Recently, Hubs read me the following letter. He had found something like it on a ministry leadership site he frequents & he rewrote it to mirror his own experiences... I was so moved by it's authenticity & by my Hubs heart. So because it is Sunday Eve & I'm pretty sure my Hubs won't (he wouldn't want to seem like he was complaining... which to be honest, he rarely does), I am choosing to share it here with you with hope that you will read it with an open heart & mind & that by giving you a peek into the mind of my Hubs (& I'd bet many other pastors as well) on Sunday mornings that you might understand better how much he loves Jesus & all of you...
"Why is it that Sunday's at 8 a.m. feels
early? Driving to the church on empty streets, I hope that I will have time to
go over my message once again before the worship service begins. I often wonder
if there will ever come a day where I will feel 'ready' before Sunday services
begin.
I see that Andrew, the area wanderer, who
has adopted us, is waiting in his car in the parking lot. I drive in and think to myself, "I hope
today is one of his 'good' days." You
never know. "Good morning, Andrew.
Church doesn't start for another hour or so but you're welcome to come
in with me and we can get a fresh pot of coffee started and you can warm
up." As I let us both into the
building, I wonder if it's wise to be alone with him. I can see it's not one of
his better days.
I've pretty familiar with the sounds of
the empty church, but I hear something different this morning as I walk past
one of the restrooms. Has the hand dryer been running all night again? I step
inside to see if I can figure something out but I'm a pastor with absolutely no
mechanical ability. I guess our
utilities bills will go over budget again, and once we pay for an electrician, the
bank account will take an even bigger hit. Let's hope giving this month makes
room for stuck hand dryers. I'll drop a note to the property chairperson.
On my way to the office, I check in on
the sanctuary where the greeters are arriving and the worship team are setting
up their instruments. "Good morning! Thanks for everything you all do!"
I say as I turn my attention to the thermostat on the wall to make sure its set
appropriately for service. Looks like we need more candles for the alter too,
so I head for the office.
Finally, dropping my coat off on my
desk, I have that nagging feeling that I should go over my sermon one more
time. I go through the checklist in mind: Will thinking more about it really
make a difference? Is there a chance that I will cross the line between
under-prepared and over-prepared? Have I left room for the Spirit of God to
work in it or is it too much of me? Man!
Will I ever have a Sunday where I'm comfortable with this? I really should get those candles and write
that email about the electrician.
Speaking of electrician, I probably
should head back to the bathroom before people start arriving. On my way I
notice Lawrence, one of our most faithful members, shoveling the walk again. I
wave at him through the window and mouth the words, "Thank you!"
"I really should invite Larry and his wife to dinner. Such faithful people. Maybe next month."
Arlene rounds the corner and jokes with
Dan then hustles inside. Greeting her with a hug, I ask if things are any
different at home since the last time we met. Her face screams that it isn't
but she does her best to reassure me that things are fine. I'm at a loss as to how best to comfort her
in light of the troubles she's facing. A sound tech pops his head out of the
sanctuary and asks if I know where we keep the extra batteries. I quickly move
the conversation with Arlene along and then excuse myself to dig around for
batteries. Oh, and those candles too.
There's still time to get in that
bathroom break before the service starts so I quickly scoot in that
direction. Passing the church office, I
check in with the Elders and we have a quick run through the order of service
and pray for the day. As we pray I remember that I never did go over the sermon
that one last time and so I add a prayer that God will work through it all
anyway. I feel Caleb's reassuring presence beside me during the prayer. After the prayer is done he asks me how I am.
He's the closest thing to a friend I have here and I'd dearly love to tell him
everything. But what exactly would I say?
Besides, I realize there isn't time to go into it now, with the service
about to begin. So I pull myself away from the elder's to head to the bathroom
where I finally relax for a moment before heading out to start ramping things
up. I realize that Sunday should never be a performance so I shouldn't be
anxious yet, something huge is about to happen, and I feel the weight of the
responsibility I have in helping make it happen.
Finally, making it to the sanctuary and
getting to my seat, the service goes pretty much as usual. There's a commotion
at one point as someone spilled coffee on the floor. A few slides don't match the music. As we are
singing the beautiful songs, I feel bad that my mind is not engaged in the
lyrics of such theology but rather thinking about whether or not I have water
up in the pulpit. So, I duck out of the
church to go make sure I have a bottle of water ready. As I duck into the into the kitchen to get
the water, I see the coffee volunteers are still there, cleaning up. I take
time to thank them for their work and ask them how they are. As I am getting
ready to head back to the sanctuary, one pulls me aside and picks up on a story
he started telling me last week, a detailed analysis on the state of his
intestines. I really hope my mic is off. I really do hope he'll be okay. Then I
hope it's not contagious. I can hear the final song of the worship set wrapping
up and I realize I have to run. As I dash back into the sanctuary just in time,
I see I've forgotten my water bottle.
