Why We're All Pharisees, Part One: Introduction

I already hate this post. Not because of what it is, but because of what it could become.

There are a lot of angry bloggers out there. I've done some angry blogging. In the past, I've done some angry preaching. Any pastor worth his salt knows what I'm talking about.

It's easy to go online and rant on about "what's wrong with the church" and "what's wrong with _________ denomination" or "what's wrong with church people" and "this is why I left the church."

I don't want to be that guy.

However, I read a lot of blogs where people give very valid reasons for not wanting to be a member of the American church. Heck, I don't blame them, and I used to pastor one.

I do, however, want to preface my remarks with this - I love the church. She is the bride of Christ. In her glory and wonder, she is to be beheld in her beauty. She is to present herself to Him without blemish or mark. She is there to worship Him in spirit and truth.

She should place preaching as the center of worship and be a church local and universal - people who are gathered together, unified to love the Savior with all their hearts, souls, minds and strength.

Christ during His earthly ministry used the vehicle of the synagogue to preach and teach from. He did not reject the organized religious system outright, but established a church to honor and worship Him.

There's plenty of labels out there for people to be branded with, like it or not. Some people say, "I'm not of any denomination or label, I'm just a Christian." Right. Just open your mouth and let everyone know what you believe and you'll have a label soon enough.

I'm not emergent by any means. In fact, before my fall, I used to think they were awful. After my fall, and after following many of them on Twitter, I like them. I don't agree with a lot of them, but I see where they're coming from. I sense their frustration and see why they're doing what they're doing. It's frustration with church as it is and a desire to move forward, always seeking, always trying to do what they feel is best.

I know this frustration as well. It's a conversation that happens every day between pastors and between conservative seminary students. Do we abandon the church and start new ones or do we reform the ones we already have?

I think the core of the problem is deep. And it's within us. It's within every church in America. Well, most of them.

And it's not because of the church building, mind you. It's us. The members. The dysfunctional family.

I've heard different numbers tossed around by pastors since I can remember. Some pastors think that only 25% of the people in the pews are saved. Some are more optimistic and say 50%. If you ever get the gumption, ask you pastor how many people he thinks in your church are saved - by percent.

I don't even think it's a matter of who is saved in the church and who is not. I'd venture to guess that most of the people in the pews are saved, probably.

It's my conviction that we've become churches filled with Pharisees. I know this because I used to be one. And I still have a streak of Pharisaical attitude in me that I have to beat down with a ten-meter cattle prod at times.

Before I get on with the series, I'll tell you what got me thinking about it. I was exposed by a former church member at Angel Falls well before my fall. It's a story that I take no pride in.

I had a deacon once who left the church. He was a nominal deacon; meaning that he showed up to the meetings, never really took much to visiting, voted like everyone else, and was getting up in years. Once in a while he had an opinion, but he kept to himself.

One Sunday, he announced his resignation to the deacon body. All the deacons begged him to stay but he just said "it's time I move on to another church." We were a little shocked. He left that Sunday and began to attend another local church down the road.

I always knew he never really liked me. We talked face to face in a cordial manner, but he never really "took" to me. He had never said anything harsh to me, but there was an abrasive way about him.

I asked Phillip Townsend, chairman of deacons to go talk to him. He did, but he didn't say anything to Phillip.  So I called this deacon.

After five minutes on the phone, he finally said what he wanted to say, "Arthur, you're a Pharisee. You're a hypocrite. You say one thing and then you do something else."

Contrary to my attitude, I actually listened to him instead of defending myself. Typically, I would have shot off at the mouth and retaliated, but I asked him to explain. I was actually humble for once.

He referenced Leonard, the deacon who had been urged to leave the church after refusing to give to the cooperative program. He said he thought I should have stuck up for Leonard instead of help drive him out. He thought it was a double standard on my part and it made him sick.

For those of you who don't want to click the "Leonard" link, here's long story short: Leonard was a deacon who didn't want to give to the cooperative program. Church members were angry. Some left the church over it. I took hits over it for a long time. Leonard's wife went a little over the edge one night, Leonard got very personal with me, and I finally asked him to leave. Of course, this deacon knew none of these details.

