Marriage as a State of Mutual Help

In a classical vision of marriage, the husband and wife, together, contribute in their own way, within their own gifts, to the “economy of the home.” This can and may include—of course—income earning. It also means much more: inexact benefits that cannot be quantified in dollars and cents. In Wendell Berry’s memorable phrase, marriage is a “state of mutual help.”

The husband and wife together build a home that is developed into a well-oiled center of meaningful production. Sadly, the late modern vision of marriage is that husband and wife pursue independent careers under the thumb of a corporation, often competing with one another, in order to multiply the funds available so that the home because a well-oiled consumption center. To use Berry’s words, “The modern household is the place where the consumptive couple do their consuming.” 1

More personally and practically and perhaps less philosophically, I’ll speak to my own marriage. The ways in which Mandy helps me are innumerable. I, too, have the joy of helping her and that is the subject of this brief post.

Mandy has worked as a photographer for 14 years. She does all sorts of projects, including weddings. These events are special because I go with her. In 14 years, I’ve missed one wedding. The one I missed was in her first year.

At her weddings, I help her. I carry her many things around. I run errands. Gather groups. Shout instructions. I try to do *exactly* what she tells me to do as quickly or slowly as necessary. I make some mistakes that she bears with graciously. I try to solve problems and fix things.

She shoots mostly film, especially during daylight hours. A large part of my task is to change film, load film, and read light meters. I’ve ruined more than one roll. My tasks throughout the day are harder than you might think. They also give me more satisfaction than you can imagine.

Her business flourishes. It has given us many opportunities and sparked friendships that we would not know otherwise. (As a fun example, one of our deepest, closest relationships on this earth began because Mandy photographed the couple’s wedding). We have had many weekends away from our kids because of her work. That has helped our marriage. Very practically, the income she earns is essential for us to fulfill our responsibilities, financially speaking.

She has abundant work but commitments to our family and her help to me in my work limits her opportunities. In the same way, my commitments to our family and helping her in her work limits my opportunities. This is *normal* and fitting. Experiencing marriage as a “state of mutual help” is a deep joy.

This post focuses on work *outside of our home*. I have a few thoughts on what it might mean to live in a state of mutual help with regard to work *inside of our home.* More to come on that.

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1 Wendell Berry, “Feminism the Body and the Machine,” in What Are People For? (Berkely, CA: Counterpoint Press, 2010). The entirety of this first paragraph is indebted to Berry’s vision. I still remember where I was when I read this essay.

Five Years Ago

Five years ago last night, a group gathered in our living room to pray for what would become Grace Fellowship. At that point, Grace did not yet exist. Me, Mandy and John Colburn and April Smitherman were the team. Redeemer Community Church in Avondale had paved the runway (a huge understatement).

That night, mainly, we asked the Lord Jesus to build a church. That was the strategy: to ask. We asked for three other things, too, but that was the simplest of them. And from there, it started to happen. Folks began to sense a call to it, they became like “living stones” that were being assembled into a temple, like body parts being joined together, so that we could “grow up into the head” —Christ. We began the slow road, “the long obedience,” of doing our best to take our place as a faithful presence for Jesus in our city. Taking our place among so many other churches, trying to be the same. It’s another talk for another day, but we didn’t know that fairly unprecedented gusts of cultural winds would begin blowing roughly the same time. We didn’t need to know that, apparently.

We weren’t bored with our previous jobs in ministry. We didn’t think we could do it better than everyone else. We knew, and would discuss the fact, that we couldn’t. We did, however, have a hunch that a particular glory could be received by the Lord Jesus through it, that the manifold wisdom of God might be displayed in a fresh way. We have not been disappointed. 

Strangely, every piece might not have been what we “wanted” if left totally up to us. This is how Jesus tends to build churches. In his words, “I will build my church.” My dear friend and Grace member Will Sorrell asks it like this, “Who would have thought we’d not get the church we might have “wanted,” but the church we needed, which has become the church we didn’t even know how to hope for?” 

I could, and maybe should one day, list leadership mistakes I’ve made along the way. In the words of a song lyric, “I have made mistakes, and I’ll continue to make them.” But the strength of Jesus is most reliably available in those weak places, and the gifts of others, added to the mix, can absorb much and create safe landing places for a young pastor.

It has not been all triumph. There have been many sorrows and many for me personally. Not only because life is hard and the aches and pains in the life of faith are many, but because pastors can wound others, even accidentally. Because what is life-giving for some, is hard to connect to for others. Because patience is not quite the virtue of our age (and I’m speaking to myself here), and belonging to a church requires much patient endurance. Because we are in a time of great mistrust—often rightfully so—of leaders and authority and institutions. This is painful, especially when you are on the receiving end of that mistrust.

I’ve also been mindful of how much perseverance is required in local church life, too. Receiving the gift of the body of Christ requires showing up, in person, again and again, and again, again. This strikes me as especially true when it comes to receiving the graces of the Sunday worship gathering. The cumulative effect over time is where the wonder is to be found. It’s hasn’t been one Sunday, but all of them, that have yielded such good things for us.

I’m currently on sabbatical. I’ve been graciously given a few months to rest and recalibrate and reflect, to turn the page on the first five years, in order to prepare for the next five. I think for today I want to say that I have never believed more strongly the things I believe about what makes a church a church and what makes a pastor and pastor. I’m deeply grateful for Grace’s elder leadership team—they are some of my dearest friends on earth. Also, our ministry staff, home group leaders, volunteers of all kinds, the other churches in our city who have generously supported us and come to our aid over and over. It is these folks’ faithful endurance that has been the means of God’s grace to make Grace, Grace. To paraphrase the Apostle Paul, “What do we have that we did not receive?” For John Colburn— whose sacrifices have put me in a position to flourish—I’m particularly thankful. For Jeff Heine—who maybe more than anyone humanly speaking—is responsible for me having been folded into this plan.

