Two weeks ago, I was in San Francisco. I got on the elevator at my hotel with another man who asked if I knew where the pool was. I told him to follow me since it was near my room. He shared that he was a musician and was at the hotel for three musical engagements. I told him my father was a musician and that he played trumpet and mellophone. As we walked to the pool, he asked what kind of work I did. I told him I was a retired Presbyterian minister. He said, “I’m Jewish, and I have had three crises in my life, and it was a Presbyterian minister who helped me get through them.”
Now that’s a keeper.
We Presbyterians can be a cranky lot — arguing fine points of theology and polity with an intensity that discloses our Highlander and Scots-Irish roots. We are a downtrodden bunch — our guilt and shame getting tweaked every time we hear reports of decreasing membership. And we are a sinful group — our self-deprecating humor showcasing our failings like trophies.
But one thing we do well. We pastor. Whether full-timer or tentmaker, whether doctorally degreed or paraprofessionally trained, whether dubbed “teaching elder” or “ruling elder,” or Stephen Minister or regular member — we can pastor.
It’s no small thing to pastor. It’s a big thing to pastor well.
Effective pastoring requires the heart of a counselor. Like Ruth the loyal daughter-in-law and keeper of the family traditions, a pastor is at once grounded in the faith learned of old and at the same time studiously attentive to the cares of those in the family of that faith. Its loyalty to the tradition is matched by its love for its charges — as a shepherd with one’s flock.
Effective pastoring requires the mind of a scholar. Like Paul, the pastor not only spends years sitting at the feet of the leading scholars to prepare for ministry. The pastor retains the vocational title “student” throughout one’s years of ministry — constantly learning from professional scholars, from colleagues, from theologians, scientists and poets, and most especially from one’s own congregation members.
Effective pastoring requires the finesse of a politician. Like Solomon in his ascendant years, the pastor learns the way of wisdom — wise as the serpent while innocent as the dove – exercising discretion in speaking the truth in love, learning to read human behavioral patterns, becoming resident expert in matters of the church regional, denominational, ecumenical, catholic, and exercising influence for the extension of the Kingdom of God.
Effective pastoring requires the vision of a prophet. Like outspoken Isaiah and understated Anna, the pastor sees what other miss and, as John Kennedy said, sees things that are not and asks “Why not?” Not a few prophet-pastors have endured the contempt of the many for challenging the status quo — a high price exacted for their boldness — but the prophetic vision opens the eyes of the blind.
Effective pastoring requires the courage of a Navy SEAL. Like Queen Esther, who risked her very existence, trusting that she had come into that kingdom “for such a time as this,” the pastor believes so confidently in the calling to proclaim the kerygma — the “teaching” of God’s Word — that “Here I stand; I can do no other” becomes a life motto.
The Presbyterian Church has treasured and taught those gift-skills throughout its history. Its traditions and institutions, its councils and its covenant groups have fostered the ministry of the pastor as a force for faithful teaching, compassionate caregiving and community leading. And many students of the church have internalized those gift-skills and exercised their energy, intelligence, imagination and love — to the benefit of so many of us.
And so, in recognition of those among us who possess such a heart, mind, finesse, vision and courage … in recognition of the huge price paid in work hours, in emotional exhaustion and in the absorption of criticism, … to those who helped the rest of us to get through the crises in our lives, we say, “Thank you.”
—JHH
