of it myself. Lots of it. And I hated it when I did it and others did it. It takes oh so many forms.

One of the biggest forms is the inflation of numbers. When one pastor asks another pastor how many members they have at their church, get ready - because lighting may strike. The conversation goes something like this:

"Brother Bob, how many do you have in worship at Pleasant View?" (every community has a Pleasant View, by the way)

"Well, Brother Tim, we run about 200. How many do you have at Oak Grove?" (every community also has an Oak Grove)

"Well, Brother Bob, we run about 150."

Yeah. If you heard that conversation, you could guess that Brother Bob was running about 160 and Brother Tim was running about 100.  It's a good rule of thumb that you can subtract anywhere from 20-40% of whatever number the pastor is pitching you. 

I'm not saying the pastor is attempting dishonesty. I believe he wants his church that big. And his church may have run that number last Easter or high attendance Sunday. He may actually look out and see that many people in his church. But his pride (my pride at one time) makes us inflate those numbers.

To be fair, not all pastors do it. But when we do . . . it's petty.

Another petty thing we do is fall back on our education as some sort of badge of pride. I was horribly guilty of this. I was so proud of my seminary education.

On the one hand, you should be proud of your education. But it's not everything. If anything, it should humble you. A lot of pastors use it to end arguments or shut people up. For instance (and this is just and example, not a theological point, so don't make any comments):

Church member A says, "Bro. Anderson, in your sermon last Sunday, I know you were going on about the Olivet Discourse. I liked what you preached. I'm just curious, though, and I really don't know, but Jesus said 'this generation will not pass away until all these things take place.' But you acted like those things still have yet to happen. I'm not disagreeing, I'm just confused."

Bro. Anderson, "Well, I understand your confusion. Did you listen to the sermon? Go listen again. Jesus was talking about the generation who saw those things."

Church member A, "Well, I got that, but when 'this generation' is used elsewhere, he means the generation he's talking to . . ."

Bro. Anderson, "Well, I don't know who you've been talking to or what you've been reading, but I have a seminary degree . . ."

And so on. Yeah, I've done that. Ashamed of it. Because it's petty.

There's another level of pettiness that exists. And this one is two-fold. Pastors who start at small churches then get a little bit of the big head around other pastors who still serve at small churches. They act like they're a "little better" than other pastors because they've gone "big time." Yeah, it happens.

Guess what though? It goes both ways. Those of us who were bi-vocational, working the rural scene got a little angry (dare we say, jealous? heavens no!) about those guys and scorned them behind their backs when we should have been praying for them. Yeah, that happens too. We're sitting there wondering, "Why didn't God promote me?" (Maybe it was our attitudes . . .)

I'm trying to say a few of things but I'm not sure it's coming out too clear. First, pastors are people. We have petty issues, petty jealousy of each other, petty problems, and think petty thoughts. We sin petty sins. And it's sinful. Ridiculous. We ought to be above it, but sometimes, we're just not.

Secondly, we're weak. Just like the rest of the world. And without guarding ourselves and coming together as men of God, we're liable to fall.

Thirdly, there aren't many people pastors can confide in. We can't talk to church members because they don't understand. We usually don't talk to counselors. We find it hard sometimes to talk to spouses. And as you can tell, we rarely talk to one another.

So usually, the job of pastor is very lonely. Please pray for your pastor. Say something nice to him.

It might make his day, and it might make a difference.

What I Miss About Pastoring: Pastoral Care

I never, ever thought I'd say this. Not in a million years. But after my fall, I found myself missing pastoral care.

If I could travel back in time to two years ago and visit myself and say, "Hey, Arthur, you're going to miss visiting shut-ins, sick people, making phone calls, chasing down absent members, and all that good stuff," the Arthur of two years ago would have laughed until his spleen busted. 

I don't know if it's just limited to Southern Baptist ministers, but most of us aren't very fond of pastoral care. Maybe I should rephrase that. We prefer preaching over pastoral care.

You've probably heard it said that a minister is either really good at preaching or visiting. Even the guys I know that excel at visiting would rather be preaching.

Prepare yourself for a reality check. I heard a pastor refer to Wednesday night prayer meeting as "organ recital." I said, "what do you mean?"

He said, just listen to the prayer requests. "Pray for Uncle Bob's liver. Pray for Tom's kidney. Pray for Joe Bob's lung problem. Pray for Sue Ellen's eyes." He said, "Organ recital. No prayers for the lost. Just their organs."

That's the kind of stuff that makes pastors cynical. But he was right.

At first, it's not so bad when you're a young pastor. You want to get out there and visit, visit, visit. But then you realize that everyone in the church wants you to see their relatives, shut-ins, long lost members and your sermon preparation time is dwindling.

