From The Pastor

“When I became a pastor, I resolved on a double focus for keeping my vocation on track: worship and community. At this point in my ‘long obedience,’ that resolve had been thoroughly tested and had developed an extensive root system. It had to if it were to survive. The religious culture of America that I was surrounded with dismayed me on both counts. Worship had been degraded into entertainment. And community had been depersonalized into programs.”

“By the time I arrived on the scene as a pastor, the American church had reinterpreted the worship of God as an activity for religious consumers. Entertainment, cheerleading, and manipulation were conspicuous in high places. American worship was conceived as a public-relations campaign for Jesus and the angels. Worship had been cheapened into a commodity marketed by using tried-and-true advertising techniques. If so-called worshippers didn’t get ‘anything out of it,’ there had been no worship worth coming back for. Instead of calling people to worship God, pastors all over the country were inviting people to ‘have a worship experience.’ Worship was evaluated on the ‘consumer satisfaction scale’ of one to ten.”

“And community. The church as a community of faith formed by the Holy Spirit. Church in America was mostly understood by Christians and their pastors in terms of its function – what it did: build buildings, become ‘successful,’ change the neighborhood, launch mission projects, and create programs that would organize and motivate people to do these things. Programs, mostly programs. Programs had developed into the dominant methodology of ‘doing church.’ Far more attention was given to organizing and giving leadership to programs than anything else. But there is a problem here: a program is an abstraction and inherently nonpersonal. A program defines people in terms of what they do, not who they are. The more program, the less person. Church was understood not in terms of personal relationships and a personal God but in terms of ‘getting things done.’

“This struck me as violation of the inherent personal dignity of souls. The abstraction of a programmatic approach to men and women, however well-meaning, atrophied the relational and replaced it with the pragmatic. Treating souls for whom Christ died as numbers or projects or resources seemed to me something like a sin against the Holy Spirit. I wanted to develop a congregation in which relationships were primary, a household of hospitality. A community in which men and women would be known primarily by name, not by function. I knew this wouldn’t be easy, and it wasn’t. The programmatic methodology was epidemic in the American church.”

(Update: Maybe I need to point out that I’ve been in contact with a few churches in the last couple of weeks. None of them have given me a job description. And for that I’m glad. Maybe that’s how it should be. The search committee should hear from the candidate about what he thinks his calling is and then either it matches what they are looking or not. Perhaps they will even like what he says more than what they have articulated. It’s possible.)

“The vocation of pastor has been replaced by the strategies of religious entrepreneurs with business plans.”
— Eugene Peterson

So I’ve been looking at pastoral job postings. I usually look at only the ones in my denomination, which for the most part, are pretty good. But I’ve started looking at all of them. Just to see what churches are looking for in a pastor.

It can be depressing. Especially since I’m reading Eugene Peterson’s memoir, The Pastor. One of themes of the book, as well as all of his books on pastoral ministry is we have reduced church life to a consumeristic enterprise and the pastor is a hawker of spiritual goods and services. The pastor, who is supposed to be the one who introduces the people to God and directs the people toward what he is doing, has in America, become a businessman.

So Peterson has in some ways ruined me. His picture of ministry which places prayer in a prominent place seems so at odds with the way we think. And honestly, even at odds with the way I’m prone to think sometimes. Prayer doesn’t look busy. It doesn’t seem to make things happen. And we are a culture of busyness and making things happen. We want quick results and prayer vitiates against that. I see this with my family. And myself.

One of the reasons Peterson has been so helpful, is that I tend to look at Pastoral work and my desire to return to it as what I want to do and what I will do. I suppose that’s a natural way of thinking. But he gave me a picture of pastoral ministry where God is the one who effects growth and change. I know that sounds ethereal and possibly cliched but hang with me here.

Peterson says we are too impatient. We do not really believe in the power of prayer, the ministry of the word (and sacrament), and patient spiritual direction. We want to fix problems. And we want it now. My own heart does. I look at my kids and see things I don’t like and I see them “as problems to be solved and not stories to be entered into.”

We start with thinking these things will work and then we leave them off because we cannot see the progress we expect. It’s too slow. And again, I cannot help but but smile as I type this, because I do this with my kids.