This deacon thought I should have done everything in my power to help Leonard. He was probably right. I had acted like a Pharisee.

Even though this deacon wasn't privy to any of the inside information, I hadn't acted Christ-like in my decision. I wasn't long-suffering, but I made a decision that was based on my and the church's comfort.

I wasn't spiritually strong at the time. I had just lost my mother. Was that an excuse? I don't know. But I do know I didn't stand for Leonard. I didn't love him and carry him through like a Christian should. Christ would have.

Was it a difficult time and a horrible time that any pastor could have faced? Yes.

I'm not beating myself up for it anymore. However, it was the first time in my life that someone showed me that I was, in fact, more like a Pharisee than Christ.

I wasn't going out and helping hurting people. I was on the side of the establishment. I was looking out for the herd mentality.

And I'm afraid that's what's happening in the majority of our churches today. We're a bunch of Pharisees and we don't know it.

We think we're the group that Christ was blessing. But instead we're the group Christ was warning.

Why Churches Aren't Growing: Transparency And The Fallen Church

So if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go. First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift. (Matthew 5:23-24 ESV)

I write a lot about reconciliation and forgiveness. There are several reasons for this.

First, I was horrible at it before I fell. I was an awful example to my family, my friends, and my congregation. I now know what it's like to be the one who desperately wants to be reconciled with people I have harmed.

Secondly, one of my reasons for blogging is that I want to see churches and fallen pastors reconcile. Some churches actually handle the process the right way. They approach the pastor when they discover his indiscretion, they help he and his family get help as they depart and stay in contact with him.

However, this is a rarity. Most churches harbor bitterness, anger, and never get over the event. I do not believe this is the will of Christ. As the verse above states (and many others), those who have been sinned against should be the initiators of reconciliation and forgiveness. As I have stated before, this does not mean letting the minister back to a place of authority necessarily, but it does mean love and forgiveness.

There are a lot of verses about forgiveness. Some put the onus on the one who sinned. But the verse above and others put the responsibility on the one who was sinned against. 

In the Southern Baptist Convention, there are literally hundreds of churches that have been hurt by fallen pastors. These churches have not made amends or reconciled with these pastors.

Do not hear me placing full blame on these churches. If you've read my previous posts on the matter, you will know that is not how I feel. These men fell and sinned. Sometimes, they get pompous after their fall and immediately try to return to ministry. They become recalcitrant and egotistical. I understand that.

However, there is a responsibility for churches to reconcile with fallen pastors.

The majority of our Southern Baptist churches are not growing. There are many reasons for this. Could I suggest that one of the many reasons for it is that we have a lot of junk in our souls that needs to be cleansed?

I know of one local church whose pastor left forty years ago on bad terms. He didn't even sin morally. It was just a bad situation where he got into an argument with a deacon and his family who "ran the church." Ever since that time, the church has replaced the pastor every three years like clockwork. The family who was "in charge" is still there running the show.

When you ask an outsider what is going on at that church they always point back at the event that happened forty years ago. That's a shame.

That makes me concerned about churches all across the nation. It makes me concerned about the church where I fell, and it is my fault. It makes me concerned about the churches where other pastors fell who haven't taken the time to heal or reconcile with the pastor.

Two things are happening in churches like that. First, a dynamic of distrust can set in where congregations will always have a weary eye of the pastor. And secondly, if the people never forgive, there is the constant sin of unforgiveness in the midst that will hinder worship, growth, and spiritual awareness.

I had a funny thought about evangelism as well. Would churches effected by a fall be less likely to evangelize? Would they be less likely to invite people in knowing that they might have potential sins to deal with?

Since I fell, I've been called a lot of things. Since I consider this a "family friendly" blog, I won't mention the not so nice ones.

However, the one thing I've been called most often on this blog is "transparent." I consider that a compliment, even though I'm hiding behind a pseudonym.

In our Southern Baptist churches, we do a superb job of putting on a "happy face" each Sunday. We sit up straight, sing when we're cued to, and shake hands.  

