Pastors Too

Phone calls and text messages that come in the middle of the night seldom bring good news. Recently, when I received negative news about my father’s health, it happened overnight and contained sufficient cause for anxiety. It made me pause and reflect upon the hundreds of times I’d been asked to pray about the same sort of concerns in other people’s lives.

As I write this, my 89-year-old father is hospitalized yet again as his well-used body is running out of steam. After 25 years of pastoral ministry, it is surreal to be in the position of so many lovely people with whom I’ve been privileged to walk this road. It is part of the middle passage that we all must go through. Those who anchored my life for so long, my parents are no longer independent.  My children are independent (accept the two handicapped ones that still live with us). I can envision retirement for the first time in my life – I’m not at all sure how I feel about that!

Like most church pastors, I find that few persons can and will come alongside me in the same way that I endeavored to do so for others. I don’t usually mind that since I’m not too comfortable with being on the receiving end. In an earlier blog post, I alluded to a regional leader that tried to make himself that sort of person in my life. He was very intrusive and often drew conclusions that were entirely rooted in his assumptions. He talked like a presumptive personal counselor, but his skills were critically flawed, at least as they were applied to me. My experiences with that regional leader have only hardened my shell. This post may be as close as I will ever get to share my “feelings” with outsiders.

Pastoral service inevitably takes you to places you might never have gone if not for the call. I have encountered death to the degree that would have been inconceivable 30 years ago. I’ve had up-close and personal encounters with sudden losses, lingering passages, and celebrations of life. I’ve witnessed the closing of hundreds of caskets, and am frequently the last familiar face to lay eyes upon the deceased. I’ve applied the same skills I used in EMS and fire service to maintain my composure for the sake of those whom I serve.

Gazing across the sea toward the “undiscovered country” is inevitable.  As I consoled and assisted families and individuals through their life’s dramatic events, I strove to act with the highest integrity. It was and still is a vital part of my service. I’ve witnessed too much disingenuous, farcical behavior by clergy who somehow managed to make themselves heroic and essential participants in the sacred moments of others.   Therefore, I’ve dedicated myself to being supportive, silent, and above all, priestly. In these cases, I mean that I attempt to be a sign of the LORD’s presence, nothing more or less. I pray that the LORD will make me a channel of His peace.

It is difficult to relate to my siblings as I walk the same road of grief with them. We have a shared sense of duty and sorrow as our parents begin to leave us. Our shared love and gratitude compel us to do all that we can to support them. And, guilt regularly surfaces as we witness one sibling doing the lion’s share of it. My dilemma stems from my years of familiarity with this road. I know the landmarks, the surface changes, and the destinations too well. It may seem to my siblings as if I don’t “feel” to the same extent. It may be true because of pastoral service and its constant struggles to balance facts and feelings. I have years of experience that inform me that my parents are growing close to their heavenly home. I wonder how I will grieve and how I will feel when we siblings are settling our parent’s estate. I wonder how my experiences will impact me then too. I just don’t know.

I am writing this blog to share what I’ve learned about pastoral ministry with hopes that 21^st Century pastors and similar leaders will benefit as they strive to honor the LORD and serve His flocks. This post is written amid the COVID-19 self-guaranteeing of 2020. It is springtime, and the typical storms of the season are wrecking lives with sudden, forceful fury while people hunker down in anticipation of an insidious, invisible virus. All the while, bodies wear out, birth defects afflict their habitations, tissue destroying disease, and other ever-present sorrows continue to run their courses. Pastors don’t get a pass. We must find comfort in our faith, cultivate our spiritual well-being, and be extra attentive to our families. If you are the sort of pastor who cares about your reputation and your legacy, then start with your own home!

More to come . . .