But what do you DO, man?

So I'm on another jag - they come and go, yes? - and this one continues a theme I started last week about being a pastor.  Eugene Peterson shapes today's challenge like this when he writes in The Contemplative Pastor:

Sundays are easy. The sanctuary is clear and orderly, the symbolism clear, the people polite. I know what I am doing: I am going to lead this people in worship, proclaim God's word to them, celebrate the sacraments.... Centuries of tradition converge in this Sunday singing of hymns, exposition of Scripture, commitments of faith, offering of prayers, eating and drinking the life of our Lord.  I love doing this... But after the sun goes down on Sunday, the clarity diffuses. From Monday through Saturday, an unaccountably unruly people track mud through the holy places, leaving a mess. The order of worship gives way to the disorder of argument and doubt, bodies in pain and emotions in confusion, misbehaving children and misdirected parents. I don't know what I am doing half the time.

I am interrupted... asked questions to which I have no answers. I am put in situations for which I am not adequate. I find myself attempting tasks for which I have neither aptitude nor inclination... (So) while Sundays are important... the six days between Sunday are just as important, if not so celebrative, for they are the days to which the resurrection shape is given.

Peterson then goes on to call the days between Sundays "practicing the art of prayer in the middle of traffic."  I think that gets close to what I have learned - and sometimes I am well-grounded in God's presence in the traffic and sometimes I'm just undone.  Most of what happens today in-between Sundays in NOT prayerful.  It is institutional - "running the church" as some call it - church administration in the sanitized language of the market place.  And as William Willimon once said, "Almost nobody went into ministry because they loved administration!" right?  We were caught up and on-fire with a love for Jesus, a vision of community, an encounter with the Spirit - not running a church.

No wonder so many folk burn out.  More than half of new ordinands leave local church ministry after three years either because they violated boundaries and got into some type of trouble or another; or their expectations were so different from the realities that their soul shriveled up and died.  And those who hang on are often wounded and confused and aching for retirement.  So, what do you do, man?

Two things have helped me - they aren't fool proof and I don't always live into them either - but they have helped me stay grounded and aware of God's presence even in the bullshit.

+ First, I learned to hire to my weakness.  This is simple administrative sanity - and I need all the help I can get with the nitty gritty side of church life. I hire secretaries who help me schedule and protect my time.  I hire custodians who love the building and the people. I hire musicians who want to explore creativity in community - not prima donnas - and who also love worship. 

Doing this means I have helpers and colleagues and don't have to do it all myself.  Not only does this lighten the load, it means a shared sense of ownership.  Sure, it takes a while to train a congregation to know that I don't make any appointments until I speak with my secretary. And I don't commitment through emails either until I consult with her. And yes, it takes some time to show my secretary how not to over schedule me, too.  But time spent in this type of training has paid off in spades as it helps me keep my sanity, find time for prayer and study and quietness as well as sort out what is most important in any given day, week or season.

+ Second, I have to trust that my ministry isn't all about me.  Peterson calls this knowing that the risen Christ has gone ahead of me to the hospital, the church counsel and all the rest.  It is the "conviction that God has been working diligently, redemptively and strategically before I appeared on the scene, before I was aware there was something for me to do... Running the church questions are: what do we do and how can we get things going again? Cure of the souls questions are: what has God been doing here? What traces of grace can I discern in this life? What history of love can I read in this group? What has God set in motion that I can get in on?"

Recently, for example, I thought we were going to have a meeting about how to deepen our visitation ministry.  I was only partially right - apparently the Spirit had something very different in mind - because at the end of our conversation we had planned four small groups rather than a training schedule for home visitation.  I listened carefully to what people were really saying. I waited and pushed to go deeper. I gave up my previous agenda to see what might really be happening.  And the result was MUCH better and satisfying for us all.  My moderator said afterwards, "It was helpful for me to watch you at work.  You didn't push through anything.  You asked a lot of questions and kept reframing the conversation until it took some shape that had real energy.  Very interesting."

Now, let's get real:  I don't always get this right, ok?  Like I've written before, some times you're the windshield and some times you're the bug. And there are some situations where you either need to bring the conversation to a close and move on, or at the very least, challenge and awakened the folk when they are unresponsive.  But I've found that those times are rare.

Mostly, this is a very different way of operating. I think these closing words from Peterson say it best:  We have, of course, much to teach and must to get done, but our primary task is to be. The primary language of the cure of souls, therefore, is conversation and prayer. Being a pastor means learning to use language in which personal uniqueness is enhanced and individual sanctity recognized and respected. It is a language that is unhurried, unforced, unexcited - the leisurely language of friends and lovers, which is also the language of prayer.