The Grassroots Pastor

If you drive south on the highway that runs from Galilee to the Dead Sea, you will see boys driving sheep through the desert. The boys are bright-eyed and full of smiles, many no older than 6 or 7, wearing old Nike T-shirts or white Adidas soccer jerseys, riding donkeys, running on foot, jumping like puppies, and keeping their animals safe—off the highway, away from roadside produce sellers, and moving, always moving, toward water and food in that dry land that rolls by Jericho.

When you look at the little shepherds, you see something elemental, a sight—other than those ubiquitous soccer jerseys—that you could have seen a thousand years ago here. That someone will likely see a thousand years from now. The shepherds of the West Bank are an unchanging sight, tending unchanging sheep, working a profession nearly as old as human memory. Much like their (less dusty) namesakes—the "pastors," who spend their lives tending God's flock.

Livestock and souls are universals. The world can change; these needs will not.

To follow the sheep

Cross the world with me now, to the little farm where I grew up in Oregon's lush Helvetia hills. We tended a small flock of sheep for our landlord. I was familiar with the hormonal bleats of ewes eager for a ram, with the copper smell of December's midnight lambs, with helping my parents bottle feed (and sometimes bury) the runts. I loved the annual shearing buzz, clippers deftly wielded by a rogue New Zealander. I knew the feel of wet wool, and the stupidity of a spooked herd.

Sometimes I laugh about the many little ways that sheep have intersected my life. My last name means "shepherd" in the language of my Hungarian ancestors. After my family came to faith, I was a pastor's kid in a rural town. And my favorite outdoor activity is hiking our Cascade mountains, where sure-footed wild sheep can be spotted scrambling over volcanic ridges and jagged scree.

At any rate, I've always felt I shared some elemental thing with the shepherds of the Bible. Jacob, David, Amos of Tekoa, the shepherds of Bethlehem, the Good Shepherd; and kinship with their modern counterparts—the women and men who count people as their flock, and churches as their folds. Pastors.

Coming of age, I felt a call to serve them as I was able, and so spent seven years studying theology in college and seminary, with the goal of shepherding souls myself, or at least of training and resourcing spiritual shepherds.

But after seminary, it became apparent that life was leading me more to the pen than the pulpit. It's a path that's been deeply rewarding, and only cemented my sense of calling to the misfit band of disciples who have heard the ragged whisper in the night to "get up and feed the sheep." But it's also brought tension. The tension of—what am I doing? Is this my calling? Where do I fit into my church? Into the Church? What am I?

I'm not quite a pastor, but at the same time I could never be anything else.

A growing number

I'm one of a growing number of my peers who are trained for and called to pastoral ministry in a changing culture where many established notions of "church" are evolving or failing. Bivocational pastors are growing in number—many young seminary graduates ponder a future where a full-time paid pastoral job will never be a reality. Many others are called to ministry slightly outside the margins of traditional churches, and struggle to understand their place.

Many of my friends from college and seminary are in similar places to me, with a call—and robust professional or seminary training—to serve Christ's people, but without traditional congregations to bestow the title of "pastor."

But they act an awful lot like pastors; people like my friend Luke, a trained and gifted preacher who supplied the interim pulpit for a struggling rural congregation for most of a year, leaving a small church much healthier than he found it. By day, he works at a nonprofit.

Like Allison, whose gifting in discernment and intercessory prayer has dramatically impacted other believers at key points of their journey. She's a homemaker and permaculture farmer.

Like Fritz, whose international-award-winning photography has brought a depth to "arts ministry" unmatched by any paid "arts minister" I've encountered.

Like Brandon, whose work leading a lay-led Christian community in a looked-down-on part of town has done dynamic work that paid "community pastors" would do well to emulate.

Like my boss, Marshall, whose dedication to volunteer service at his local church is exemplary in itself, let alone his ongoing work of encouragement that pastors formal pastors at pivotal moments in their ministries.

Like my wife, Emily, who shepherds our three children, and whose leadership and hospitality have shepherded the college-age women of a community home, and helped lead a "small group" bigger than most house churches.

Inspiring examples of ministry. Grassroots pastors. I could go on—I'm blessed to know 10 or 12 such people, all of whom express some personal sense of specific, pastoral calling, and have some degree of formal training that sets them apart from the average church attendee, but none of whom have "pastor" in their title. They do the work of shepherds, usually invisibly, and remarkably well.

The world can change, these needs will not. So if my friends look like pastors, and serve like pastors … aren't they pastors?

What's in a name?

I think they are. Pastors, but with an important distinction—there's no replacement for a leader committed for the long haul to lead and shepherd a specific congregation. So, I suggest that we introduce a new term into the modern ministry vocabulary—"grassroots pastor." A called and trained informal minister shepherding souls, making disciples, and leading—even if informally—their neighbors and neighborhoods to the good news. Doing the work that all pastors are called to, but typically outside the walls of a local church, and generally without title or compensation.

"Grassroots"— a term that conjures images of homespun activism; a vague musk of Pete Seeger. Loosely organized but with purpose, outside the mainstream but doing the work of renewal. Growing tall, even if spindly, growing from the dirt up because it has to.

