My name doesn’t appear on the church stationery, nor does it appear in the newspaper or telephone book advertisements. I’m not in the limelight. No one refers to the church I serve as “Brother Epps’ Church,” and few in the congregation look to me for spiritual guidance. I’m the “silent partner,” the “second in command.” I am simply an associate pastor to a more mature minister who pastors a growing and thriving local assembly. And I wouldn’t have it any other way!
Six years ago, armed with a college degree, I assumed the pastorate of a church consisting of 110 members, although there were only fourteen who attended regularly. Full of idealism and zeal, I mounted the pulpit with the certain knowledge that I was going to instruct these poor, neglected folk in the deeper mysteries of God. When I ran out of sermon material inside of six weeks, I began to sense that all was not going well.
I demonstrated my profound wisdom time and time again, as I attempted to minister to the needs of the people. I preached, for example, on the evils of hatred and prejudice-and ended up losing two families. How was I to know that my little church was in the heart of Ku Klux Klan territory?
I came down hard on astrology and superstition in another sermon. What I didn’t know was that many of my members were farmers and planted “by the signs;” they misunderstood my intentions. I blundered along, unintentionally offending people and stepping on toes that had been sore for many years.
I thought tact was something one used to evade the issue, and diplomacy was tantamount to compromise of standards and a sell-out to all that was meaningful. Somehow the congregation had more patience with me than I had with them, and over a period of time we adjusted to each other fairly well, with attendance reaching into the seventies.
The next year, when I was twenty-four, I took the pastorate of a congregation of nearly 600 individuals. Although I had learned to cope with certain situations in the previous local body, I found myself unprepared for the turmoil that was to be mine in the next eighteen months.
In my new parish, I found a resistance to the moving of the Spirit (as I interpreted it, of course) that I did not expect. I came, for the first time, face to face with divorce, adultery, drugs, death, pain, and suicide. I was accused of being unloving, uncaring, and a know-it-all (who, me?). Then at the board meeting, not only was my salary not raised, it was cut! And though offerings and attendance were above the previous years, I finally resigned in anger and frustration, vowing never again to take a pulpit.
What good had all my training done? What purpose had it all served? I began to develop a resentment toward the church that had rejected my message. I felt deserted by my ministerial brethren who seemed to be nowhere around during these times of difficulty. I even began to question whether or not God had ever spoken to me or called me into ministry.
After a period of reflection and wandering, I determined to place myself in a local church and strive simply to serve as a faithful member of that body. I had not, after all, ever filled that particular role. I wasn’t a participant in church activities until my mid-teens, and at once I was elected one of the officers. After high school I entered the Marine Corps, and college followed. During those years I served as a youth counselor or a minister of youth, so I never had the opportunity to become a “simple church member,” whatever that is. So, for the first time, I began to see the church from the perspective of the layman, and to realize that the congregation and the pastor do not always see eye to eye. How different it was to work forty-plus hours a week and be expected to participate in all the activities of the church (Doesn’t the pastor know I have to get up early tomorrow?).
About a year passed before the sectional presbyter called and requested that I conduct a limited number of services at a small, struggling, mission outreach. I resisted, but he prevailed, and off I went. Six people attended that first service-quite a drop from the 600 of a few years before. I was going to learn a lesson in humility and come to the understanding that God gives you only what he thinks you can handle.
Thus I found myself with d gift of six dedicated yet somewhat discouraged saints. Before the week was over, the group had grown to fourteen, and I was elected its pastor. During the thirteen months we remained together, I began to glean something of God’s intentions for the sheep and the loving, caring, patient role of the local shepherd, the pastor. The church grew, and the people learned to trust and love one another (most of the time) and to tolerate differences. We all came to realize we were “Christians under construction,” and that God certainly wasn’t finished with us yet. We learned the importance of loving people enough to let God bring about maturity, as opposed to legislated morality; and that same love also allowed people the opportunity to fail. After all, the Lord certainly loved the apostle Peter in the midst of his bungling.
Still, for me there was a dissatisfaction. I wanted to learn more about God, but I wanted what we called in the Marines, “OJT” or “On-the-job-training.” I not only wished to be taught (as I was in school), but trained in active service in the kingdom.
I shared this desire with a brother pastor whom I trusted, and within a short few weeks, I left my present pastorate to become a “number two man,” without salary, in a new and growing assembly under the direction of an experienced pastor.
By his example, I began to learn more of dealing with tragedy in the lives of the people of God. Never will I forget driving to the church late one night and finding the pastor at the altar, calling out to the Lord on behalf of one of the members of the congregation. I’ve spent sleepless nights with him in the hospitals and morgues, watched him weep when a family experienced the turmoil of divorce, and observed him give his last dollar to a family without money for fuel and food. I’ve learned to praise God in the midst of difficult circumstances, and to stand and “see the salvation of the Lord.”
I’ve been given opportunities for ministry to children, youth, singles, and families, as well as a campus ministry and a ministry to the lost. I’ve taught, preached, studied, and learned under the direction of this senior minister. My associateship has exposed me to new principles of finances, counseling, building, music, worship, and service. Because of these and other experiences, I feel a special kinship with Timothy, and have a better understanding of the responsibilities of Paul.
So, I’m no longer the “big cheese.” “Oh, you’re just the associate pastor,” some have said to me. Yes, and, praise God, through the direction of the Holy Spirit, and the guidance and direction of the man I assist, little by little, God is developing me into all he wants me to be.
Do I want to pastor, to have a church of my own? I simply wish to follow the Lord wherever his cloud may lead. Until God determines otherwise, I am perfectly content camping with his people in the place he has provided for my good and for his glory.
-David Epps, associate pastor Trinity Assembly of God Johnson City, Tennessee
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