In seminary it finally became a real possibility: Someday I would have a church of my own. And when graduation neared, having a rather inflated view of my abilities not untypical for a seminarian, I eagerly mailed my dossier to churches whose pulpits were vacant.
When my mailbox failed to overflow and my phone didn’t ring off the hook, it became apparent my hour had not yet come.
I would have to pay my dues by ministering as an assistant pastor for a few years. Which I did, and enjoyed. After all, the congregation soon recognized my vast talents and genuinely seemed to love me, as I did them. Yes, they also offered some constructive criticism, but the longer I stayed, the more it became apparent to all concerned I had a great future in the church.
And the more the congregation spoke about my fine potential, the more I sat gazing out my office window, contemplating how graciously I would handle success in my own church.
Finally, when my time as an assistant was fulfilled, I received a call as pastor of a small church. I could hardly wait to clutch the shining chalice. My hour was at hand!
As I write almost two years later, I’m pastor of that small church, but with a considerably altered outlook. Only when my naive assumptions were held up to the light of reality did genuine ministry begin. With the experience still fresh, let me expose ten previous assumptions. Colleagues about to make the same move may see themselves in my experience.
1. I had paid my dues. Not quite. If seminary education wasn’t enough, neither were a few years of experience as an assistant. My new congregation still wanted to see the variety of skills my dossier claimed. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, I was still a rookie. And I found it’s better to admit it as soon as possible; the congregation appreciates realistic self-assessment.
In addition, the previous pastor, a relative rookie at the beginning, had thirteen years of experience before leaving. The congregation naturally compared us, and I came out looking inexperienced. I still had dues to pay.
2. The congregation will be attached to me immediately. Who would expect that? A part of me did. Remember, I came from a church where people showered me with affection, especially as I was leaving-gifts, dinner parties, and receptions in my honor. I arrived at a church that issued a nearly unanimous call and gave me an enthusiastic reception. I received a number of dinner invitations in the first month or so.
But then the quiet set in. No one invited me out (under the inaccurate assumption that everyone is always doing it) and I still didn’t know anyone well enough just to pick up the phone and see if they wanted to catch A Passage to India with me.
In short, I was not only a rookie but the new kid in town. I would have to pay emotional dues as well. And that takes time.
3. The members will eventually be my good friends. Assistant pastors usually work with youth, who tend to show their affection easily. Their parents see assistant pastors as desperately needed colleagues in child rearing. The older members may “adopt” them in the absence of their own children. An assistant is very approachable and so has probably fostered many friendships in a congregation.
However, that didn’t happen when I became a pastor. It’s probably typical. Because of my official roles as trusted counselor, Bible teacher, and spiritual guide rather than youth pastor, most people, although friendly, kept me at arm’s length. Lay people often have a difficult time understanding those who have chosen a religious profession.
We may detest this state of affairs theologically (the priesthood of all believers!) and personally (“I’m a human being first, a pastor second!”), we may go to great lengths to be one of the gang (spicing up our stories, cutting down the God talk), but it’s not likely that many in our congregations will warm up to us appreciably.
There are exceptions, but the exceptions merely prove the rule that pastors in most congregations will not feel the warmth, intimacy, and honesty they experienced as an assistant, at least not from as many people.
4. Regular preaching will be a joy. Preaching once a month as an assistant deluded me in many ways. It took a great deal of time and effort, yet I didn’t chafe at it. Instead, I eagerly anticipated my monthly opportunity. Furthermore, I imagined that once I began to preach regularly, preparation would take less time.
But I found out preparing sermons week after week after week is no great joy much of the time, especially when I’m tired, depressed, uninspired, feeling the pressure of administration, when my counseling load is immense, or social and community concerns demand my attention. Then I would like nothing more than to whip something together, or maybe even wing it. But I soon discovered I can’t get away with it. The congregation notices.
In addition, preparation didn’t get easier, nor the time shorter, at least when I was serious about improving. As soon as I got a handle on one area, I spotted another that needed more attention. Exegesis may take less time now, but finding appropriate illustrations and practicing delivery takes more.
Besides the time of direct preparation, I also found I must do a great amount of reading to keep my mind constantly challenged and my preaching revitalized, even when fatigue tempts me to nap.
Make no mistake, I have no thoughts of relinquishing my preaching privilege. It is worth the effort required. But it’s not a part of ministry that simply climbs from success to success.
5. I’m a great preacher. If we beginning pulpiteers are honest with ourselves, most of us have this illusion locked away in some corner of our minds. I could have saved myself a lot of grief right from the start by accepting the fact that I wasn’t a new Spurgeon. Those who won the preaching prize in seminary can ignore this point. The rest of us should take it to heart.
And that’s not easy. Besides the naturally inflated view we tend to have of ourselves, the congregations we serve as assistants no doubt reminded us time and again of our great potential. One of the reasons I yearned for a pastorate was to realize that potential.
As a pastor I quickly realized my inability to preach as persuasively as the dynamic preacher of my self-image. I haven’t yet added another service to accommodate the overflow. Word, Inc., hasn’t yet approached me about publishing a book of my pithy homilies, nor has their film division come to tape my latest series.
A few good souls like anything coherent that comes out of my mouth. But as for the rest, some listen with eyelids at half-mast, while others stare wide-eyed at the cross behind me. And that’s typical for most of us. Only once in a while do we dazzle them.