And above all, I cherish deeply the ways that the Lord Jesus, by the power of his Spirit, has his own ways, often ever so subtle, of satisfying our souls, of never-failing us, of always shepherding us the right way. 

Raising Boys in Six Theses

1. Boys respond to clear challenge, goals, aims, etc. It seems to evoke the original call to the first man: the call to “have dominion.” My little girl responds to challenge, too. It just seems to resonate with my boys in a particular way. Not more or less, just particular.

2. Boys, and later men, live with a great deal of insecurity. When you meet a brash, insensitive, arrogant man, you should immediately believe that there is a world of insecurity underneath the surface, deep inside of him. Therefore, boys (girls, too!) need encouragement like they need to breathe air. It sustains their life in a very real way. They need to be looked in the eye and encouraged. They need to learn to receive those words and drink it deeply. I tell my boys all the time, “I’m about to tell you something. Drink it deep.”

3. Boys are very emotional. However, they need help identifying, understanding, and dealing with their inner life. In pastoral counsel, men tell me all the time, “I’m just not emotional.” To that, I say, “That’s not true. You are likely unfamiliar with your inner world.” My boys are easily as emotional as my daughter. However, Millie seems to more naturally know how to process her feelings, explain them, work through them, even at four years old. Whether this is specific to Millie, or to her femininity, I’m not quite sure. I chart it up as both in equal measure.

4. Boys need a great deal of physical affection. They need tender touches, snuggles, kisses, hand-holding, etc. Studies show that this sets a foundation for their ability to use their physical strength in holy and helpful ways later in their lives. (Perhaps the most important skill a man can possess is his ability to use his varied strengths to aid and cultivate the flourishing of others.)

5. I’ve learned this from countless others and others have explained it better than me. But I’ll add that boys, at least my boys, will tend to take a passive posture when they feel unsure, discouraged, or defeated. They will want to step back, quit, and blame others (Note that this is Adam’s original move in the garden after his sin.) As human persons, we have the ability to act and shape our world. I find it particularly important to remind my boys of their agency—their ability to shape a situation—so they won’t quit. If they will engage a matter with courage, determination, and selflessness, they will find their God-given strength. As noted above, their strength is only given to them for the sake of ensuring the flourishing of others (I footnote Andy Crouch here).

6. Of course in life, conversely, we are acted upon. Our ability to shape our world is limited. My boys will need to learn how to receive the things they cannot control. My boys’ limits are gifts God gives them. Boys need to be taught this reality in tension with learning their agency. They will need to learn that their weaknesses are not to be hidden, but embraced, as an invitation for others to come in. They will need to learn that they need others, are dependent upon others, to round out the places where they lack. My hunch is that this will help them later in life. It will aid them as they learn to shun a coercive and controlling posture toward the world. It will help them learn to receive the gifts of others as gifts, not threats to their position or status or standing.

Two final thoughts: 1) Much of what I share, of course, is particular to my boys. I concede this. But, I do wonder if some of these things could help others who are raising boys. 2) All of this is at work, in a unique way, in my daughter’s life, too. Not more or less. I’ll share more on this soon.

A Burning in My Bones Has Arrived

The long-awaited authorized biography of Eugene Peterson, A Burning in My Bones, written by Winn Collier, has arrived. I’m making my way through it. It offers an honest portrait of a beautiful life—flaws included. It helps give shape to Peterson’s vision of pastoral work, a vision that has shaped me more deeply than I can explain.

In 2005, in my first job in church ministry, by God’s grace, I came across the work of Eugene Peterson. I had heard of him, of course, because of his paraphrase — The Message. But, early in my ministry course, I came across his voluminous writing exploring the work of the pastor. I have no problem with The Message, but these books have become a real fountain for me.

At the time, I was brand new to it all, but I had a sneaking suspicion that God had: 1) called me to the local church and 2) to pastoral ministry for my life’s work. As a result, I was pretty desperate to answer a series of questions: “What is a pastor? What is a pastor supposed to actually be doing? How does pastoral work relate to a life lived in union with Jesus?” 

Believe it or not, the answers to these questions are not altogether obvious and many of the models on offer seemed to be missing something. In short, I needed to be able to imagine the task differently if I was going to be doing it for my working life.

Later, at Beeson Divinity School, I was assigned even more to read, reflect upon, and write about from Peterson. Outside of class assignments, I read even more. I’m talking about books like Working the Angles, The Contemplative Pastor, Five Smooth Stones for Pastoral Work, Under the Unpredictable Plant, and others. It’s hard to describe how revolutionary his writing was in his time—mostly published in the 80s and 90s. In his mainline context, he was calling those in his circles back to the Scriptures as the life-sustaining source of pastoral ministry. In the wider Christian world, he was tempering the obsession with church growth and vapid measures of success and presenting a vision of pastoral ministry that was more, I don’t know, humane? The words struck a chord in my soul. The principles Peterson outlines aren’t perfect. That is the thing, it is not an air-tight secret to pastoral ministry or anything of the sort, but his words have helped me make sense of it.

In Peterson’s writing, I found words for the things I was thinking but that I thought I was the only one thinking it. I wonder if you know what I mean?

In my first post after seminary, I exchanged some letters back and forth with Peterson. He was known to do this with young pastors. The simple advice he offered helped me so deeply. In essence, he told me to continue to read more good fiction, that it would help me learn to use words in beautiful ways. He told me to remember Jesus is always most interested in the unseen things. He told me that above all, be present to Mandy and our kids and that would help me be a good pastor because I would have the necessary perspective in the midst of pastoral pain and leadership complexities. I found his words to be true on each level.

I’d like to share more eventually, but from Peterson I learned: 1) That pastoral ministry is always personal and “placed.” Therefore, it should be focused on the real people in front of you with real joys and sorrows in the real conditions that God has placed you. 2) That cultivating a life lived in God’s presence and developing congruence between the outer work of the pastor and the inner life of prayer is the most important thing a pastor “does.” 3) That the Bible is deeply wild, interesting, unsettlingly so, and exciting and rich, and it can be and should be chewed upon, eaten, and ingested and that pastoral ministry allows a precious opportunity to live your life in those words.