So obviously I can’t be too hard on people and search committees for thinking this way about pastoral ministry. We’ve all breathed an ecclesiastical air that has pastors swooning with the idea they are there to fix what is wrong. And churches often look to them to do it. And even more often than not they cannot deliver what is needed. And then everyone is frustrated. And severance packages are paid out and new committees are formed to find the answer.

Guys like me aren’t frustrated merely because they want to do and be something other than what is expected of them. They are frustrated because the work of ministry they were initially called to has evaporated or been suffocated under a lot of other work. It’s not what initially made their hearts break for the souls of men and women.

And now there is a palpable fear that God could draw himself away from the work they are doing and no one would know the difference. Everyone is still busy. Everyone is fixing problems. But really the glory has left.

My wife says I’m the weird one. Maybe it’s because I left and I’ve had time away to reevaluate what I was as a pastor previously and what I want to be. I’m now too acquainted with my own weakness to want to go forward with anything but my weakness. So I keep coming back to Paul’s words to the Church at Corinth when he reminds them that God has chosen what is weak and appears to be weak to make his strength known. They have the ring of good news about them.

“But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise;
God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong;
God chose what is low and despised int the world,
even things that are not,
to bring to nothing things that are
So that no human being might boast in the presence of God.”

That sounds like a good pastoral job description to me.

Consider this my cover letter. I hate cover letters. Really, they drive me nuts. So let this be mine. Keep in mind as you read, these are aspirations and never arrivals. I may never get there. But God, I want to. And it is only he that can get me there. I hope this post doesn’t come across as narcissistic. Some will see that. They may be right. But I’m gonna risk it. I think what I’ve learned while not in vocational ministry is too important. You may think there are a number of obvious things I’ve left out. Feel free to assume I’ve done those things well in the past…

What follows is a description of the kind of pastor I want to be.

1) If I’ve learned anything over the past few years, its the difference between ministering to people with a theology of glory instead of a theology of the cross. When I was a pastor the first time around I worked out of the first paradigm. It bred an arrogance that placed me in a place of importance over against the people I was called to serve. If the cross is true then it is not only the power by which we minister, the message we preach, but also the example of how we must deal with those whom we are called to. There must be a kind of laying down of our lives for people. The pastorate is not a well-paid therapist but a shepherd with sheep he must be willing to bleed for.

2) I want to bury them. My ministry for the most has been some time here and some time there. Sure, good done everywhere. I’m thankful for those times of service. But I want to be somewhere long enough to watch them grow old and then bury them.

3) I want to preach and teach and counsel in a way that betrays the steadfast loving-kindness of God and his gospel of what he has done in Christ for sinners. I bought into a way of preaching and teaching that said conviction of sin was the measure of power in preaching. If they were convicted and felt guilty, mission accomplished. Sometimes, yes. But sometimes God’s people need to hear, “You are not alone” and “Be not afraid.” “You are forgiven. Relax.” You don’t have to buy into Osteen’s theology to see the resplendent kindness of the message throughout the Scriptures to comfort the wounded and sad and hurting.

4) No easy answers. There are none. Our bumper sticker theologizing is killing the soul. And those who long for easy answers will not be patient with those who don’t accept them. And our culture is full to the brim with those who will not tolerate them. I want to be patient and live comfortably with the tension.

5) One of the things I struggled with in ministry was the work/life balance. I did not handle this well. Every intrusion was unwelcome. I started ministry seeing anything that cut into family time as an intrusion to the way things should be. Some pastors err on the side of neglecting their families. I erred on the other side and never saw the blurred lines between ministry and family as a good thing. When I left the ministry, I looked forward to a job where you clock in and clock out. The only thing that could have convinced me I was not made for such a job is actually doing that kind of job. I know this sounds crazy, but if someone called me in the middle of the night for counsel or to rush to someone’s bedside, I would revel in the opportunity. That’s not bragging. I’ve been through much fighting within to feel this way.

6) Just because I want to bury them doesn’t mean I want to kill them. I’ve been in the workforce for over 2 years now. And I’ve seen two things I could not have seen otherwise. Volunteering for the church is a real sacrifice when it is not your job to do so. And I’m sure I’m *not* an ideal volunteer so I need to be patient with those who are reticent. People are busy. Probably too busy. But telling them that doesn’t work. I want to be patient when people are slow to volunteer. My first reaction was to assume they don’t care about the church. It wasn’t fair.

