The question I’m asked more than any other at this season of ministry is how I’ve managed to stay in one church so long. I came to Vienna Presbyterian Church in 1979, some 34 years ago.
There was a time when long pastorates were the norm in American life. It was often customary in early days for pastors to serve a generation in the same church. My predecessor remained in place for 36 years.
Pastors now change churches with considerable frequency. I read recently that the average length of time a worshipper stays in an American church is three years. The tenure for pastors isn’t much longer. I’m told somewhere on the order of five years.
The reason I’ve stayed in one place so long isn’t rocket science. There is nothing exceptional about my longevity. I have no big secret to divulge. Let me say it as plainly as I know how: I know of no other way to maintain ministry in one church this long without a trained attentiveness to God.
I do not want to give you the impression that I have been sustained largely by my efforts over all these years. I am saved and kept by God’s grace. Yet I can appreciate what Dallas Willard writes, “Grace is opposed to earning, but not to effort.”
The 17th century Puritan preacher John Flavel said it best, “The greatest difficulty in conversion is to win the heart to God; the greatest difficulty after conversion is to keep the heart with God.”
Abide is a favorite word in John’s Gospel. He references it 50 times in his writings and 11 times in the 15th chapter of his Gospel. Jesus said, “Abide in me as I abide in you” (John 15:4). I’m struck with the reciprocal nature of Jesus’ words. This abiding is reciprocal as long as we remember the initiative is on God’s side. Grace is what makes this abiding possible.
Abide is an old fashioned word meaning to remain or stay connected to something. Eugene Peterson in “The Message” translates this same verse, “Live in me. Make your home in me just as I do in you.” Branches stay connected to the vine in much the same way that we strive to stay connected to Jesus.
I entered the pastorate the same way everybody does who graduates from seminary. I arrived with seven years of higher education under my belt. I had loads of head knowledge, confident in how to preach a sermon and exegete a passage. This head knowledge didn’t always travel the requisite 18 inches from my head to my heart. My head and heart were not always so aligned.
I began my first call in earnest. I dutifully visited people in the hospital and taught confirmation class to distracted teenagers. I officiated at so many weddings that I memorized the service without even trying. I offered my share of invocations at Cub Scout dinners and church suppers. I dutifully applied the tools of the trade to the task at hand.
Looking back on it now, I put too much confidence in my natural abilities. I put lots of stock in my hard-earned competence. I got along well with most people. I was a better than average preacher. I was pretty good at helping people forge consensus. You can see where this is heading, can’t you?!
Worst of all, I desperately wanted to serve a growing church. You know those churches featured in religious periodicals? I wanted to serve that kind of church. I wanted to be on the leading, cutting edge of ministry. Far be it for me to serve a dying church. My church would be alive and growing. I had become too attached to my ministry, with emphasis on the personal pronoun “my.” It had become my ministry.
My low water mark came at a congregational meeting. The question before us was whether to build a new sanctuary. When the vote to proceed with a new sanctuary appeared in jeopardy, I blurted out, “If you don’t want to build a new sanctuary and grow this church, maybe you need another pastor.” My words hung in the air and sucked the air right out of the room. People on the opposing side were convinced I had just sabotaged the vote. Ever heard the phrase “bully pulpit”?
After ten years in the ministry, I had run out of gas. I had nothing left in the tank. My soul was beginning to bottom out. Not that it was all that obvious. I could still fake it pretty well. I had perfected my holy Joe intonation and could still dazzle people with Greek words. Yet, I was weary of church fights over stupid stuff. I was tired of people clinging to me and sucking life out of me. Some people don’t want a pastor. They want their own customized chaplain.
I was tempted to shift the blame on my unsuspecting congregation. It was their fault for not wanting to grow their church. So, I’ll show them. I’ll go to another church and start all over again. I can recycle old sermons and recite the same well-rehearsed prayers. Yet something whispered in me, “Go deeper.” It was the still, small voice of God. I began, albeit reluctantly, to go deeper.
True confession: I’m not very contemplative by nature. I’d rather do something for God, build buildings for God; even leap tall buildings in a single bound for God than simply be with God. Yet my parched soul began to pray. I started to read the Word for things beside sermons. I discovered the rich repository of the early church. I joined a small group to let people into my life.
I don’t want you to get the impression that all I did was pray and everything ended happily ever after. Ministry is hard. Christian ministry has always been hard. Scripture attests to this truth many times over. Yet ministry in our day and age is hard in its own way. People today are far less civil and less governable. The last few years have been incredibly hard for me. The church I serve was rocked eight years ago by two moral failings by senior staff. Our youth director turned out to be a sexual predator. What a mess!
We’re preaching a series of sermons this year entitled “Life is Messy.” This sermon series has generated more feedback than any I can remember. I suspect it’s because people identify with the theme. We’re focusing on David’s story. You talk about a messy life; surely David’s life qualifies. As we prepared to retell the story of Jesus this Christmas season, I was reminded once more how concretely God enters the mess of our lives. It’s messy for God to redeem people.
My counsel is simple and straightforward. Stay connected to the vine. Stay connected to Jesus.
When I was in elementary school, I lived for recess. If I could have been graded for recess alone, I would have been a straight-A student.
In those days, the merry-go-round was a staple of playground equipment. Merry-go-rounds are passé these days, but when I was a kid, they provided endless hours of amusement. We would grab the rails, run as fast as we could and hang on for dear life. When older elementary kids came along, they would transform the merry-go-round into a spinning top. If you happened to be riding on the outside rails, you would likely be thrown off by centrifugal force. But I discovered that if I crawled to the center of the merry-go-round, there is equilibrium.
The faster we go in life, the more we need to find the center. Hold fast to Jesus.
Hold on for dear life. Stay connected to Jesus.
Pete James is pastor of Vienna Presbyterian Church in Vienna, Virginia.
