The biblical fact is that there are no successful churches. There are, instead, communities of sinners, gathered before God week after week in towns and villages all over the world. The Holy Spirit gathers them and does his work in them. In these communities of sinners, one of the sinners is called pastor and given a designated responsibility … to keep the community attentive to God.
Eugene H. Peterson
I became my own only when I gave myself to Another. C. S. Lewis
The minister’s shortcomings simply cannot be concealed. Even the most trivial soon get known.… However trifling their offenses, these little things seem so great to others, since everyone measures sin, not by the size of the offense, but by the standing of the sinner.
John Chrysostom
Once I was down at Kentucky Lake in Paducah, Kentucky, and I saw several white plastic milk jugs floating on the water. When I asked what they were doing out there, I learned that a fish line was tied to each of them, with a baited hook attached.
The method worked like this: When a fish takes the bait and finds itself hooked, it tries to get away, but the jug follows right along. The fish may weigh twenty pounds and be full of fight, but the floating jug keeps a slow, steady, upward pressure that eventually wears out even the strongest fish.
Several times in the pastorate, I remember feeling as if I’d been hooked by one of those jugs. I could never get away from the pressure.
Doctors sometimes joke about the people who approach them, even in social contexts, and ask for medical advice. “I’ve got this rash — right here. What do you think it is?” Such people don’t recognize the doctor’s desire to be “off duty.”
Likewise, ministers also feel the scrutiny, the pressure, of an inescapable identity. One pastor describes it this way: “I pastor a ‘First’ church in a county seat town of 25,000. I’m always ‘on stage’ at the grocery store, the shopping mall, even the post office. I sometimes wish I could travel around town incognito.”
Our is a 24-hour-a-day, 365-day-a-year job. It’s like one of the milk jugs — constantly pulling on us. The pressure may not be crushing, but it’s relentless. Over time it wears you down. And unless you can somehow escape it or learn to live with it, you will eventually, like the fish, go belly up.
Sources of the Forces
Where does the pressure to always “be pastoral” come from? Much of the discomfort comes from feeling as if we always have to be playing a role, being something slightly other than ourselves. In part, this comes from our own perception of our role; in part from what people expect of us.
When I was first getting started in ministry, for instance, I couldn’t preach without a jacket on. Even in hot, humid, summer weather, when people in the pews were in their shirt sleeves, I felt I had to have my coat on in the pulpit. In fact, on many of those hot nights I would be invited to take off my coat, but I always declined. Maybe I was insecure and it helped me feel protected. Maybe I saw it simply as the preacher’s uniform, a badge of authority. I don’t know. But it was a major step for me, years later, when I finally started to preach, in informal situations, without my coat. No one told me that I had to wear a suitcoat every time I preached. That’s just what I perceived a proper preacher should look like.
In a similar way, we often have trouble relaxing and being ourselves even in casual settings because we haven’t entirely gotten rid of the idea that being a pastor means playing the part. For some, this means portraying piety. But is a serious countenance next to godliness? Is being stern holier than being spontaneous? Does the look of perpetual pastoral concern express the image of God better than carefree laughter?
I’ve enjoyed looking at the life and ministry of Jesus. I get a very different picture from the image so many of us try to wear. Jesus, for instance, seemed to attract children. I’ve never seen children attracted to a gruff, stern person. They avoid people like that. Children are great judges of character; they “read” people well and can tell when adults don’t like them. But children flocked to Jesus. To me that says that Jesus was able to smile, to enjoy life, to have fun even with children. He was able to be himself.
On the other hand, I’ve met many pastors who feel pressure in social situations to be the life of the party. In a room full of parishioners, everyone waits for the pastor to get things perking. Perhaps they don’t turn to you and stare, but you nonetheless sense an inner expectation — since you’re supposed to be well-educated, well-read, and a communicator — to get conversation rolling. If on a given evening things drag, even if you’re not the host, you leave feeling you’ve somehow failed in your pastoral responsibility, despite the fact that “hale fellow well met” isn’t in your job description.
The first source of the inescapable identity, then, is our own perceptions. The second is the perceptions of others. As one pastor said, “You can’t get away from the fact that you are ‘clergy,’ and that puts you in a glass house. It’s like you and your family are always under scrutiny.” And the problem is that pastors are judged by different standards than those used for “normal” people. It might be forgivable for the average parishioner to gamble a little, to spend money on some small luxury, or to use some colorful language in the heat of anger. But those would be serious offenses for a pastor.
The modern, more self-revealing pastorate is slowly changing this, doing away with some of the barriers between clergy and laity. Well-known pastors who feel the freedom to identify with their people and share some of their fears and weaknesses, such as Chuck Swindoll, are also helping. The standard for pastors, however, is still a cut above the crowd.