7) The push and pull of suffering teaches you something about prayer. Especially when the troubles persist. Prayer is powerful. It changes you. And you find yourself praying just as hard and often when the suffering wanes and you find yourself more ready when it waxes anew. If Eugene Peterson has taught me anything about the pastorate, it’s that I wanna pray more as part of being a pastor. It’s more important than study, counseling, teaching and vision plans.

8) Honestly, my critics were nearly always people to be dismissed. That was a mistake. Truthfully, I was most likely worse than they knew. But I knew it. And I was defensive. I don’t want to fear criticism anymore.

9) Somewhere I bought into the idea that because I was the leader, I knew what was best for the people I was leading. I knew what the people needed far more than they did. It’s really a lonely way to live. But I was often working with elders and men and women who had invested a great deal of their lives in that congregation. It doesn’t mean they would be right in their thoughts about the direction and decisions about the church and its purpose. But those opinions should be respected. Maybe, just maybe, if I’m attentive in prayer and in study of the Scriptures, we can makes those decisions together in a way that honors God and edifies the body of Christ.

10) I don’t want to be afraid of offending the powerful but I do want to be afraid of not caring for the marginal.

11) The work of Jesus to save sinners and make all things new is to be central. I want that more than anything.

1) I had no idea the response I would get just by saying on social media that I was looking for a position in pastoral ministry. It’s a luxury really because back when I was in pastoral ministry you had to be fairly quiet about looking. I’m thankful for the kind responses and interest churches and individuals are showing. A blog post is coming soon…

2) My 10 yr old daughter told me she can’t wait till high school so she can study chemistry so I’m wondering where I can get a paternity test done.

3) One of the best ways to deny someone’s dignity is to ask them what their thoughts are on something and then immediately argue with them.

4) This past weekend Bethany and I celebrated our 15th Anniversary. The kids stayed at my mom’s, we ate out, slept in, went hiking and sold a car. You know the stuff you’d expect to do on an Anniversary weekend.

5) Ichiro once had 262 hits in a season where he played 160 games. Think about that for a moment.

6) My time working in the business has been a masters level instruction in humility, patience, and kindness. I’ll never graduate.

7) My surburban Wal-Mart is more diverse than…well, anything.

8) Only a person in their 20s would ask me in my forties why I eat bran every morning.

9) Spring in Birmingham is one of my favorite things. The sights and smells and feels stretch back into childhood and all the hopes and dreams of warm weather and long days.

10) There’s a ragged beauty in honest hurting people – the poor in spirit, I suppose.

I confess I’m a little unnerved by how many Protestants observe Lent. I can’t even get a hold of the laws in the Scriptures much less the ones we add on. This is not to demean those whose traditions call for it. But ours doesn’t. (My unnerved-ness comes from so many not really understanding what they are doing and also being very…how shall I say it?…public about it all.)

Tony Gwynn averaged 209 hits for a 162 game average. That’s averaging more than one hit per game over his career. That makes sense because he had 10,232 plate appearances and had 3141 hits. He most likely always had 4 at bats a game. He averaged only 29 strikeouts over a 162 game average. That’s one strikeout every 5.6 games. And that’s just otherworldly. Those numbers are better than Joe D’s. DiMaggio did have far more homers, RBIs and runs. But remember he played on 10 pennant winning teams, nine of them winning the World Series. Gwynn played for the Padres. They both averaged 36 doubles over a 162 game average. But Gwynn had 3x as many stolen bases. Joltin’ Joe got more than 200 hits twice in his career. Gwynn did it seven different seasons. Seven. And Gwynn’s highest batting average is higher than Joe’s. His lowest is also higher than Joe’s lowest. But he played for the Padres. So, yeah.

I miss being a pastor.

I’d rather eat fried pork skins and wear crocs than wear skinny jeans and eat kale wrapped in marketed fear.

If theology does lead to love for others then we are doing it wrong. And my guess is we are doing theology more to be right than loving. For the cross is the centerpiece of all theology and the cross is where we get the power and example of love for others.

The older I get the more I believe it is not the strong with the answers who we should be listening to. But the weak who’ve had to ask all the hard questions in search of strength beyond themselves.

Power feeds on fear.