Martin Luther King Jr., Christian Personalism, and Something I've Learned for Pastoral Work

This week, much has been written about Martin Luther King, Jr., and rightfully so. Much can—and should— be said.

By all accounts, King was a complex, hard-to-categorize thinker. He was a force of nature and I’ll leave the complex analysis for all those who understand much more than me. Nonetheless, I will offer the briefest reflection on a feature of King’s thought that has helped deeply in pastoral work.

From undergraduate studies, through my theological education, and in the process of understanding the contours of the culture of the American South, I’ve read much from him. In this journey, it is King’s core philosophy of *Christian personalism* that has left a mark on me. By his own admission, this way of viewing the world gave him a philosophical basis for his activism.

This is complicated. But, in short, “personalism” is a term that describes various philosophical frameworks that emphasize the fundamental importance of human persons. Pressed a bit further, it is a way of thinking that claims something bold—understanding the basic reality of “personhood” (human or divine) is central to understanding the universe and reality itself. This accords with Christian theism, of course, because the Scriptures teach that a loving, good, and wise person (though not a human creature) sits at the center of all there is.

Personalism sounds obvious but, trust me, it’s not. We live in a world that considers people to be objects for use.

“Christian personalism” would take these ideas and root them in the basic reality of human persons having been created in God’s own image. Therefore it emphasizes the sacredness of persons. In this way of thinking, if someone you meet is a person (and every human being you meet is) then the only true posture toward that person is love and respect.

King has helped me think more deeply about the fundamental dignity of each human person. I’ll leave these lines. I remember where I sitting when I read them.

“The image of God is universally shared in equal portions by all men . . . . Every human being has etched in his personality the indelible stamp of the Creator.  Every man must be respected because God loves him.  The worth of an individual does not lie in the measure of his intellect, his racial origin, or his social position.  Human worth lies in relatedness to God.  An individual has value because he has value to God.  Whenever this is recognized, ‘whiteness’ and ‘blackness’ pass away as determinants in a relationship and “son” and “brother” are substituted.”

In that last line, King is not arguing for ignoring the ethnic or racial differences that God has brushstroked into the beauty of our world. He is simply saying that an understanding of each person’s infinite worth is a starting point toward uniting human persons together, in solidarity, across any barrier. 

These ideas, from him in his own unique way, and from others throughout the Christian tradition, have helped me immensely in the care of souls. For the pastor, it makes one curious about each church member. It makes me long to know the secret thoughts of those I shepherd so that I can apply the truths about Jesus to those things. It fills me with fresh enthusiasm to discover the Spirit-given gifts in my own church family. It should push me toward humility, patience, and gentleness in my posture toward others.

I’m thankful for this part (and other parts) of King’s legacy.

A Few Scattered Thoughts on Local Church Unity

Over the last year, I've learned that a local church's unity is a fragile thing. It must be guarded, fostered, watched after with vigilance.

Further, unity is not what we think it is. It is NOT agreement on every issue, it is not sharing the same assessment of every situation or the same idea of how to resolve every problem (or even most problems).

Rather, it is a deep understanding of the bond we share in Christ, the mutual stake we have in one another's lives, the power we have to bless or curse, to build up or tear down, and then acting accordingly.

It assumes the ability to distinguish primary from secondary things, it assumes the ability to understand that emotional responses are not arguments for debate but experiences with which we must reckon.

Unity means we must assume the best in each other. It asks that we move slow. And then move even more slowly. It asks that we give enough time to each other to gain an understanding of another’s point of view.

Unity flows from deeply understanding one's own convictions and understanding our own convictions so deeply that you are curious about, rather than threatened by, differences of opinion.

Guarding unity requires so much pastoral skill. It requires boldness and gentleness, proactivity and patience, conviction and compromise. One must be committed to fostering it all day long, in every email, in the words that will go in the sermon, in each pastoral meeting, and in every decision. It requires constant attention. A pastor is never not thinking about unity.

Unity requires that a pastor not think about "the church member" but to think about real people with real histories. Nothing is abstract about a local church's unity. When it comes to these things, we simply cannot allow our thinking to remain in the land of abstractions. The Scriptures are full of rich metaphors when they describe God’s people and these concepts are often abstract. But these abstract concepts must be applied in concrete ways. Unity, in this sense, is not an idea. Rather, in Christ, it is an actual bond between actual people.

It requires a deep commitment to the way of Jesus and the truth of Jesus. And, when tended to, and given by God's grace to a local church, unity gives to that church the very life of Jesus.

It's sobering to realize that unity, as the NT describes it, is not for everyone. It isn’t immediately the most palatable thing in the world. It’s inefficient, hard-won, slow, and intrinsically humiliating (in the true sense of the word, it brings one low). It's an acquired taste that one has to be patient enough to learn to like.

Fighting for it exacts much pastoral pain. It makes you think, "Why am I doing this?"

And the simple answer is because it pleases Jesus, smells sweet to his nostrils. So much so that he prayed for it, personally. It is worth every sorrow. And the joy of seeing it bubbling up in a local church is unspeakable.

When the Waves Whisper Words

Have you seen the Pacific Ocean?

I ask this as a serious question to my reader.

I ask because, in Northern California for instance, the Pacific’s deep blue churnings are a sight to see. The waters carry thundering tumultuous energy that you can feel in your body. The currents carve new contours in the landscape on an hourly basis. Weather patterns follow the tides every inclination, sending fog in and out of the San Francisco Bay, creating the atmospheric conditions that allow for the fertile riches of, say, the Salinas Valley. The overwhelming strength of it all leaves one in stunned silence from an overlook like the one pictured above.