It’s not just other Christians who have these expectations. Secular society can have expectations that may be even more demanding. I’m reminded of the time Jimmy Carter was interviewed by Playboy magazine. He had made no secret of his evangelical faith, and much was written about the fact that he taught a Sunday school class. As a result, the media saw him and portrayed him much as they would a clergyman. Thus, when Carter admitted in that interview that he lusted after women, the fact made headlines. Why? Not because lust is uncommon, nor because most of the secular press consider lust unlawful. Any Christian who’s ever read Matthew 5 with spiritual understanding knows what Carter was saying and that he was just being frank about his sins. No, the uproar was caused because of the assumption that Christian leaders should live up to a much higher standard.
Escaping the Inescapable
The constant pressure of being a pastor, of always being on stage, will eventually do us in if we’re not able to find a way to handle it. I’m convinced from my own experience and observation of others that it’s helpful to occasionally find ways to escape from the pastoral role. Let me offer a few ideas that have helped me make the escape.
First, many pastors have found it helpful to find peers outside their churches with whom they can relax, people who don’t think of them as pastors. Instead the pastors can be seen primarily as a fishing buddy, a racquetball partner, or a colleague in PTA or Little League. People can see them in a role other than pastor. Also, in a group of peers, they don’t feel the pressure to make things happen, to take charge, to have the last word on every subject. By being a supporter rather than a leader in some of these situations, they can relax and simply enjoy the company of others.
Second, another way to escape the pastoral identity is to make a point of talking to different people, Christian and non-Christian, about the basic, ordinary stuff of life. All people have the same desire to be liked and accepted and the same concern for their friends and family. So instead of immediately trying to steer every conversation into spiritual matters, which is what people expect of a pastor, I like to talk about kids and braces and baseball games and cars and food. By being a “regular person,” I find others will usually accept me on those terms.
The same principle applies to attire. People are used to seeing the pastor in a suit, and we can escape the pastoral stereotype easier if we adapt to our people. I heard of a pastor up in Vermont, for example, who carries around in his car trunk an old pair of blue jeans and a pair of rubber boots so he can visit the farmers in his congregation on their terms, not his. Instead of taking them away from their work when he visits, he goes out and slops hogs with them!
In Upland, Indiana, the town where I now live, there’s a Labor Day festival every year that includes a rodeo. On Labor Day, I show up in my T-shirt and blue jeans and just walk around doing the things everyone else is doing. I find it’s a refreshing change to be one of the observers rather than one who’s in charge. And people seem to enjoy seeing me “out of character.” It helps me escape the stereotyping.
Third, when I speak, I often tackle the issue of pastoral identity head-on. I tell people that I’m not a prophet but a fellow pilgrim whom God has taught a few things that I’d like to pass on. In fact, I sometimes overdo it. But to a certain extent you can educate your congregation directly, especially if your life outside the pulpit backs up what you say when you’re in it.
A well-known pastor says that a man once came up to him after he had spoken and said, “You know, all my life I’ve heard pastors and speakers say that they’re human and they make mistakes just like the rest of us, but you’re the first one I’ve ever believed.” My pastor friend wasn’t sure if that was a compliment! But he decided he’d take it that way. He has effectively shown his people that he is not to be put on a pedestal.
Finally, I’ve made a point, too, beginning with my days as a pastor, of carefully keeping my home as a place where I can relax, where I shed the role of minister. One tangible way I do this is to change my clothes, maybe even take a shower, as soon as I get home. It’s sort of like a change of uniform, and it always signaled to my kids that I was ready to be Daddy again. In fact, my kids used to joke that “Dad’s not home until he’s taken off his tie.” That was an important signal to them, and to me.
Guarding the Identity
While it’s important to find occasional escape from the pastoral identity, in another sense it’s important to guard that identity.
There are people who will try to use pastors, who will try to befriend them because they want something. And if you don’t realize what’s happening and you let them use you, your position and effectiveness as a minister can be greatly compromised.
I remember one man wanted me to introduce him to certain influential people in the community with whom he wanted to make financial deals. If I made the introductions, it would imply, whether I realized it or not, that I vouched for his character and endorsed his deals.
Another time, James Dobson mentioned on his radio program that he and I had been fishing together, and the next thing I knew, people were calling me and saying, “Hey, Jay, could you call Dobson and see if he could come and speak to our group?”
One of my friends who’s a pastor reports that a businessman in the congregation wanted to use the pastor’s name and the church mailing list to mail letters about his products to “My fellow members at First Church.”
When people try to use you, it’s easy to get cynical. That’s another reason it’s important to have regular contact with peers who don’t need or want anything from you other than your company.
Still other people will want to give you special discounts or even free products or services. Some of them will have good intentions, but some will use that to suggest they have a close relationship with you or to make a pitch for your parishioners’ business. And some who are hostile to the gospel just like to be able to say that they “bought” Pastor So and So.
Because of all these possible entanglements, I’ve always politely declined offers of ministerial discounts and refused requests for introductions that I felt were motivated by these kinds of things. I never want to give anyone ammunition for saying the gospel is for sale or ministers are looking for a free ride.
Being a minister isn’t merely a career; it’s a way of life. That can be both a blessing and a curse. It requires us to know ourselves and to find ways to be ourselves even as we continue to pastor our people. That task, to paraphrase a Navy slogan, isn’t just a job. It’s an adventure.
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