I Quit–Again!

It’s tough to be a preacher.  Maybe you’re more comfortable with the term “pastor.”  I didn’t grow up calling the man whom I primarily knew as a preacher by that term.  It took me a long time to accept ”pastor” as an alternative.  It’s a long story.  Anyway, regardless of what we call him, he’s got a hard row to hoe. 

Our work has never been without stress.  I regularly talk with a semi-retired minister friend who’s been at it since I was born.  Through the years, he’s labored under financial burdens, felt the gut-punch of betrayal, and the frustration of falling worship attendance.  What the apostle Paul described as the pressure of anxiety for his churches is nothing new. 

What’s new is the pressure to keep up with the social and technological trends of a constantly changing world.  In the last twenty years, I’ve labored under the pressure to grow a mega-church, to stay on the cutting edge of worship music, to provide a veritable supermarket of spiritual goods and services.   In the last ten years, I’ve felt the pressure to be ”missional,” i.e., getting out of the church house and into the poor house.  In the last year, I’ve struggled to adapt to advances in electronic ”social networking,” e.g., Facebook.   This is not an exhaustive list!  What’s more, none of the above have replaced the old challenges; they’ve but  added to the old reliable weight of church finances, church personalities, and church conflict.    

I’ve had my hopes dashed more times than I can remember.  I’ve wrestled with doubt and depression.   Many a morning, I’ve awakened far too early, anxious thoughts of some church crisis or troubled soul buzzing in my head like hornets.  I’ve quit several times the last few years–in my mind, at least.   

Somebody will read this and find a happy whetstone upon which to sharpen his anti-clergy blade:  Well, if you had any sense, if you knew your New Testament from a hole in the ground, you’d know that we’re all supposed to be ministers.  You’re dis-eased because you’re participating in a diseased system, a gangrenous limb on the body of Christ, a stench in the nostrils of God!    Away with pulpits and church buildings!  Away with professional pastors and preaching! 

Yeah, yeah, I know.  You’ll be happy when I’m selling used cars and my flock worships at Tim Horton’s Sunday mornings the way God intended.  Your assaults used to worry me.  They only bore me now.    You’ve got your thing, brother, and I’ve got mine. 

Yeah, it’s tough.  It’s always been tough.  It’s apt to get tougher.  I’ll probably quit a few more times before I’m through. Meanwhile, let me tell you a little of why I stay a preacher.  

In my position, I get a chance to do a variety of things: preach, teach, visit, write, plan and implement those plans.  I’m called in to help people in need.  When I walk into a hospital room or a nursing home room or a living room where people are anxious and afraid, all eyes turn to me.  I’m struck by the power I possess:  “Here’s someone who represents God.  He can help us.”  It doesn’t puff me up; it steadies me, focuses me.  

When I preach, I sometimes feel charged with joy, joy like a child with a brand new box of Crayolas and a new coloring book, like a woodsman standing with a sharp ax before a meaty tree.  I feel light as a feather, as though I could rise up off the ground.  If a calling is truly defined as “the point where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet,” then I must surely be called to preach. 

I don’t always feel that joy, of course, not on Monday morning, not often in study and preparation, but I know it.  I know it like a secret given only to me.  I see a need, a hunger to hear from God.  I know God has and can use me to fill it.  I’m right where I ought to be.  

I’ve been at this preaching-pastoring thing a long time, thirty years come October.  In truth, I’ve been at it so long it’s in my blood.  Many years ago, I read an article in a mainstream magazine that spoke of “journeyman” ministers.  I guess that’s what I and a whole lot of others out there, guys the world will never hear of, are.   I’m on a journey.  At times, it seems a mere tiresome hike across town with many an irksome delay.  Other times, I feel like Frodo in The Lord of the Rings,on a great quest with a great deal at stake.  I want to finish the journey.  I hope I can finish it strong. 

Hey, pray for your preacher, will you?  Thanks.