Then comes the dreaded moment - one of your church members was in the hospital and you didn't go see them. However, no one told you. But it's still your fault. You feel awful. You apologize profusely. If you're lucky, they live. If you're not, you carry a burden for a long time. If they do live, you might be constantly ribbed about it by them.

This, despite the fact, that you pray for your people all the time. You tell them to call you when people get sick. Friends, the job of a pastor in the realm of pastoral care is difficult. Pastors are not omnipresent or omniscient. I know that's a shock.

Something else, I don't know why it's been called "pastoral care." The care of the members of the church should not be limited to the pastor. Yes, he should visit the shut-ins, the ill and infirm. However, it is the job of the entire congregation to minister to the entire body of believers. However, this job in the American church has fallen squarely upon the pastor in most congregations. It shouldn't be that way. Anyway, on to the blog . . .

Today, I visited my lovely wife at work. I had the day off and had lunch with her. While I was there, I ran into Marlee and Rich, a couple I had been terribly judgmental of while at Angel Falls but had reconciled with before I left.

I hadn't had any serious contact with them since my fall, but saw them in the parking lot and I caught them somewhat off guard. I spoke to them and wanted to reach out to them. Rich's dad had been ill when I had left Angel Falls and I still loved this couple and hoped they would respond to me.

At worst, they could ignore me and walk away. That would be fine. I had hurt them. At best, they could speak to me. I would receive that as God's grace. I am at a place now where any kind of reception or kindness from the people at Angel Falls is God's grace. I long for reconciliation.

Rich came right over to me and smiled and shook my hand like we were old friends. He told me that his father was in poor health and about to die. I listened as he recounted the past week of his father's illness and told him I would be praying for him. The fact that he mentioned his father let me know that on some level he still trusted me. He connected with me.

It immediately hit me how much I missed pastoral care.

When I was a pastor, I would whine about the house visits, the calls, and the "organ recitals." But now, I found myself longing for those moments. I realized that those moments were the moments Christ gives us as pastors. Those are the moments we are given to love people where they are, in their hurt, in their most vulnerable times.

We perceive that we are being put out of our way because we have more important things to do. We have sermons to prepare. We have errands to run. We have lives to live.

For shut-ins, they have walls to stare at. For the ill, they have stomachs churning and an uncertain future. For the depressed and anxious, they have a mind aswirl of impatience and horrible thoughts.

As pastors, we think of our time. Our inconvenience. I wish I had seen it then. God forgive me. I could have gone home, kissed my children, made room in my schedule somewhere. God would have provided me those moments to prepare for my sermon. For what is more important in this life than people? He will provide.

The moments that stand out to me when I think of my pastorate are not of great sermons I preached. They are of lives God allowed me to touch. They are of the moments I spent beside people who were dying. They are of the times when I was praying alongside the ill or those who needed Christ.

Was it a sermon? No, but it was the Word. It was Christ Himself, active within me, living inside me, working through me. Yes, the sermons were alive and active, penetrating. Not because of me, but because of Him.

What I really wish I had done more is gone out, like my current pastor Brad. He just goes out in the expectation that people will be saved. Armed with the gospel of Christ and loves people like they are.

I miss preaching funerals. I miss being there for people who hurt after a loved one dies, hearing the stories of their departed loved one and then sharing those stories in a way that honors the one who passed.

I miss going to visit Mr. and Mrs. McGillicutty who used to go to Angel Falls 20 years ago but now live in an old trailer with no one to talk to. I visited them twice a month. No one else would. They have no children or family. They loved to see me coming. I had the church build them a ramp so they could get into their trailer easier. I loved them even though they never heard me preach. They were precious to the Lord so they were precious to me.

I miss seeing Mrs. Law. She came for about two years of my pastorate until she couldn't drive anymore. Frankly, she shouldn't have been driving those two years. She could talk your ear off. She would call me whenever she wanted. When you visited her, you better have at least two hours to spend, or an escape route, because she would go on for a long time. She had three children who ignored her and were just waiting for her to die to get her inheritance. I have 20 stories about her to tell. She's still alive and I love her. She's 90. Hope she outlives her kids.

I miss seeing people. I know now what it means to love as Christ loved. I missed an opportunity. Maybe one day I'll have that chance again.

 

If you're a pastor and you're reading this - don't visit cheaply. Listen to your people. Visit the elderly like they're your parents or grandparents. Visit them like it's the last time you'll see them.

Church members, listen. Call your pastor when you're in the hospital. Don't overwhelm him with stupid stuff. If you have a toenail surgery, don't bother him. If he heads off to Disney World with his family, leave him alone. The man needs space.

The church is the body of Christ. Minister to one another. Love one another. You all belong to each other. Act like it.