I stood there, at this perch, a few summers ago and was reminded of the ways in which the Scriptures teach that the world is charged with meaning and that every single thing that you lay your eyes upon is a sign beckoning us to look beyond it to the maker of heaven and earth.

If this is true then the crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean are actually whispering something profound if you strain your ear to listen. The sea can speak and here’s what those waves called to me that summer afternoon, and what they have continued to whisper when I close my eyes, get quiet, and hear those poundings again, if only in my own soul:

“I bet you can trust him. The one who spoke this sea into existence, and the one who swirls its depths with his finger afresh each day, that one knows who you are, Joel Busby, and he knows what you need.”

What if the whole Pacific Ocean, with all its pomp and power, what if that is all it’s for? To say those words to us? To say those words to you?

Pastors, We Are All Church Planters Now

Pandemics have a way of making a pastor re-think a few things. This has always been the case, and it is the case right now. Over the last few months, I’ve had many pastor friends ask for advice, assuming that a church planter is more equipped to handle this current crisis. I’m not sure how true that is, but I do know that there seems to be a certain mindset that comes along with the task of church planting. I wonder if this way of thinking might help all of us as we make decisions for our ministries.

In what follows below, I lay out four concepts and principles, housed in four questions, that I believe are helpful for pastor friends as they try to reshape their ministries. At least I know that these questions helped us in the planting of Grace Fellowship and they are continuing to help us now, as we re-shape things for a new season.

These questions, I believe, outline what I call a church-planting mindset. I’m not sure what you think when you hear a phrase like, “a church planting mindset.” You might think trends and strategies, but I’m convinced that church planting is mostly about an approach to ministry that is marked by a rugged and robust simplicity, arising from four basic questions. I believe that these are the fundamental questions that a church planter must ask, and think through carefully, in order to begin the process of planting a church. Here, I argue that these same questions will guide us as we re-form our ministries.

To the pastoral community, I want to suggest we solidify answers to these four questions as we make decisions for our churches in the days ahead.

1. What is a church?

I fear that, sometimes, when we describe a church, we are describing something that—while not necessarily bad— is a thing not found in the Scriptures in the form in which we describe it. Further, what we are describing when we describe church is often non-essential to what the late Thomas Oden called the “consensual tradition” (those things held in common what constitutes a church in all times and in all places). Finally, and importantly, some of the things we are thinking, that we think we must have when we describe a church, may stand outside what is possible and realistic in a pandemic or in an unsteady financial climate.

Therefore, a vital task is to remember what we need—and don’t need—in order for “church” to be “church.”

For a church to be church you do not need a) a lot of programs, b) a very particular kind of facility, c) a jam-packed assortment of children’s ministry offerings, d) a very long sermon, and e) many of our other preferences. 

It is popular to say that a church is not the building, it is the people. I agree, as far as that goes. But it is very important for us to remember that a church is the people gathered in a place under certain conditions.

There are, as far as we are concerned at Grace, four things necessary for Grace to be Grace and for church to be church. It is our conviction that we need: a) Two or three souls (Matthew 18:20), b) gathered together (embodied, physical presence) in Jesus’ name, c) under Word and d) Sacrament. 

In other words, we need: a people, a semblance of physical presence, the Scriptures, bread and wine (Lord’s Supper), and water (for baptism).

I know, it is an unnervingly simple set of conditions.

Harold Senkbeil reminds us, “Everything God the Father planned from all eternity and everything that God the Son accomplished for our salvation in time in each succeeding generation by God the Holy Spirit working through the means of word, washing, and meal.”

These are the ordinary means of God’s grace and we must have them for the thing we are doing to be “church.”

With regard to the physical presence you might be thinking, “Joel, are you saying that all the online meetings you did with your church was not church?”

Actually, yes, that is what I’m saying. 

I think online meetings were good, helpful, necessary, vital, and fruitful. We loved them and what they did for our community in those days. We would do these again. They were right to do. They were what we needed. We are prepared to do these again. We anticipate that we will need to do these again at some point. We will do these again if we think that is the right thing. They were the way we remained connected as a community. They were a means by which we centered on the word, steadied our hearts as we prayed together, and saw each other’s faces and heard each other’s voices. These meetings were a gift to me. I’m so thankful for the technology that allowed us to make it happen. I even liked these meetings as a temporary measure. I believed in them and believe in them still. No regrets.

(You get the idea).

But they were not the same, they were incomplete, and they were not “church” in the robust theological sense because they did not offer the fullness of what is required for church to be church. In light of this conviction, at Grace, we chose to call these ZOOM™ sessions “Congregational Meetings” to make this point clear, even if subtle. For us, calling the thing what it was actually aided us and helped nourish a richer sense of ecclesiology at Grace. I have had more talks with folks about what it means for church to be the church than ever before. 

As we think and re-think our plans, it will set us free to remember what is necessary for church to be church. It opens up all sorts of possibilities when we realize what we need, instead of what we might simply prefer (and enjoy and eagerly await to return!), and therefore, forego for now.

2. What is a pastor?

Once we know what a church is, we can remember what a pastor is, and what a pastor is supposed to actually be doing. This, again, will free us.

I have benefitted immensely from the Anglican tradition and I would suggest their vision of the priestly ministry as a particularly helpful way to think about our work as pastors in these times. In this tradition, the pastor-priest is a messenger, a watchman, and a steward.

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First, a pastor is a messenger. We are called to feed God’s word to God’s people. We are called to announce the good news of God’s work to reconcile all things in Christ to the souls in our care. We are called to tell the truth about sin, the world, God’s grace, and the provision of mercy in the person and work of Jesus. We are called to proclaim a clear path of forgiveness for sins and a clear way to come out of hiding among the trees of shame. We are called to follow the Scriptures lead, unfolding what it says, going where it goes, in order to do this. When we do, faith (saving and sustaining) will come by hearing.

We are called to teach disciples to “obey all that [Jesus] has commanded.” We are called to put Gods’ words before the eyes, ears, hearts, and minds of God’s people constantly, creatively, and consistently with a view to their formation.

