Who Moved My Pulpit?

Introduction

Pastors can feel like traffic cops—standing in the middle of a busy intersection, at times just pretending to direct traffic, dodging cars, and wondering if at some point they will get run over. Sometimes being a minister is like nailing Jell-O to a tree without a hammer, herding cats without a horse, or working as a middle school assistant principal without the threat of detention.

Every church is Garrison Keillor’s “Our Lady of Perpetual Responsibility.” Ministers need a schedule grid like the ones in TV Guide. On Friday afternoon, every minister understands why the “Future Ministers of America Club” meets in a broom closet.

In recent surveys, ministers receive less respect than out-of-work rappers, people who put the plastic ends on shoestrings, and Harry Potter look-alikes. When people ask, “What do you do for a living?” I usually say, “I was an accountant at Enron,” because it’s easier to defend. “Clergy” sounds like the eighth dwarf—the one following “Sleepy.” The Jobs Rated Almanac ranks minister thirty spots behind accountant, twenty spots behind parole officer, and ten behind the guy at the circus with the shovel. When experts talk about the “hot jobs of the future,” gene programmers, pharmaceutical farmers, data miners, artificial intelligence brokers, and virtual reality actors make the list, but none of these occupations are close to ministry. Pastors show up on the “jobs of the past” list with stockbrokers, auto dealers, mail carriers, insurance agents, realtors, stenographers, and Democratic presidents.

After those Sundays when ministers are driven to check the classified ads, we discover that the life of ministry has left us unqualified for honest work. Ministers are not good at automotive repair, carpet cleaning, clerical help, construction work, customer service, or nightclub dancing. When ministers consider getting a “real” job, they quickly learn that none of these jobs are open to ministers. Employment counselors will not return your call. Careerfinders.com will not respond to your e-mails.

As a result, too many dull people get trapped in the ministry. Pastors, those reading this book excepted, can be boring. As a group, we are not the shiniest Krispy Kremes in the box. We might initially assume that people go into the ministry because they are already dull, as evidenced by many of our friends at seminary, but more often churches push their ministers into boredom. The squeaky wheels steal the grease, and ministers end up doing what’s dull and expected.

So what do ministers do when we get sick of churches that have forgotten it’s supposed to be fun? How do we respond when we are frustrated that the church isn’t what it should be? Why is the church such a bureaucracy? Why is the church so afraid of risk? Why isn’t the church more like Jesus?

When we feel burned out, we usually lower our expectations, walk away for a while, or stay irritated, but there’s a better option than giving up or giving in.

The Westminster Catechism was written for ministers who have been “baited and switched” out of their primary work: “What is the chief work of human beings? To love God and enjoy God forever.”

We always have the choice of enjoying God. Normal people don’t work at a church; the ministry is a peculiar though glorious way to make a living. God helps us laugh at the ridiculous and celebrate the holy.

We can stop making the ministry less fun than it’s supposed to be. The pay can be low and the hours are long, but the work is fascinating. The dullest day you’ve had as a minister is more interesting than the best day in most other professions. Pastors get to be generalists in a world filled with bored specialists. A minister is a priest, prophet, typist, bookworm, journalist, reformer, evangelist, counselor, fundraiser, community leader, public relations expert, master of ceremonies, professional tea-sipper and punch-drinker. Ministers get to be everywhere—preaching in worship, listening in meetings, teaching a class, marrying young lovers, waiting in maternity wards, praying with the sick, and burying the dead. We are always hip-deep in life. Ministers should love being ministers because the work gives our lives meaning. Who could ask for more?

Ministers should embrace the kind of humor that keeps us from being co-opted by what’s most mundane in the system. Pastors can live more God-directed than church-directed. Ministry can be almost as good in practice as it is in principle. Church is wonderful, ridiculous, committed, superficial, robust, and trivial. If we acknowledge the church’s shortcomings as well as our own, then we will smile at almost all of what makes it the church.

Ministers get lots of instruction on how to be a minister—books abound on small groups, evangelism, missions, and opening wallets wider. In As Good as It Gets, Jack Nicholson’s character says, “I’m drowning here and you’re describing the water.” Most books on ministry describe the water. I wrote this book because I could use a book on how to enjoy being a minister.

My cynical friends have suggested that a book on the joy of ministry should be short—like “Deep Thoughts” by the cast of Survivor. None of the suggestions included in this book are guaranteed. Much of this is silly, but all of it is offered in the hope that ministers will reduce their stress by seeing with perspective, distinguishing the urgent from the genuinely important, and cultivating a life shaped by Christ’s joy.