If you have kids though, you know that the ride to church is completely different. "Don't hit your sister! Be quiet back there! You'd better stop complaining about going to church! Don't act up during the sermon this week!"

And each Sunday during Sunday School a topic will come up and we'll shake our heads at the sinful topic brought up. Lust? "We shouldn't do that, but you know everyone struggles once in a while." Greed? "That's a terrible thing, we should store up our treasures in heaven." Anger? "Well, righteous anger is fine, but Jesus said love your neighbor."

What if we were transparent during Sunday School? Lust? "Yes, I fight it daily, friends. Each day I struggle. Will you please pray for me?" Greed? "I've run three credit cards past their limit and it's out of control." Anger? "Me and my wife are having problems. I need help from someone. Can anyone here help me?"

What about during the week? What if we acted at church like we did at work? What if the pastor walked in on us at our most sinful moment? What if people saw us worried about our finances, fighting with our spouses, angry with our co-workers, cussing at the mechanic who messed up our car, kicking the cat, etc.?

If we acted at church like we did during the week - now that would be transparent. To have people see us as we really are - broken, sinful, wrecked, miserable, depressed. Because under those Baptist smiles are broken, sinful people who really need help.

When I was a pastor and would go to my bi-vocational job, people would cuss in front of me without knowing I was a pastor. When they found out, they'd say, "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were a preacher."

I'd say, "Why are you sorry to me? You didn't do anything to me. Be yourself."

Why don't we act around our church friends like we do around our weekday friends? Because we're hypocrites. We're not transparent.

But guess what? God sees right through us. And yet, He loves us still. He shows us grace and mercy.

But, if one of us sees a church member sin or a church leader fall, we judge them harshly. And quickly. And we gossip. No grace. No mercy. Only judgment.

Know why we're in decline? Because most of us (and I'm including myself in this) don't look a thing like Christ and His grace when it comes to dealing with one another, much less non-Christians.

We haven't forgiven those who have sinned against us. We harbor anger, bitterness and rage when long ago we should have reached out and shown mercy as Christ has shown to us.

But strangely enough, each of us will pile into our cars on Sunday, looking our best, put on our Baptist smiles and push down our troubles.

It doesn't have to be that way. If we were all transparent, if we left our Baptist smiles at the door, shared our hurts with one another, reconciled our pasts, then looked out into our community and realized that we're just like everyone else, we might just be fueled for evangelism.

“Beware of practicing your righteousness before other people in order to be seen by them, for then you will have no reward from your Father who is in heaven.
(Matthew 6:1 ESV)

God's Answer For The Adulterer

For the past year and a half I have been beating my head against the wall over a theological point.

I love my wife, Cynthia. I have an astonishing love for her. I would lay down my life for her. I wouldn't change a thing about my love for her. What we have is real, amazing and I have always wanted a marriage like this.

At the same time, to get her, I broke God's law - the seventh commandment - to have her.

My previous marriage to Angelica ended in divorce after she and I found no reconciliation, I alienated and did horrible damage to my former congregation, I did disastrous harm to relationships within my own family, I hurt friendships with other pastors and those I have known for years, and tarnished my name within the community.

And above all else, my sin - the sin of adultery - was one among many of my sins - that sent Christ to His death on the cross at Calvary.  God's only Son died for that sin.

I will be horribly and terribly honest with you. And I'll even phrase it in the way that my current pastor said it. I sinned willingly and boldly in the face of God and stuck my middle finger in His face and said, "I don't care what you think, I don't care what your Word says, I'm doing this anyway."

And I'll even go a step further. I love Cynthia. I'm happier now than I've ever been.

Don't get me wrong. I still suffer from the pain I caused my God and the people I hurt. But I have the love a husband should have for His wife.

Under the watchcare of my current pastor, I feel I have repented and asked for forgiveness. I have gone to those who I have hurt and asked for forgiveness and received some of it.

Many of you who read this blog over the past year have called me out on some things. I've been accused of justifying my sin. At times, I have. And early on, I was attempting to.  