As I reenter the sanctuary, I make the
choice to turn my hurried entrance into positive energy and set aside my
self-accusation that I wasn't standing in prayerful preparation with the rest
of these worshippers. As I find my
sermon notes and gather my thoughts, I'm happy to see people seem engaged. A
few respond with laughter in the right places. At one point, I lose my train of
thought and at another I forget an important segue, but I laugh at myself to
pretend I don't care. Toward the end of the sermon, I notice a young man in
tears in the back and hope they're good tears. As I'm getting ready to wrap
this thing up, a new thought falls into place in my mind, something with rhythm
that bears repeating, so I repeat it. Now, I check the time to see just how far
off I am. The final pieces that refused
to fit together at my computer come together here as I speak, not only for my
congregation but for me. When it's done I hope it also meant something to
someone else.
The rest of the service is a blur of
the words I say every week over offerings and communions and announcements and
doxologies. As I take a seat at the end
of the service, I do so with a sigh. It was good and now it's done. I bow my
head and the prayer feels so right. Or is it good because it lets me rest my
eyes? Regardless, I am breathe a sigh of relief.
I glance up from prayer to see a new
couple enthusiastically moving towards me. I've asked their names twice now. It
was two J's. Justin and Joanne? John and Julie? I see their faces and hope it means
they enjoyed the sermon. But then I question my motives. Is it my ego, wanting some sign that my work
is effective? Is it good to want proof that God can use my feeble offerings to
bless others? This new couple has just moved into the area and own a realty
company and ask if they could hand out business cards and fliers in the foyer
as people leave church. As they hand me
a business card, I see the teary young man standing tentatively behind them. He
has that, "I'd like to speak to you but I'm standing a little way off so I
don't intrude on your current conversation" posture. I smile at him to let
him know I've seen him and try to find a way to include him.
My daughter brushes up against me and
although I can't tear away from the chatty couple, I pull her close to me. I
hope that she senses my attention even if it's divided. This girl has
sacrificed more for this place than anyone knows, and I don't want her growing
up thinking I cared more for my parishioners than I did for her. As I try to
focus on what this new couple is saying, I miss it as I notice that the teary
man has left. I hope he comes back next Sunday. I pray that God will guide him
through whatever brought him to tears. I finally attend to my daughter's
question, careful to give her at least as much of my energy as I give everyone
else, and she skips back to her friends. I take the business card and apologize
to the two J's, "I'm sorry but you'll have to pass out your fliers
somewhere else. Church isn't the
appropriate place for that."
As the couple walks away and I wonder
if I'll ever see them again, I let my eyes scan the room. Is there anyone left
standing alone? Any newcomer un-welcomed? People gather in happy groups, and
I'm glad to see there aren't any loners. And at the same time, it saddens me.
That makes me the only one.
Turning my attention to the final tasks
to be wrapped up, I begin to feel my heart rate fall back to normal. As I walk
through the entire building and with each door I lock, I find myself hitting a
wall. I can't wait to get home. Lights are off. Last of the people are mulling out the
door. I follow them to my car. As I open my car door, I hear, "Pastor,
before you go, can we pray? I have exams this week and I don't feel
ready." Of course we can pray. It's what I'm here for. But I think,
"If I had already left, would he have been okay? Would he have prayed
without me?" I feel for him
genuinely as he shares his family's expectations and the pressure he feels, how
he hasn't been able to sleep, which means he can't focus to study. It's beyond anything
I can do to help so we pray. I give his
week to the Lord and we both feel a little better. "Let me know how things
go! I'll be thinking of you this week!" I say, hoping that will be true.
Driving home, I go over my mental checklist: Did I catch up with
the people who most needed my attention this week? Did I double check the door
that sticks? I hope that Andrew hasn't hidden away in one of the back bathrooms
again. Who can blame him when the streets are so cold? I hope there's a warm
lunch awaiting me at home. But beyond hunger for food, there's a deeper hunger:
for sleep. I've worked eight-hour shifts in offices and ten-hour shifts in
restaurants. Why does this six-hour work day wear me out more than any of them? I guess it doesn't matter "why"... I wouldn't have it any other way."
(This is a work of fiction loosely based on Hubs last seven years
of ministry and adapted from an article written by Mandy Smith, lead Pastor of
University Christian Church in Cincinnati, Ohio: http://www.christianitytoday.com/le/2015/january-online-only/sunday-through-pastors-eyes.html )
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