When the first pastor under whom I worked evaluated my first sermon, he said, “You’ll never be Harry Emerson Fosdick, but you’ll be pretty good.” My young ego was bruised, and, of course, I didn’t think he knew what he was talking about. I know now he was dead right.
6. My influence will be extended considerably as a pastor. Assistants often imagine themselves as movers and shakers. They expect great things once they become pastors with the authority to get things done. The fact is, when I became a pastor, I lost some freedom, and therefore some power.
A pastor who sees and has responsibility for the whole picture sometimes hesitates to speak out too forthrightly. The assistant can preach dogmatically against divorce; the pastor counseling an elder and her husband on the verge of splitting up softens his sermon. The assistant can insist that members publicly witness that “Jesus Christ is Lord and Savior”; the pastor knows many inarticulate members who don’t express their faith in those terms but perhaps have a greater witness in their own words. The assistant can decry the ostentatiousness of the sanctuary, but the pastor sees faces of faithful members now deceased who gave out of love to beautify the church.
In fact, sometimes as a pastor I have longed to return to simpler days, when I didn’t know so much, and issues were simply issues-not tied to individuals who misunderstand and hurt. Yet I stay on, because I know there is a great deal I can influence, and the opportunity to preach weekly is no small forum for encouraging change.
The difference between the assistant’s and pastor’s influence is not the difference between night and day, but more like early morning and noon. Both times of the day encourage growth, but the noonday sun a little more. It still takes ample portions of time and patience to see significant growth.
7. I am not going to do anything controversial during my first year. Most books on starting a new pastorate recommend using the initial year to become acquainted with the congregation to create a sense of trust. Such was my intention.
I never said or did anything I felt was controversial. But I soon discovered not everyone in my parish agreed that homosexuality was a sin, or that the prayer of confession was an integral part of worship, or that clapping for the choir disturbed the flow of worship. Some may call me naive, but such things certainly weren’t controversial in the first church I served.
That’s precisely the point: Each congregation has its own personality and beliefs, which we often take for granted as assistants. Some things mentioned in our first congregations created yawns, but in the second ignite fire. The odds are we’ll end up saying something controversial, even when we’re desperately trying not to.
It is certainly admirable as well as logical to try to hold off controversy. But don’t expect to avoid it entirely-unless you plan to hibernate in the furnace room the whole year or give glib sermons that say nothing.
8. I’ll never make the mistakes my mentor did! In more than four years as an assistant, I worked under two different pastors. I watched them both intently. They had long experience and considerable gifts for ministry. I learned a great deal from studying their strengths and weaknesses.
In regard to their weaknesses, I often remember making vows to myself: I’m not going to be indifferent to transients; I won’t let members’ giving determine my treatment of them; I’m not going to hole up in my office!
One of the unfortunate facts of life is we imitate not only the good but also the bad traits of our role models, whether they be parents or senior pastors. Eventually I did something I vowed never to do. And so will you. When you shake your head and wonder whatever gave you that idea, you’ll know.
9. I will dive into my new pastorate with unbounded energy. An assistant pastor has a great deal of energy; one must to work with youth. Energetic was one of the words my references used to describe me. But when I arrived at my new church and began work, I found myself tiring earlier in the day and week. I began to entertain notions I was not cut out for the pastorate.
The fact was, I was under terrific stress. I’d just moved, changed responsibilities, altered family patterns for my wife and children. And if nothing else, stress is tiring.
During that first year I wanted nothing more than to dig in with unchecked enthusiasm, but I found myself dampened by fatigue. The fatigue eventually subsided, but I had to learn to accept it as a given for the first year and a half.
10. I’m not going to be an average pastor. For whatever reason-to satisfy our egos, to make more money, to impress our superiors, to impress our Lord-most of us want to be successful men and women who turn a dying church around, who minister to the needs of people far and wide, whose church is a citadel of Christianity.
That, fortunately, is a burden only a few are called to carry.
The rest of us must learn to accept who we are- pastors with some strengths and some weaknesses, who serve churches faithful in some ways but not in others. Let’s accept our humble situations in life. Anything more is pride. And, of course, until we acknowledge our limitations, the Spirit can never work with us as he would.
This may sound quite depressing. You may think I am trying to discourage assistants from seeking pastorates. Hardly. The fact that I write as a pastor with no intention of changing my position speaks for itself. There are, after all, tremendous rewards in being a pastor, some of which I have alluded to.
Those rewards, however, are usually the primary thing assistants think about when contemplating the pastorate. I wish I had been more appraised of the other realities. It would have saved much self-incrimination (“You’re not living up to your potential!”), relieved some pressure (“Try harder!”), and alleviated many doubts (“Am I called to the pastorate?”).
No, the pastorate is no silver goblet, shining gloriously without mark or dent. It’s more like an earthenware vessel, often a dull brown or gray, with countless chips and cracks from constant use. It takes some breaking in. Yet, for all its imperfections, God still uses it to carry the very treasure of his gospel.
And that, of course, is the way it should be. For then it becomes clear to all that the “transcendent power” of our ministry “belongs to God and not us” (2 Cor. 4:7).
-Mark Galli
Grace Presbyterian Church
Sacramento, California
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