One of the more interesting story lines of the coming baseball year is Ryan Braun. He lied about using steroids, got caught and is now back. And he’s hitting .875 in Spring Training. And getting booed a lot. The thing is, he probably didn’t need them. The guy can hit. And if he can hit after all this, well, that will be very interesting.

If as Christians we wanna be holy and set apart from the world around us, we must not be motivated by money. Our sexual morality will impress no one. But men and women uninterested in wealth are a force to be reckoned with.

Fifteen years ago today, Bethany and I were married. How happy are we in marriage? We would not trade our modest celebration this year for anything, really. Our lack has shown us what we have in each other. It’s a relationship of grace upon grace.

I’m starting to see much of the failure in my faith in Jesus and who he is for me is about tomorrow. What will happen tomorrow? And usually the answer to that question reverts to a negative. There is no sense…or little sense of Jesus being there for tomorrow. Even though the Bible is rife with him telling me he would be.

Knox: Do I have to just be kind to just Dylan (little brother)?
Me: No buddy, you need to be kind to everyone.
Knox: Aww man.

I’ve been asked by a few people why I like the band Black Rebel Motorcycle Club so much. The answer probably requires a full blog post but I’ll tell you two things for the present. They sound like every dream and failure and joy I’ve ever had and all the blood and sweat and tears in between. Back on Oct. 12th after seeing them live I wrote “it was like every raw nerve being plucked by the holy God who flung it all into being.” It still feels that way.

I feel like I’m seeing a trend among Progressives in the church. They want conservatives to stop being conservative and are willing to support legislation to that end. And then they chastise conservatives for feeling persecuted.

Over one 11-season span Lou Gehrig averaged 153 RBIs. That’s averaging one RBI a game for 11 seasons.

I find it hilarious and yet not very funny that Jonathan Merritt among others thinks Jesus would be the photographer of a gay wedding. I cannot think of a
time in church history when any of our theologians thought this, until now. It is absurd journalism. And it’s the very thing liberals always accuse evangelicals of, infusing faith with politics.

A week from today, Bethany and I will celebrate 15 years of two things. First, 15 years of joy in marriage. Second, 15 years of being confused with Matt and Beth Redman.

Most blogging and in fact Christian writing is polemics. Even social media belies this. But it’s rarely polemics of the self. It rarely admits that “I am the problem that needs fixing.” We, Calvinists, should be the first to do this. For the “5 Points” are just that, a polemic of self.

I preached again last Sunday and was glad to do so. But it remains hard to do so and then go back to the bank which is the opposite.

This is a wonderful world to be afraid in.

 

“…hope does not put us to shame.” — the Apostle Paul

One of the lingering questions I have about my faith is the place of hope. Not that I have conquered all other foes whose forces wield wild arms against my trust in God, but this one will not let me go.

It’s the balance I cannot get right. The hope of things here and the hope of all things to come.

I keep hoping for a new job. I keep applying for a new job. Inevitably I will hear about a job either because I saw it posted on a website or someone told me about it. I will work on my résumé and labor on a cover letter. Then I’ll spend a good chunk of time filling out an online application with all the information that is on my résumé already. Then I’ll tell my wife, a few friends and maybe my mom. And then I wait and nothing happens.

I used to tell a lot of friends and family. “I just applied for a job!” But now, I really don’t even want to tell my wife. It’s now just embarrassing.

Hope is all about tomorrow and the desire for some change to make it all better. Even if nothing is demonstrably wrong in your life, you will hope for something. You will hope a meal is good. A game is won. A good weekend is had.

But mostly hope is about things getting better. A crooked path made straight. A right being wronged. Pain ending. A reason for joy beginning. Fears alleviated.

I know I’m supposed to hope. I seemed to be wired for it. You probably feel it too. There’s the push and pull of contentment, but hope, as the old saying goes, springs eternal and like spring blooms big and bright.

Back when I was a youth pastor I taught Paul’s letter to the Romans everywhere I served. And we creeped through that thing. Slow. But I never knew what Paul meant when he said, “…hope does not put us to shame.” Because hope that is disappointed can do that. You hope and you hope and hope and hope and then nothing. And shame slithers in. Because you were so hopeful but nothing happened. Again. And then people wonder.