We are called to make personal sacrifices in order to do this for our folks. We are called to do this in formal and informal settings and through a variety of means and methods.

This works in pandemic, still.

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Second, a pastor is a watchman. We are called to look after the souls in our care, for whom we will give account. To notice the pains and fears and joys and longings that are apparent and obvious behind their eyes. We are called to pray for them and with them. We are called to see around the corner and warn them of spiritual danger that they may not be able to see for themselves. We are called to tell them the truth. We are called to feel the unique pain of wanting more for them than they want for themselves. We are called to invite them into a community, a life together in Christ.

We are called to think about our folks with boldness and with the tenderness of Jesus in the way we speak to them, respond to them, and serve them.

This works in pandemic, still. 

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Third, a pastor is a steward. In the Anglican tradition, this refers to "stewarding the mysteries,” that is, the sacraments. This, of course, applies to non-Anglicans also. As pastors, we are called to administer baptism and the Lord’s supper. We are called to lead folks in confession, covenant renewal, pointing them to the work of Jesus by announcing assurance of pardon and forgiveness in the finished work of Jesus Christ, each week. 

Further, I believe we are called to be wise stewards of the gifts of the members in our body. We are called to fan gifts into flame and to let the gifts of the body direct ministry plans. We always needed to grow into equippers-in-chief. This is more important than ever before. At Grace, we are driven by Ephesians 4:7-16. We believe the resurrected and ascended Jesus has won a great cosmic victory. He rules and reigns over the universe and has doled out gifts to men and women in the church for the building up of his body to maturity.

Planting and pastoring is not about an individual pastor having a “vision” and recruiting volunteers to execute that plan. Instead, it is about receiving and stewarding the gifts that Jesus has given, in order to lead the church into his plans for her. 

This is a very important distinction and it will help us as we re-shape our structures. We will be able to shape and hone vision and direction most effectively if we think in terms of stewarding the gifts that are present in our church family.

This works in pandemic, still.

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3. Who are the actual souls in our care?

Pastors are notorious for having their heads in the clouds, thinking in abstract terms, and floating in an ideal dream world. We can also tend to make ministry plans based upon a hypothetical, “typical” Christian. 

Around the Grace Fellowship table, we find ourselves saying phrases like, “Well, I don’t think our people...”. We are learning to stop each other, and ask, “Which people? Who, in our body, are you actually talking about?” 

We want to shepherd the particular people in our care. Granted, in a smaller church this is, perhaps, easier, or at least more natural. But, I’m convinced of the enduring importance of not making decisions based upon a hypothetical person, but on the basis of an actual soul God has entrusted to us to oversee.

This is a joyful process because it makes pastoring—and making ministry plans—deeply personal. It is also very sobering. I’ve caught myself, many times throughout my career, making a decision to try to engage people that, quite honestly, are never going to really be engaged. This is one thing that has made pastoring and making plans in this pandemic tricky. 

Sometimes, I refer to this as the “proportion principle.” Let me explain.

Let’s say there are 100 people in a church. It seems, that there are about 30 people that are going to be on board with anything the church does, no matter how uncomfortable, outside their own preferences, and inconvenient things might be. These are people who are dedicated to “the uncomfortable, inconvenient, countercultural, not-making-my-life-easier aspects of faithful local church life.” 

They are just here for it, up for it, and all-in. 

Likewise, at most churches, there are 30 folks who are not going to be very engaged. They may be members of the body and they are supportive of the decision the church makes. They are not disgruntled. They are not mean. They come and go, somewhat inconsistent with their engagement. But, for all kinds of reasons, that I need not opine about, they are not here for it, up for it, or all-in.

Quite honestly, there is not a lot a church’s leadership will be able to do to coax greater participation from them and this is painful.

We give, love, serve, avail ourselves, pray, proclaim the gospel, and create opportunities. We act as messenger, watchman, and steward toward them also. We are there for them, present in their lives, and dedicated to their flourishing. We will meet them where they are. We are not angry or frustrated with them. We take a very gentle with these people, instead of harboring resentment for them (another essay for another day). We gladly accept our role in their life. But, there is not a lot we will be able to do coax greater participation. We must simply wait on the Lord while loving and serving them.

There is a freedom that comes with this posture because trying to make ministry decisions based upon them will drive us insane and deeply discourage our hearts.

Finally, at most churches, there are 40 people that can be swung to either side. I don’t have a lot to say about this group, but I have learned in 16 years of pastoral work that making decisions based upon the spiritual health of the all-ins is often the best way to see these “swing” folks folded in and flourishing in our community.

4. Is there any reason we can’t just try it?

Lastly, I’ve learned that one of the great gifts of this pandemic time is the freedom to think creatively. As long as we are faithful to the means of God’s grace mentioned above, why can’t we just try something? I’ve learned that most pastors live with angst about what they wish they could just try, or what they wish they could make happen if given the right opportunity with the right timing. 

I’m saying that once we get our minds around our answers to the first three questions, we can, with joy and an eager spirit, try it. And now, creative attempts are actually marks of wise leadership rather than foolhardy shots in the dark.

Of course, this does not mean every idea is a good one. This does not mean that when we ask this question we won’t identify a lot of reasons why we can’t take a particular course at the moment. But, I believe that the crucified, resurrected, and ascended Jesus upholds the universe by the word of his power (Hebrews 1:3). To follow that logic, there are promises and deep communion with the triune God that we are being summoned and invited into, even at this time.

This has been our Grace Fellowship question all along: “Here are our circumstances, what is the invitation from our God?”

The Work of the Pastor and The Spiritual Discipline of Secrecy

The pastoral life is a public life. The pastor is a public figure. There is much to be said about the work of the pastor but one thing is sure: it requires a lot of visible tasks and actions. Almost everything the pastor does is done in front of others. 