I'm sad to say it, but in a post on Bathsheba, that's exactly what I was doing. 

Now, as God has humbled me, as time has moved on since my fall, I have been overwhelmed by His grace and have found some solace.

However, as a theologian, I have always been troubled by one question. A question that has kept me up at night. A question that bothers me and Cynthia. A question that has rattled around in my mind and will not go away and finally came to the surface as I prayed on the way home from work the other night.

I prayed, "Lord, thank you for Cynthia and her wonderful love. Thank you for the gift of her. I wouldn't trade her for anything."

But then I prayed, "Lord, what do I do about the sin I committed to get her? I've already confessed it? It is a slap in your holy face. Your Son died for the sin that I committed. I don't feel like I deserve to be happy since my blatant, outright, stubborn, filthy sin led me to this point."

It is a difficult problem. It is seemingly impossible. I finally had to tackle it to find peace.

How can I dare be happy with her while knowing I committed a vile sin to be in her arms? A sin that sent Christ to the cross to bear the wrath of God? A sin I committed while pastoring a church?

I shared this with Cynthia. She said, "What about people who have children out of wedlock? They sin and get to go on. It's a sin yet they are happy to have the child."

She made a good point. But in a lot of adulterous affairs, many end up reconciling. Angelica and I did not.

In my own mind and in my seminary trained brain, I have, for lack of a better term, been trying to reconcile or justify my happiness with Cynthia versus my transgressions of God's law. It has not worked. It has failed miserably.

Then, I was struck with a thought.

It's not really about how I see it. It's not about how others view it. It's about how God sees it. I have to go to the Word.

But even then I still have to be careful, lest I bastardize God's Word to justify my sin. Too often, pastors (myself included), use God's Word as a tool for justification instead of allowing it to speak for what it says.

So where do I begin? With my sin. Yes, without a doubt, I broke God's law. There is no getting around it. I took into my arms a woman who was not my wife. I have no excuses. Regardless of the problems within my marriage, this was unacceptable to God.  Brad, my pastor, told me how he explains this to other pastors with whom he speaks about me.

He said, "Arthur committed a vile sin. He sinned knowingly and often. He and Angelica could not reconcile with one another. He did not decide to live a life of celibacy. Instead, he kept piling on sin upon sin in the face of God. He was wrong to do so. They married and found a church home. Arthur repented, began to humble himself and continues to do so."

Friends, I'm no saint, that's for sure.  I am a sinner to the core. I am a wretch who willingly broke God's law, and as Brad says, I attempted to push God off His throne and make my own law on my own terms.

How do I begin to reconcile what my life looks like right now? How can I even begin to enjoy my happiness with Cynthia knowing that I am a vile law-breaker?

There is a simple answer. God has given me more grace than I deserve.

Let me quickly state what Paul told us. That does not give us the right to sin more so that grace may abound more. I get ill when people come to me (and it happens) and ask me if they should leave their spouse and commit adultery. My answer? NO! They say, "Well you did it." My answer? "That doesn't make it right."

In spite of my sin, God gave me and Cynthia grace. Abounding, free and unfettered grace. Grace I didn't deserve. When I sinned, I deserved the Ananias and Sapphira treatment. I deserved to be struck dead on the spot the second I began to think about adultery. But God didn't do that. He was long-suffering and patient with me.

Did I suffer consequence? Yes. Did others suffer pain because of my sin? Unfortunately, yes. And I will think of that every day for the rest of my life.

But still, the question is not answered. How do I reconcile the two? My happiness with Cynthia and my breaking of God's law and Christ's suffering to be with her? The sovereigntist in me has been longing to reconcile these two!

Again, I was struck because of God's Word.

I am a forgiven child of God. There is no reason for me to attempt to reconcile the two. God has already reconciled these two things for me. And all praise to Him for that.

He is the God who when I begged Him for forgiveness, He "forgave all my iniquity" and He "redeemed my life from the pit." He is the God who "does not deal with us according to our sins nor repay us according to our iniquities." Not only that, but He took my sin and removed it from me as far as the east is from the west.