You hoped that *this* time he really would change and be faithful to you. You hoped that finally the doctors would be able to help your child. You hoped for the Christmas bonus. You hoped the prodigal would come home. You hoped that after years of trying, you were pregnant.

I don’t know all that Paul means when he says “…hope does not put us to shame.” But I do know this — he is pointing to hope higher than those of the here and now. A gospel hope that has the cross as its surety, the Holy Spirit as its strength, and an eternity of no disappointment waiting.

And it will not put us to shame. For it will be all we have hoped for and more.

I continue to think about Greene’s masterpiece, The Power and the Glory almost everyday.

The great problem with Christian music today is it does not sound like reality. It’s the musical equivalent of a Thomas Kinkade painting. Technically fine but profuse with sentimentality that ignores the dark night of the soul and the grey times of life’s many dawns.

Even before I saw Mike Trout play in his first season, his numbers made me think of Joe DiMaggio. I wasn’t the only one, either. Even now the comparison is being made. Some want to compare Trout to Teddy Ballgame, but that’s ridiculous. Trout has speed and mad defensive skills, whereas The Kid had neither. Plus Ted’s first two seasons of hitting are much better. DiMaggio only struck out 369 times in his whole MLB career. Mike Trout has already struck out 307 times in just over two seasons.

Our children’s bedtime is 8ish. It’s like the start of a vacation every night.

The United Cerebral Palsy is down the street from where I work and they bring in participants regularly to cash paltry checks. Everything is topsy turvy with these people. The amount of the checks are small and they smile with every dollar. The rich impatiently waiting behind them in line have few smiles in their worries. The older ones are prone to laugh like children and the young shuffle their feet like the aged who have seen too much of this world and are ready for the one beyond.

On Monday I was at a bookstore and one of my blog readers introduced herself to me. It was a highlight of my seven plus years of blogging.

Most of the talk about Christians in the workplace is flat. Most of what is said is by those who work as pastors and professors and those working in non-profit ministries. They mean well and they say a lot of true things. But they do not have the same scars. Their talk lacks the contours. It’s the difference between hearing a historian talk about being in the trenches in war and one who has the very dirt under his nails.

I think Paul was very serious about eating whatever is served to you. He was worried Christians would offend in their desire to eat clean foods and not eat food that was deemed unclean. We are willing to offend because of ingredients.

I talk to a lot of new married couples and they almost always tell me how many people warn them of the difficulties of marriage and rarely the joys. Christians seem to be the worst about it. One couple, both of them believers, said I was the first (outside of premarital counseling) to tell them that marriage can be wonderful and still get better. Maybe we should stop filming proposals and stop with the creativity in announcements and such. We’re celebrating engagement and trudging through marriage.

“There is no frigate like a book.”

Unless you’re prepared for a pastor to enter your workplace and critique your job, be slow to critique his.

The argument that we shouldn’t take the creation narrative as literal because the Bible is not a science book argues too much. “Lazarus and Jesus were dead.” “Wellll, maybe not literally, the Bible, after all, is not a science book.” I respect many men who do not believe in 7 literal days. But that argument I do not.

My daughter’s recorder did not come with a silencer.

Baseball season brings with it the hope of Spring.

I try to come up with a loophole and a condition for Matthew 21:22 every time I read it. Which means I undercut the belief necessary as part of my hermeneutic.

I miss not going to work because of ice and snow.

The desire to be seen as thoughtful, intelligent, or sophisticated is just my own adult version of “cool.”

Libraries are wonderful things. Full of wonder. Providing wonder. Feeding wonder.

It is a strange business to advise people on financial matters while having so little.

When I look at my wife I realize the genius of including “in sickness and in health” and “for richer and for poorer” in marriage vows.

Progressive Christianity is strange. It complains about the culture wars and then goes on to see every problem on the outside, never looking in.

“What is that like?”

This question is a common one. When I tell someone I was once a pastor but now I work in a bank I get this question. Not always wanting to answer I respond with a “fine” or “different” or something general. Sometimes the question is asked at parties, and even at work. My discomfort with revealing what I do now and what I used to do is acute and has probably caused me to avoid some social situations when I know the question might be asked.