This book would not have been possible without the help of the saints and sinners who humored the pastor at: Mother Neff Baptist Church, Moody, Texas (small church that no longer exists, but it’s not the author’s fault); Central Baptist Church, Paoli, Indiana (still exists, upright piano, hard-working farmers); College Heights Baptist Church, Manhattan, Kansas (still exists, funeral home quality organ, Kansas State professors); Lake Shore Baptist Church, Waco, Texas (still exists, small organ, Baylor University professors); Broadway Baptist Church, Fort Worth, Texas (still exists, big pipe organ, lots of lawyers).

Each of these churches is filled with people who laugh when it’s funny. They taught me to do the same.

Writing a book that could be of incalculable value to clueless ministers was a delightful experience. Every minister should share whatever keys to sanity he or she has stumbled upon. Noted theologian/lyricist Jimmy Buffett sings for all ministers, “with all of our running and all of our cunning, If we couldn’t laugh we would all go insane.”

This Swimsuit Makes My Hips Look Big

Systems for matching shepherds and sheep range from organized, reasonable arrangements to the nonsensical Baptist system with which I am most familiar.

Search committees try to convince their congregations that their process for finding a pastor makes perfect sense. They will listen to church members’ ideas no matter how peculiar, collect resumes, hear enough sermons to make them wonder why they agreed to be on the search committee, talk to the prospective pastor (polite version), talk to references (Why would her own mother call her unreliable?), talk to the prospective pastor again (grueling version), do a credit check, do a criminal check, do a polygraph, send the prospective pastor hundreds of pages of information, talk to the prospective pastor again (every card on the table), and invite the prospective pastor to visit the church of every minister’s dreams.

From the perspective of the searched, the process is not nearly so organized. Your first formal contact comes in a letter that begins, “You may be a winner. I am writing on behalf of our Pastor Search Committee. We have been given your name . . . .” You are to write in response, “Thank you for your recent inquiry. I have great admiration for your church’s tradition of worship and ministry.” (Most write this even if they have never heard of the church.)

The scores for preliminary rounds are thrown out as soon as you advance to meeting with the committee. The question-and-answer is always more important than the swimsuit competition, though it may not feel like it.

One popular strategy, particularly with ministers with something to hide, is to take the offensive and ask lots of questions. You can impress a search committee with poignant queries. Such questions identify you as a minister with a grasp of issues concerning search committees, congregational life, and church administration:

• Is the rest of the church as smart as this committee?
• Was this committee chosen by throwing dice? Were you the winners?
• Have you been repeatedly turned down by pastors less qualified than I am?
• Will you be checking into my personal finances? Could I check into your personal finances?
• Is the criminal background check negotiable?
• Who would you rather have as your pastor—Jerry Springer, Barbara Walters, or Regis Philbin? (If they choose Jerry, end the interview. If they ask whom you’re most like, go with Oprah.)
• Why did the last pastor leave? Is the last pastor still institutionalized?
• To what year in your church’s history are you trying to get back?
• How would you feel about your church getting significantly smaller?
• Who would you like to see the pastor fire?
• Who else could the pastor fire?
• What’s the most infuriating thing the pastor’s secretary does?
• Does the pastor run staff meetings? Does the pastor attend staff meetings?
• How many hours do you think your pastor should work? Are you serious?
• How often do you have business meetings? Are you sure that’s wise?
• How many committees do you have? Could we halve that number?
• How many deacons do you have? Could we halve that number?
• Will psychological help be available?

By the time you have gotten the answers you desire, the committee will beg you to be their supreme spiritual guide. Don’t let their adoration keep you from looking critically at their church. Keep listening for danger signals. Comments like “We’ve been looking for someone for so long” should frighten you. Don’t stop asking questions. If the church budget is printed in red, ask about it. If you notice a gun rack in the pastor’s study, ask about it. If most of the last names in the church directory are the same, ask about it.

Be open to positive signs. Ask about the last pastor. The pastor you want to follow is lazy, long-winded, and a poor dresser. I once followed a minister who wore Hawaiian shirts and shorts to the office. I will never be able to thank him enough.

Know that a committee’s assurance that “We’ll have that taken care of before the new pastor arrives” means “This will be your first headache.”

Sometimes it’s easy to decide whether to accept a church’s invitation (“I’ll go upstairs and pray about it. You pack the bags.”), but most of the time, it’s hope for the Spirit and make an educated guess.