He basically looked at me when He forgave me and said, "Arthur, I have forgiven and forgotten." And each day when I remember it, agonize over it, and replay it in my mind and feel guilt, He reminds me, "You're the only one bringing it up, I've forgotten it. It's been covered by my Son."

What a wonderful thing grace is. Undeserved. But so freely received by me.

Others may cast stones or try to label me, but Christ never will. God will not hold my adultery against me ever again. Even if I try to bring it up or drag myself down because of it, He never will. Know why? Because I am His child.

I was once an adulterer, but I have been washed, sanctified, and justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of God.

Friends, this grace is ours to have. It is ours to receive and worship Christ for. It is not there for us to engorge ourselves with sin so that we may have it. But it is there so that we may be cleansed from unrighteousness and live a holy life pleasing to God.

No one in this world, including myself, has a right to condemn me. I have been justified - not because of anything I have done - but because of what Christ did.

How do I theologically reconcile my current happiness with my sin against God? I don't have to. I throw my theological musings out the dang door. My ivory tower theology has no room here. Only the love of Christ operates here.

There is no need to reconcile it theologically. Christ has reconciled the situation with His sacrifice - once and for all. That is my hope. That is my rock. That is my everything. 

I do not boast in my strength to get to this point. I do not boast in my cleverness, my education, my perseverance or my swagger. I boast in the grace of Christ which has completely covered my transgression and has said to me, "Your sin has been removed, now move on and live a life pleasing to me from this point forward."

What now? I know exactly what the adulterous woman felt like in John 8:10-11. A woman who had been caught red handed in the act of adultery. A woman, who by Old Testament standards, deserved to be stoned. A woman who was shamed and didn't have a friend in the world - except Jesus.  

He said to her something that I now understand when the people all dropped their stones and walked away.

Jesus said to her, "Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?"

She said, "No one, Lord."

Jesus said, "Neither do I condemn you; go, and from now on, sin no more." (ESV)

Christ's love and grace are overwhelming. Without them, I would still be trying to reconcile God's wrath and breaking His law with my current happiness. Instead, I now understand His love toward me.

He didn't give His son so I could commit adultery. He did give His son so that I could be set free from sin.

And now that He has forgotten and forgiven, now that He has humbled me, I can be free to be happy with Cynthia.

More importantly, I am happy to have a God who doesn't give up on me and loves me for who I am.

Fallenpastors.com: Help For Fallen Pastors, Part One

I've made a new friend and found a new hero. His name is Danny Williams.

Danny is a fallen pastor like me, but unlike me, he has taken his pain and fallenness to a completely different level. He has turned it into a ministry for fallen pastors.

At fallenpastors.com, there are many resources available. Behind it all is a humble, yet energetic pastor who loves His Savior and wants fallen pastors to be restored to their Savior.

Danny went through his own fall while serving in the Assembly of God church. His story is unique and follows the same path that other fallen pastor's stories take. Danny made many mistakes after his fall, but soon found that the only way to find peace was through repentance and restoration to Christ.

"My pain is now my power," he told me.  "My mess is now my message." Lord, I want to hear this man preach.

We had an hour long talk on the phone and it was very uplifting.  Danny gets many emails every month and counsels many men who are considering adultery and many pastors who have already fallen. He told me that a lot of fallen pastors aren't ready to hear what he has to say.

He's very direct with them. They need to hear what he has to say, however. Right off the bat, fallen pastors apparently aren't ready to repent. They have a need to justify, he told me. But he warns them of what is to come, but he also gives them hope. He tells them of his story and offers them counseling, love, and many resources. He encourages fallen pastors to get their sin out in the open.

"After I got restored, I wasn’t going to live under the shame of it anymore. Once [the sin is] in the light the enemy can’t use it against you anymore," he told me. I heard his wife give a hearty "Amen" in the background when he said this.

Danny's ministry is located in Austin, Texas. He doesn't consider himself to be the full circle resource for the fallen pastor, but just a link in a chain. Quoting 1 Corinthians 3, he said, "We’re only a step in the process but we’re a hope in the process. One plows, one plants, and one gives the increase."