Pastors also tend to enjoy and even crave, recognition. This longing is not bad. It is in us, by nature. I cannot tell you how many times my young children say to me, “Hey daddy, watch this.” We are made to be recognized. 

Encouragement is invaluable and honor for our work is necessary. Like any good thing, however, danger lurks (This is the uncreative work of the Enemy. He always needs one of God’s good things to ruin because the clown cannot think up anything on his own.).

The public nature of the work, alongside this very real hunger for recognition, is a recipe for spiritual peril, an insidious trick to rob our joy. These elements meld and mix like a potent drug, offering a dopamine-like hit to the leader’s system. We can become addicted to that feeling, bowled over by its force, needing more and more to help ourselves feel it again, to help ourselves feel valuable, desired, and worth something. We want our pastoral path to be parade-like, sprayed with the confetti of flattery and adulation. Many pastors have fallen victim here and shipwrecked their careers, and more importantly, their lives. This kind of craving recognition is, quite literally, a hell of a drug and many pastors are trapped.

This is where the spiritual discipline of secrecy enters the conversation and offers us the help we need. The late (and great) Dallas Willard defined the discipline of secrecy as, “Con­scious­ly refrain­ing from hav­ing our good deeds and qual­i­ties gen­er­al­ly known, which, in turn, right­ly dis­ci­plines our long­ing for recognition.”

He goes on to write, “Secrecy rightly practiced enables us to place our public relations department entirely in the hands of God, who lit our candles so we could be the light of the world, not so we could hide under a bushel (Matt. 5:14–16). We allow him to decide when our deeds will be known and when our light will be noticed.”

As pastors, we should purposely seek to do things, for our folks, that only the Lord could see, only our Lord can know. In Willards’ words, “We may even take steps to prevent them from being known, if it doesn’t involve deceit.” Christians throughout the centuries have observed that it is inexplicably good for our souls when we practice this discipline. 

This, of course, does not mean that we forego the support that we desperately need to endure through the exhausting exercises of pastoral calling. By all counts, it is not exactly the ideal time for clergy to go without honor and encouragement. We need encouragement and need it very desperately. However, we can receive the support of our people and receive it truly, when it lands on the soft cushion of the affirmation and having-been-seen by our Lord. We can receive it in a healthy way when our worth is already firm, and found, in our union with our Lord Jesus, in the approval we have through Christ with our Father, and in the unspeakable comforts of the Holy Spirit. 

Encouragement can be just that—encouragement—when our souls and deeds are seen in secret by God. When we crave recognition like a narcotic, no amount will not be enough for us. We will not be able to get off the train. However, when we don’t need the praise in this unhealthy way, we can actually enjoy it, receiving honor and encouragement when it comes as a gift from God for our endurance. Further, we can delight in it with humility, knowing that the good things about us have been given to us by God.

Pastors, our Lord (the God who sees) has promised a reward for the secret things. I promise that we will not be sorry when we’ve thoughtfully kept things hidden that only he knows.

Remodeling Houses, The Tools, and Pastoral Work, or, How to Stay Sane as a Young Pastor

Mandy and I bought our first house almost seven years ago. We embarked on this adventure with plans to refurbish and remodel. It was fun. And hard. And expensive.

Because of our budget, we did almost all of the work ourselves. (We paid someone to do something with our gas lines, which seems reasonable enough to me. I have zero desire to blow our house up. I reached the age at which not blowing my house up was worth more to me than the pride of knowing I did it myself.)

Here’s an invaluable lesson we learned: House projects are significantly easier if one uses the right tools.

I cannot tell you how many times I’ve busted my knuckles, wasted materials, and botched a project because I wasn’t using the right tools. More than once, I was hard at work on parts of the job and had the conscious thought, “They really should make a tool that does this.“ It was only later to learn that “they” have indeed made a tool for “that.”

I’ll give you an example. Once, I found myself trying to whittle plastic coating from an electrical wire with a razor blade. Well, they have a tool for that: a wire stripper.

More alarming, and more often than not, I usually already had the tools. However, I didn’t feel like taking the time to go to my storage to grab one. Or, I tried to avoid using the tools because I thought I could find a shortcut. Or, I did not have the patience to allow the tools to do what they are meant to do. Or, I believed that my new technique would be better. 

This was always foolish and it caused more trouble, work, stress, strain, time, and money.

________

Planting and pastoring a church is a lot like remodeling a house.

A thought that I think often, to preserve my sanity: “Just as God has ends, he has means.” Or, to fit the remodeling metaphor, “Wait, the Lord has given us the tools.” To understand how I do pastoral work, you must understand how strongly I believe that I have been given the tools for this.

As a pastor, I have embarked on a remodel project. The souls in my care are rundown and weary from being malformed by the world, the flesh, or the devil. This undoing happens all week long. And the goal of all pastoral labor is to see Christ formed in hearts and souls. Every week, in other words, is a new remodel.

And thank God, there are tools for this.

Historically, churches from our tradition have called these tools, the“means of grace.” In the tradition of the Protestant Reformation, from which Grace Fellowship descends, the primary remodeling tools are Word and Sacrament.

We believe that when the Word is prayerfully preached, declared, and proclaimed in way that exalts Jesus, something happens, and it happens every time: We believe that the Spirit of God is at work to form and reform, create and re-create, and remodel hearts and souls into the image of Christ.

And, collectively speaking, we believe a church is a creature of that declared and proclaimed Word.

In other words, without the tool of the Word, we have no church and I’m not a pastor.

Further, whenever baptism and communion are prayerfully administered, our Lord has promised to be “doing something” to us and for us: We believe he nourishes our hearts and souls.

Without the tools of Baptism and Holy Communion, we have no church and I’m not a pastor.

____

I certainly believe there are other tools, and means of grace, necessary to build our church. There are secondary tools: sharing fellowship, friendship and community, training and equipping, serving within our gifts, and care and counsel, to name a few. These tools are necessary (essential!) but they proceed from the primary tools of Word and Sacrament. 

