I want to give a shout-out to Ada and
Betty, my newest Facebook friends. They live at the retirement
center where I lead worship Tuesday afternoons. They signed up, they
said, so they could see pictures of their grandchildren. This
touched off a series of complaints from other retirees. Don't these
kids ever print pictures and mail them? Why don't they answer their
phones? Why do I have to use a computer to communicate with them?
My grandmother walked six miles to
school. On snowy mornings she rode a shovel down the mountainside to
the banks of the Allegheny River, then hung a left. In the
afternoons she had to carry it back up. She started doing this when
she was six. By the time she died children in remote places
routinely attended virtual classrooms via the Internet.
I have served churches for twenty-eight
years. When I did a student internship, people often gave us food because
they knew the pay was pathetic. I thank God that I now get
adequately compensated. Worship music, denominational influences,
dress codes and more have all changed. But I think the most profound
change I experience has to do with how people regard me
professionally.
When I started as an associate pastor
the position carried a dose of automatic respect. When I became a
solo pastor in an overgrown small town, I also became a public
figure. Everybody knew me. Most treated me with deference.
People older and wiser than I listened to my opinions—even the
stupid ones—because I was a minister. Today, not so much.
Most people treat me well. Many of
them communicate a certain measure of respect. But something has
changed. The titles used for me illustrate it. Back in the day I
was a “Minister”, or even—heaven help us—a “Minister of the
Word and sacrament.” Then I became a “preacher”. Now I am
universally called “pastor”. We ministers have gone from a
position of authority to becoming, as one colleague writes,
“undershepherds”.
Please don't get me wrong. I ask
nobody to kiss my ring. Not even my wife. Especially my wife. I
actually kind of like being called pastor, though preacher was
probably my favorite. I want
to be held accountable for my conduct. Just look at what happens
when pastors and priests misuse their ministerial authority. The
abuses are sickening.
But I
do feel I have earned a certain standing. I try to give respect to
those whom I feel deserve it; I would like it offered in return.
When people are troubled by some decision the elders and I have made,
could they ask for more information? When I do not discern that they
want me to visit them, could they invite me?
Ministry
is hard. It has gotten harder as the years have passed. I need to
belong to a fellowship based on mutual regard. Again, for the most
part the church I serve now treats me well: better than I
deserve sometimes. I look up to many of the people in it. I
honestly love them.
But we all
have the same needs. Knowing we belong to one another, that we can
trust each other to forgive, that we will stick together over the
long haul: I feel these common human needs more and more acutely. I have gotten old(er). I want to finish strong. Help me.
