“How much of what you’ve written about is still hard for you?” That question yesterday caught me off guard, and my immediate response was even more surprising to my heart. “All of it,” I said.
It’s true. Some of it is harder than others, but doing ministry as an imperfect human is like running a marathon in a corn maze. Think about that for a minute. Representing the church and God (and getting paid for it) for 30 years has been not only deeply fulfilling, but also a privilege in ways I can’t explain.
I’ve hit a few snags because of insecurity, ego, drive, and inexperience, but nothing insurmountable or overly devastating. I’ve worked too much, minimized hurts, stretched the truth, chosen strategies over biblical precepts, and let cultural Christianity win too many times. Mostly, I was unaware when I did those things because I really do value integrity, but in the moment, sometimes I chose survival over humility.
In the midst of it all, I deeply loved people. Sometimes to a fault, but I’m not sorry for that. I know what it’s like to be held and scooped up by a holy God through other people’s kindness and generosity. I know how it feels to be undeserving, yet showered with grace and mercy.
I’m overwhelmed by the reception of The Present Pastor. When Len Wilson suggested the title, my first thought was, “Can I really live up to that?”
Nope. At least not every day.
And for the first time in my life, I’m okay with that. Most days, I’ll hit the bullseye, but grace will have to cover the rest.
One of my heroes of the faith is Thomas Merton. He has a famous prayer that I keep in a little compartment in my brain, especially the words I’ve capitalized here:
My Lord God,
I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself,
and the fact that I think I am following your will
does not mean that I am actually doing so.
BUT I BELIEVE THAT THE DESIRE TO PLEASE YOU
DOES IN FACT PLEASE YOU.
And I hope that I have that desire in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road,
though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore will I trust you always though
I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear, for you are ever with me,
and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.
Sometimes being present means just being able to admit you’re not being present. I’ve finally come to terms with a truth I preached a lot of times without truly grasping it. It’s Colossians 1:27: “To them God has chosen to make known among the Gentiles the glorious riches of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory.” It’s not about me. It’s about Christ IN me. I wish I could truly express how much I love being a pastor. So much it aches at times. Some days it’s easier than others. But when I sit with someone whose days are ending because of cancer or when I talk with someone trying to figure out this wildly paradoxical thing called Christianity or I’m listening to someone who has been hurt by other Jesus followers or the church or when I have coffee with someone who sees me as James and not “the preacher” I’m reminded in those moments the hard parts of ministry are still wrapped in the soft arms of God. And that’s enough.
James