We also believe that there are outreach efforts, mission partnerships, and justice initiatives that we are called to engage. But, we only are propelled toward these as we are formed by Word and Sacrament. Our worship in Word and Sacrament must be for the life of the world and we must work hard to make sure our church’s fellowship in the Spirit spills beyond the boundaries of our community in tangible expression of blessing to others.

———

But I cannot tell you what a relief it is to know that I have been given the tools. They have been given freely. I did not have to earn them or purchase them. They have been put in my hands.

More than that, these are the tools that the Lord has promised to be at work within. And, I want to spend my efforts on things that our Lord has already promised to bless.

I lose confidence in the tools because I think there are shortcuts. I lose confidence in the tools because of the allure of new techniques. I can lose confidence in the tools because these particular tools work in ways that are mostly invisible and they also work very slowly. Sometimes, it seems that it would be easier to call people to some sort of strategy that is more flashy, or to recruit folks to an alternative vision. I can be a persuasive person, so the draw to something else can be a siren call. 

But you and I can’t listen.

Whenever we lose confidence in the tools, our knuckles get busted, we waste materials, and we botch the project. It causes more trouble, work, stress, and strain in the end. It wears out the sheep who are supposedly being led to still waters. 

The task of the pastor is to work the tools over and over and over.

And then we repeat next week, because guess what?

They are still there. And they still work.

Loneliness: A Pastor's Take on Cause, Treatment, and Prognosis

(I’ve hosted a few “Pastoral Chats” with Grace Fellowship folks over ZOOM™ in these days. It has given me the opportunity to teach on some issues that I believe we have needed to think about together at our church, but haven’t quite found where to fit it in the normal routine of things. A couple of weeks ago, I shared some thoughts on loneliness. Here is, essentially, that material adapted for the written form.)

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Loneliness is endemic in the West. This is an unintended and difficult consequence of living in the most individualistic culture the world has ever known. Loneliness often results from a trade we have made: face-to-face interactions for pseudo-interactions. It is well noted that the ubiquitous nature of, and shift to, screen-mediated interaction has yielded extreme loneliness. Polish philosopher Zygmunt Bauman writes, “Cellphones help you stay connected to people who are far away from you. Cellphones allow you to stay connected…by keeping you at a distance.” Bauman is addressing a sad irony of late modern life: the more “connected” we have become the less connected we have become. The screen thing has somehow made us more lonely.

We also live in a culture that prizes the individual’s journey to finding disentanglement from all restraints (even the restraints of relationships). I’ll argue below that we would feel the aches of loneliness anyway, but our culture exacerbates loneliness, it seems. We want more than anything to be bound because we are made as social creatures, but we also have bought a lie that freedom is equivalent to being unbound.

It’s also more than a mental health issue.

I read a news story once, a report of Italian police that were called to an apartment when neighbors heard "weeping and wailing.” The police expected a domestic dispute. Instead, upon arrival, the officers found two elderly people, who were distressed by loneliness. So distressed that they were crying in pain. Reading this account made sense to me because it loneliness causes a pain someplace very deep.

Health researchers consider loneliness a public health crisis. Some say that the physical-health consequences of loneliness are akin to smoking cigarettes. Because we are whole people, loneliness does destructive things to our bodies’ functioning, also.

Loneliness is a pastoral problem, too. In my opinion, if you are a pastor and you aren’t thinking biblically, theologically, and pastorally-practically about loneliness, you probably should start doing so. Many folks in my own church struggle with loneliness and in my observation loneliness affects a wide range of people. Single people and married people. Successful people and struggling people. Spiritually mature people and less spiritually mature people. Busy people and those with ample leisure time.

I know about loneliness personally, not only because of the privileged access I have into the states of people’s souls, but because I’m also one of those who struggle. I think leaders of churches experience a particular kind of loneliness. (That might be another post for another day.)

All this to say that I’ve given a lot of thought to loneliness over the last 15 years. What follows is the most basic framework for thinking biblically and theologically about the reality of loneliness that I could muster. (Others have written very helpful pieces, and I commend them to you.)

It is helpful to me to think of this as a health condition. In this essay, I carry that way of thinking as a metaphor for clarity’s sake. Also, I work with loneliness-as-medical-condition because I am drawn to the way in which the Christian tradition has classically understood the work of the pastor as the “cure of souls.”

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Loneliness: The Cause

Loneliness is a syndrome, “a group of symptoms which consistently occur together.”

In short, we suffer many symptoms and ailments as human persons. We make our homes in lands that are East of Eden where difficulties mix and create all kinds conditions; one of them called loneliness. Not all the factors are perfectly clear, but here is what we can know: things are not the way they are supposed to be and we feel this in our relational selves.

In the first paragraphs of the Bible, a portrait of shalom is painted. Everything works in harmony. Everything is properly ordered. All is well in the deepest sense. The creator Lord makes the world and everything in it and declares it good. At the pinnacle of this story, he makes a man and as that man begins to go to work in the world the narrative reveals this man is incomplete. He needs a corresponding partner who can provide things for him that he cannot provide for himself and things that even the Lord himself does not seem to provide for him. So, the Lord makes a woman. He gives them to one another and they live in harmony with one another, with the Lord himself, and with the world around them. All exists in perfect shalom and relational connection is part and parcel of this wholeness.

Then, sin enters the world. Shalom is exchanged for shame. Adam and Eve are ashamed in each other’s presence (Genesis 3:7) and ashamed in God’s presence (Genesis 3:8). Their relationship to the world is fractured (Genesis 3:15-19). Their relationship with one another is broken (Genesis 3:16). Loneliness is born.

East of Eden, we must learn to grieve that our relational lives will be marked by moments of relational dissonance instead of relational harmony. Our relationships will simply not be all that we wish they were. We must reckon with this also: even in the most intimate of human bonds, we sometimes feel the sting of loneliness. In short, it is a universal reality and is part of the human condition. It is caused because we are less human than we used to be. Everyone feels it, though we must recognize that some people experience this syndrome more deeply and more destructively.