From my education, work, and travels, I see a growing population of Christians—especially young Christians—called and trained for ministry, but, for one reason or another, not in a formal church role.

They—we—are people of the in-between, undervalued and often ignored. My only statistics to back this up are anecdotal, but I suspect that if we were able to quantify the evangelicals who fall into this category, we would uncover a significant, largely unrecognized pastoral workforce of skilled Christian leaders.

It could be argued that I'm simply complicating the simple matter of the "priesthood of all believers." After all, aren't all Christians called to encourage and make disciples of their sisters and brothers? Without question. But from the very beginning, the church has acknowledged that certain men and women are called and gifted to be set aside for the work of ministry in a pastoral role. And at the margins of this formal calling are a ragged fringe of individuals who aren't ordained clergy but aren't just engaged laity either. They're leading, shaping community, called and trained for ministry. Just … in-between.

In no way are grassroots pastors a threat to established traditional ministry: we complement church work done by those with Reverend in front of their name. Nor are we some kind of replacement for formal clergy. We work day jobs, frequently have less experience, and are not sharpened by the unique pressures of organizational leadership in a faith setting. We are called, many of us are trained, but the nature of our work is typically more roving than rooted, though the nature of grassroots pastors tends to elude typecasting.

Moving to recognize and resource these people will consolidate efforts of church planting (a risky, though important, go-to outlet for young pastors), reduce the numbers of disenfranchised ministry thinkers (whose daily musings online often seem more the products of frustrated callings than fulfilled ones), and will further cement the vital, growing "redeeming work" trend that is reclaiming a strong understanding of Christian vocation.

Allowing grassroots ministry to gently dovetail with local churches will unify communities (boosting vision and mission for new understandings of local "parish" ministry). It can bring the best rootedness and relationality of grassroots networks to the work of the pastor, a calling that is often isolating, misunderstood, and pressurized. It can energize mission, open community doors, and extend the reach of the local church into those tough-to-reach corners.

If recognized, it could revolutionize local ministry.

Recognition, resourcing, and reliance

We are all around; visible to God but few others. Noted perhaps as "good friends," "that barista who took Hebrew," a "prayer partner," "the Christian mom who runs the playgroup."

But to maximize this tremendous latent potential, many of us need formal local churches that recognize, resource, and rely upon the work of grassroots pastors in our neighborhoods. Here are some ways local churches and grassroots pastors can work together.

Recognition Many grassroots pastors feel their in-between-ness keenly. They often identify as outsiders, as iconoclasts, as someone who doesn't quite fit. But that doesn't take away the power of affirmation—the power of being seen by another. I'd wager that most church leaders can name at least three people connected to their congregation who have been called and resourced for ministry. Name them. Get to know them, listen to their story, begin to think of them as a co-worker in pastoral work. Is a grassroots pastor a member at your church? Acknowledge (publicly if appropriate) their specific avenues of ministry contribution, their sense of call, gifting, and training. Recognize their life season. Encourage them that regardless of their title, they are ministering—serving and leading the sheep of Christ. Just saying that they're seen carries power.

Resourcing My friend Brandon pastors his neighborhood while selling produce from his bicycle. You know what would be nice? A little cash to help toward operating expenses for his business. (No, the IRS won't let you write it off as a ministry donation, but I guarantee that it is one in the economy of the upside-down kingdom.) With the creativity, passion, and quiet commitment that characterizes the grassroots pastors I know, a little resourcing goes far. For the grassroots pastors in your life, quietly and humbly ask if there are ways to partner with what they're doing already to support common goals of ministry. Sometimes this will dovetail with an existing need or goal in your church. Sometimes it won't look like any pastoral work that you've seen before. But if the goal is fostering a Kingdom presence in your neighborhood, foster pastoral work wherever it's happening. A word of caution, though—you must be content sometimes with allowing powerful invisible ministry to remain invisible. Be sensitive, approach as a learner—as a servant to servants.

Reliance As you build relationships with grassroots pastors, consider what their work can accomplish that yours can't, and as needs arise in your ministry, rely on them for advice, perspective, community information and introductions, and pastoral care that they might be uniquely equipped to do.

The far reaches of the pasture

I remember sitting with my sister in the hay loft of our red barn, looking down as that New Zealander sheared our sheep. His clippers moved like a thing alive, with a fibrous whine that peeled off great piles of wool without so much as a nick to the delicate skin beneath.

Perhaps grassroots pastors are like that New Zealander—there when needed, supporting the work of the year-round shepherds, giving our best gifts at whatever time and place we find ourselves.

There is a dynamic community of gifted pastoral leaders woven through our cities, suburbs, and rural communities. They serve you coffee, sell you insurance, nanny your children, teach at the middle school, photograph your weddings. Some of them even work in churches.

So keep your eyes open. You will know us when you see us. We will, with you, be trotting down the trail in search of the sheep, though maybe on the other side of the fence.

Paul Pastor is associate editor of Leadership Journal, a writer and grassroots pastor living in the woods near Portland, Oregon.