I used to work on a church staff. And we had this recurring joke, and it wasn't that funny, but it merited a snicker after an exhausting counseling session or grueling confrontation:
"You know, ministry would be GREAT if it weren't for the people."
Like I say, it was supposed to be funny. The idea of it, you know! There IS no "ministry" without people, no "ministry" without suddenly being called to dealing with people you don't really enjoy, no "ministry" without hanging out with energy-sappers, no "ministry" without the relational grime of it all.
It's a glorious mess. Fitting, since we're serving a God who chose to be born in a room with animal poop. "Ministry would be great, if it weren't for the people." Indeed.
I'm not sure it's a joke anymore.
----------------
I get to watch a lot of churches in action, and I get to talk to hundreds of people, on an ongoing basis, involved with hundreds of churches. And here's something I hear a lot: "I love our pastor. He's funny, and he's a great teacher! He's such a man of God," and then, eventually, "He says he's not really a people person, though, and he's not a good counselor, so don't bring him your problems, and don't get upset if he doesn't know who I am, and stuff, and..."
As an introvert who's a pretty darn good teacher and a clumsy hallway-talker: That sounds like a neat gig, man. I'll take it.
-----------------
A new friend of mine, "Rick", describes himself as "too alone", and I can understand why. He's a single dad. A smart, kind guy who's raising a sweet, happy, eight-year old daughter. Rick was raised Catholic, but "wanted something more", and found an evangelical church down the street. He tried, but never made close friends. But, wow, he was inspired by The Pastor, who's a famous Man of God.
Rick was a little naive about how church can operate, and asked if he could meet The Pastor to talk. The staff eventually sent him a letter, saying yes, at such-and-such date, Pastor would be available, in the hallway, but for no longer than five minutes. Rick was disappointed. He wanted 20, maybe 30.
Rick thought the staff may have acted on its own, and maybe his Pastor would talk with him if he could just reach him directly. Rick decided to sit in the front row, next to a table where the Pastor sits. Rick wrote him a brief letter, telling him how thankful he was for the Pastor's sermons, and how the Pastor reminded him of his own dad, who had passed away, and how comforting it was for Rick to read The Pastor's books and listen to him, and could they please talk for a bit, because it would mean so much.
The Pastor took the note wordlessly, read it, folded it up, stuck it in his pocket, didn't look at him, and Rick never heard a word back.
----------------
I get complaints nearly every day about me. And I get nervous emails, too -- the kind that start like, "I know you don't know me, and probably don't have time for this, but..." that continue with, "I don't know what else to do, my wife left me yesterday..." or, "I feel so alone..." or, "I want to love God, like you were talking about, but I just don't know how I can, because..." and so forth.
I try to write everyone back, or call them, and in some cases, get together with them. Everyone. I try.
This isn't impressive, really. I did start to think, once, "You know, I'm not a pastor, I'm just a radio guy, and these people need someone else, really, and why doesn't their church take care of this, and why are you writing a radio station, again?"
Then I read that C.S. Lewis responded to every letter he got. Half his day -- gone! -- because of all his correspondence. He could've been utilitarian about it. ("Well, shoot, my time would be best spent writing another trilogy.") But he didn't. Someone asked him why. "Because something I write in these letters might mean something to someone."
It's stupid to even write this, but for the record: I, small-time media feller and accordion hack,am no C.S. Lewis. A radio friend who does our evening show fields hundreds of emails, and spends much of his day engaged in long back-and-forths. He's on nationally. Does he have time for that?
"That's my job, man. That's where it happens."
I needed to hear that. I'd love to just go in my little room, my studio, and "minister" without the mess.
But the mess is the ministry.
----------------
"It's not realistic to be spiritual shepherd thousands of people," -- I know, I know. And I agree. But if you're not my spiritual shepherd, why am I calling you my pastor? If it's just teaching them, I could do that on the radio. But I wouldn't be their shepherd.
I think it's really easy for Pastors, for any of us, really, to love people. At least, I should say, love People, capital "P", as in The People in Theory, the People Out There, the Sheep, the Idea of People.
It's real easy to love The People. It's much more difficult, much more challenging, much more exhausting, much more a test of the heart to love actual people: The people who work for you. The people in your home. The people who slip you a heart-rending note when you're getting ready to impress The People.
Ministry is loving people you didn't handpick.
It's easy to love The People. There's a long history of impressive leaders who loved People while abusing those actual humans walking around them. Rousseau, Russell, Marx (Marx abused his only employee, a woman who bore his child and whom he threw out in the street, along with the kid) -- there's a loooong list of intellectual and leadership titans, and tyrants; it goes on forever.
We have a name for those who find it so easy to love the idea of the people, to serve The People, while thinking themselves too busy for people: Elitists.
So here's to those with pastoral hearts, who love each inconvenient human around them -- each person who offers nothing but a mess. Blessed are those pastors, for theirs is not an ego trip.
Because I'm on the radio, I get attention for doing very little. But pastors -- paid, unpaid, titled, untitled -- who love whomever God brings across their paths? I have to believe your reward is coming, and it'll be much better than your picture in a seminar brochure. Lots, lots better.
You're probably already getting a taste of it.
----------------
For the record, Rick found our motley little group. (We were helping a family move in his complex when we met him) and he told me last night he called his parents to let them know he'd finally found some friends. Called his parents!
Rick is fun to be around, and his daughter mixes right in with the other kids. She's a blessing, and Rick is, too.
I feel sorry for him. By "him", I mean The Pastor.