After Danny's ministry talks to a fallen pastor, gives resources, teleconferences or helps in whatever way is necessary, they find a resource for that pastor in his area. "We give them resources and direction to find someone to help. To get someone to watch you just be in the room. To find acceptance to give you hope to be restored."

On his website, you will find information regarding reconciliation between a pastor and his spouse, ideas about false intimacy, true repentance, and some excellent resources.  I'm still not sure that Bro. Danny really isn't a closet Southern Baptist. 

Danny has built an excellent ministry and I am very glad he is out there. There are very few men like him who are actually helping fallen pastors. He has been doing this ministry for a little over two years and has helped about 25 ministers.

I thank God for my new friend and hope you will pray for him and his wife and ministry and the men he helps as well as the church he serves. If you know of any fallen pastors or hear of men who fall, please recommend Bro. Danny's ministry to them.

What I Don't Miss About Pastoring: Insecurity

You wouldn't think pastors are insecure. You'd be wrong.

They all seem so confident standing up there preaching. Proclaiming the Word of God.

Heck, even around other pastors, they're a little arrogant.

I remember once I went to a pastor's conference. We had a breakout session on handling conflict in the ministry. The reason we were all in there was because we were insecure and had "trouble people" in our congregations.

However, the room was filled with Southern Baptist pastors at a pastor's conference. Which, if you've never experienced this, don't want to. Imagine a lot of strong personalities competing to share their advice with the moderator - however, they're in the room because they're insecure with handling conflict.

The moderator began the discussion with, "What is the most difficult occupation in the world?"

I winced.  You don't ask a group of pastors that question. Especially a group of pastors gathered to hear a breakout session on handling conflict.

The vocal vote was unanimous - "Pastoring!"

They hadn't realized that the moderator probably disagreed with them, even though he was a veteran pastor. He never said what he thought, but he was gauging his crowd. He wanted to listen to what they would say. And he did. He asked, "Why?"

"Because we do so much! We pray, we visit, and no one understands us! No one understands what we do except other pastors! And people will split the church over the smallest and most insignificant things! And we're underpaid and under appreciated!"

That went on for about five minutes. It's not that I disagree with any of those things, but it was getting ridiculous. Like a Jerry Springer Show.

I raised my hand. He actually called on me.

"I agree it's difficult," I said. "But the initial question was 'toughest job in the world.' While I agree our jobs are hard for us and that we have a higher calling, I don't know if it's the toughest. I think studies show that job would be air traffic controller.

People were frowning. But I continued.

"If the moderator was speaking to a group of doctors and asked the same question, what would they say? They wouldn't say 'pastors.' They'd say 'doctors.' If he was speaking to auto mechanics, steel workers, stay at home moms, construction workers, accountants, CEOs of Fortune 100 companies, they would all think their job was toughest."

A bellicose pastor looked at me and said, "Young man, how long have you been pastoring?"

I said, "Five years."

He said, "Then you just don't know."

I got shut down.

But I did know. I had already been through my fair share of petty arguments, anonymous letters from angry members, dumb statements about my sermons, and people just not "getting it" that I was in the same boat all those other pastors were in.

I was insecure.

Strange thing, most pastors don't know how insecure they are. They'd like to think that they're strong, but they don't know how weak they are.

We feel almost invincible behind the pulpit, but when we step down, we're weak. We're hurt when church members criticize us. We wonder what people are saying about us.

You'll say, "You shouldn't worry about what people say." I wish it were that easy. And I'm sure some pastors don't have that problem. But most do. And it's very difficult.

I'm not even talking about being a "people pleaser" (hate that term). I'm not talking about running a ministry so that people won't complain. If you're doing things right and by the Word, people will complain.

No, I'm just talking about having a tender heart as a pastor. One where there's always two or three people who don't like anything you do. They're going to hate everything you do and criticize you even if you were one of the Twelve.

People always said, "You can't let them get to you." For long periods of time, it wouldn't. But after a while, it finally would.