Every now and again, I’ll answer by telling people I have the worst job imaginable for a person like me but I cannot escape no matter how hard I try. But when I do that I can feel the awkwardness creep in the room. I used to tell people I’m the worst banker in the world, but I cannot tell people that anymore.

Today I found out I have the highest sales score in the branch and I’m on pace to get a bonus. It’s unexpected because I’ve been doing so poorly over the past few quarters. And it’s unexpected because I’m not very good at what I do.

I have a hollow memory from back when I was young enough to be riding my bike everywhere instead of driving. We lived on the side of Ruffner Mountain and the street in front of our house ran like a short stubby asphalt river down into a small valley and met the bottom of another hill. That hill was called Thrill Hill because of the thrill derived from going over with a little speed. Actually it required no speed whatsoever to feel your stomach in your throat. It was a pretty dangerous hill and when I was much younger I can remember some teenagers losing control and their car ending in the living room of the house most at risk because it sat at the corner of my street and Thrill Hill. By the time I was a teenager most homes in its path had set up large stones and other impediments at the edge of their yard. Thrill Hill was dangerous and I was not allowed on it at all. But one day I did go up, riding as far as my legs and Huffy would take me and then I pushed it the rest of the way. Somehow my parents knew this and I was in serious trouble. I can remember the empty hollow feeling inside of so needlessly upsetting them.

That’s kinda how I feel now about doing so well at work. Empty, like a plundered tomb.

Yesterday I started reading Graham Greene’s The Power and the Glory. Buechner keeps referencing it. I’m only a few chapters in but the whiskey priest has already revealed why I feel so hollow. He is on the run. They have shot all the other priests. His clothes are as tattered as his own soul is drowning in drink. But he still performs his duties as a priest when asked and does so without pay. At one point a man asks him why he doesn’t just renounce the priesthood like another priest who took a wife. And he says he cannot do it. Though poor, hunted, and always needing a drink, he is a priest. He has no home. He has no income. He does not even have an assigned parish. No boss to report to. But a priest still.

At one point, he is in a man’s home and all he wants is sleep. But the man wants to confess his sins and the whiskey priest hears them and then the man goes and wakes up his neighbors so they can do the same. And the whiskey priest is sitting there with tears in his eyes. Tears of exhaustion and anger. And the man is telling his neighbors the tears are for them and their need of forgiveness.

If I could, when people ask me what it is like to work in a bank after working as a pastor, I would describe that scene. They might not understand it. After all they are just making conversation and being polite. But that would be my preferred response. But I wouldn’t just tell those people. I’d also like to tell other men who have decided they don’t wanna be a pastor anymore.

I could also tell them the story of Thrill Hill which really has nothing in common with my present circumstances except for the emptiness. I felt empty then because I did something I was not supposed to do. Now, it’s success in work that more and more seems at odds with my calling as a pastor.

When I wrote The God of the Mundane, I was hoping to get people to see the inherit dignity and importance of what we typically call secular jobs. Every job is inherently spiritual and kingdom work. There is no job more spiritual than another. I still believe that to the core of my being. My experience in the business world has confirmed it. But you do not get ordained into the business world.

A man may leave one area of business and do something wholly different and the soul remains at ease. But it is not the same for a man who has been called by God and man to be a pastor. When that man does, the fabric of things is stretched and torn. At least for me this has been the case.

For a while now, people have told me again and again that I am still a pastor. A pastor to them specifically. I’ve appreciated the sentiment as compliment. But I did not believe them. I was too miserable. Just like that whiskey priest, I didn’t feel like I should be thought of like that.

I’d like to tell that to all those who are thinking of walking away from the pastorate.

There are “how did I get here moments?” galore. You’ll be sitting across from a very sad person whose life is shambles and you will find your soul revolting against the responsible you have to the person in front of you as a banker.

I know this sounds sad. And on one level it still is. But on another level, I’m glad to know now. I’m glad my wife and I see this together. I still hesitate to say it was a mistake to leave vocational ministry. But I’ve been reading this story of the whiskey priest. And his conviction of his calling fits far too well with the hollow place I’ve tried to fill. What he holds onto at the risk of his life, I let go of.

I could probably do a good job of justifying myself. And even be right in doing it. But I’m not really all that interested in doing that anymore. And so now when people would ask me what it’s like to be banker after being a pastor at my best moments I look them full in the face and tell them I’d like to return.