Your pastor is most likely strong most of the time, but even he has moments of insecurity. Build him up. Support him. Don't let him falter. Don't be someone who finds something to complain about all the time.

When you hear people complaining, ask, "Is it really something worth complaining about?" and "Do we need to bother the pastor about it?" and "Can we stop complaining and just fix the darn thing?"

Above all, pray for your pastor's heart. If you or someone in your church has a history of abrasiveness with him, fix it. Don't let it linger. Be of one mind.

Make it so when he goes to a pastor's conference and someone asks, "What's the hardest job in the world?" he replies, "It's not mine."

What I Miss About Pastoring: The Kids

One of the neatest things about being a pastor is the kids. Kids are great. They just love and accept you like you are.

Every year during Vacation Bible School, I'd get dressed up like a character that pertained to the theme that year. They loved that. They'd follow me around and laugh. They thought I was pretty cool. They were right, of course.

It was always something to watch them all grow up in my decade there. To see them know me as "Bruddah" Arthur and then, if I was fortunate enough, watch them to grow and learn the gospel.

I was so careful when evangelizing children. None of this, "who wants to go to heaven?" mess. No, they understood sin and what Christ did.

To watch a child as God touches their heart and see them grasp grace is one of the most beautiful thing one can witness - especially when you see it in your own children. Thanks be to God I got to baptize my two daughters. Moments I will forever cherish. 

Kids have some of the best questions and some of the best answers. They let you know they're thinking. They ask about the problem of pain, "Bro. Arthur, why did God make tornadoes?" And to that, my friend, you must shape your answer so that a 6 year old may understand.

I had a church member ask me once about whether I thought Noah's Ark would ever be found. I just wanted to say, "No, it's rotted away." An astute 9 year old was standing there and said, "wouldn't Noah and his family have used all that wood to build and burn with?" I smiled and said, "Excellent answer."

While some of the adults come at you with complaints right before church starts, the kids just run up and offer you hugs. They just want to look up at you and say, "I love you Bro. Arthur." They don't want anything in return except your love.

Especially the kids who come from less fortunate backgrounds. Their parents drop them off or their grandparents bring them. They're just happy to get a little snack at church on Sunday or Wednesday and have people show them some interest and give them a smile.

I remember late at night on one New Year's Eve when I still lived in the parsonage, someone was pounding at the door. It was dark and cold outside. I approached the door carefully and saw that it was a woman and a little girl standing there shivering.

I invited them in. Angelica came into the room and just stood there looking at me inquisitively. I vaguely recognized the woman, a few tattoos covered her arms, nose ring and heavy make-up - but her most obvious feature was that she and her little four year old were soaking wet. The little girl looked up at me with big brown eyes and was crying.

She apologized profusely for coming so late but that her boyfriend had chased them out of his trailer. They had gotten lost in the dark, waded through a pond and found their way to the church parsonage. She begged me for a ride about five miles down the road.

I got them both blankets and put them in the van. I offered to call the police, but she quickly turned that offer down. The girl kept crying, "I'm so cold Mama! Why is this happening?" I realized I knew them. They had visited church several times. The girl had even been to a Vacation Bible School.

I talked to the girl and reminded her of this. I even reminded her of the goofy character I had dressed up as. She smiled a little as the van warmed up.

During that short van ride, all I could think of was, "it's by the grace of God that my kids are in a house warm and cozy. And this poor girls is wet and frozen." I had to fight the tears back.

I dropped them off at a friend's house and told her that if she needed help to come back. She never came back.

But the little girl came back. The next VBS, I was running around like a chicken with its head cut off worrying about something stupid when a little hand grabbed mine. I looked down to see a cute little five year old smiling up at me.

It took a moment to register, but it was her. I smiled and she hugged me around my legs and about broke my femur. But it felt good. I just stood there and cried like a big goofball. For the rest of the week, every time she saw me, she'd grab my hand and want me to eat with her, play with her, or sit with her. She hardly ever said anything to me, but I could tell she felt safe with me there.

Those are the moments I miss.

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.