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Loneliness: The Treatment Plan

Loneliness cannot be cured on this side of a new heavens and a new earth; it is not the kind of condition that has a cure. It is more akin to a cancer. In the absence of a cure, a treatment plan must be enacted to manage its symptoms, perhaps move it into remission, to bring the effects of the ailments into proper balance, and to live a normal life in spite of its presence in our souls. To think of it in terms of a long term treatment plan, I think, is deeply hopeful and realistic. 

(It should be noted that it is especially counterproductive to expect a friend or spouse to “cure” it for you. That is simply too much pressure to put on one human being.)

There is hope for the lonely. Loneliness can be treated and the Scriptures’ treatment plan for loneliness is belonging.

In the Old Testament, God creates a covenant people, a redeemed community that would be a conduit of blessing to the world. Among God’s unique actions in a post-fall world is to, “set the lonely in families” (Psalm 68:6).

In the New Testament, this covenant community becomes known as the church. Again, a fellowship of sharing burdens, mutual provision, and a display of the love of God to the world. In the church, each individual person finds meaning by owning his or her identity as a vital member of a living body, underneath the headship of Christ. Finding belonging, fellowship and family, using one’s gifts given by the Spirit, in the church becomes a vital course of treatment for the sting of loneliness we often feel. As pastors, we must think carefully and critically about the ways our expressions of ministry address the ache of loneliness. We must ask ourselves, “Do the things we do and offer promote loneliness rather than help heal it? Are our church’s gatherings, programs, and events a balm rather than an irrritant? I have no easy answers on how to mangage this, but this is a question we must ask.

Further, the Holy Spirit dwells inside the Christian, making comfort, companionship, and friendship with God a thing that can be experienced on this side of a new heavens and a new earth. We await the fullness of these things, but we have them truly, even if partly, now. It is worth noting that time alone with the Lord is good antidote to loneliness. Solitude and loneliness are not the same thing.

Though this treatment plan does not “cure”, it does offer a degree of healing. It soothes, it mitigates affects, and creates a way forward, even now.

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Loneliness: The Prognosis

Medically speaking, a prognosis is, “the likely course or outcome of a disease or ailment.”

It’s important to know that though loneliness is pervasive, it is temporary. The story of the Scriptures demonstrate a move from the shalom of the beginning, to the fall, to a higher harmony—a deeper shalom—that is coming. Easter reminds us that the process of all things being made new is already underway.

For the condition of loneliness, in other words, the prognosis is that there will be an eventual cure. This isn’t a wish-dream, but a certainty. The Scriptures teach us, “They will see [Jesus’] face, and his name will be on their foreheads (Revelation 22:4).” In the words of the poet Scott Cairns, it will be “the face you looked for in all the best and worst moments of your life.”

You will be fully known and enveloped into the life of God himself. On this day, tears will be wiped away and this ailment called loneliness will simply be placed in a bucket with a label called “former things” and these things will have passed away (Revelation 21:4).

Loneliness will be cured, from that point onward. But something will happen backward, too.

In the center of the city that is to come will sit something like a garden. There will be a new tree of life in it and, “the leaves of the tree [are] for the healing of the nations” (Revelation 22:2).

Loneliness will be cured one day, but not just that: the current pains you feel now will be healed.

Holy Saturday

Holy Saturday is the day we remember Jesus was dead. He lived, for a full day, in the country of death.

In one of the more bewildering scenes in the Bible, the Lord of glory dies and someone takes his body, wraps it up in haste, and buries it in a grave.

This is Jesus we are talking about. The one whose words made worlds. And he was dead. Truly dead. In a tomb, dead. As in, a corpse, dead. Dead.

“In him was life and that life was the light of men” (John 1:4). And now, that life and that light were snuffed out.

There will come a day— if it has not come already — when the fact that Christ has gone ahead of us into death will be a great comfort to you. When someone has gone somewhere scary first, it makes you not as afraid to go there. It also makes you unafraid for the ones who have gone before, because in Christ they are safe.

And Jesus will come out on the other side, alive and well.  Holding the keys. Death defeated. All enemies under his feet.

This means that we will come through, too. He will, “also raise us up by his power” (1 Corinthians 6:14).

He has made the way through the valley of death, and he has made it a shadow. A total disarming.

And we don’t have to be afraid.

Out in the Rain

The rain has fallen in Birmingham this winter. Dreary skies, and heavy, unrelenting rain. Everything has been soaked with wetness and cold. The sun has popped out like a miracle on only a few occasions. Each time, we were confused, as if all of us had forgotten what that bright warm thing was.

The rains have reminded me of a walk that I have taken over the last few years.

That’s because this time a year ago, I was caught out in the weather.  I was standing in a cold, heavy rain. A downpour, really. My clothes were soaking through. I was becoming cold. My skin was turning blueish, even purplish, speckled with chill bumps. Shivering.

My shoes weren’t the right kind, so my socks were soggy. I had no raincoat. My hair was soaking, beginning to droop, and sticking to my forehead.

But I just stood there, staring blankly ahead. Alone, I thought.

The rain was so cold and was coming down hard enough that it gave the effect of freezing me in place. I was unsure of where to go.

So I just stood there.

————

The experience of facing depression, or something like it, is hard to explain. And that is one of its unique jabs at you. You can’t quite tell someone what is wrong, because something is wrong somewhere down deeper, somewhere beneath your ability to explain.

And to be clear, it soaks all the way down. You don’t really want to eat. Or you do, but feel like you can’t.

Or, you want only to eat. Or you don’t, but feel like you have to keep eating, and eat too much.

You can’t sleep. Or, all you want to do is sleep until next Thursday. 

Your ability to make decisions gets foggy and your ability to concentrate on a task goes somewhere else. It’s like the basic faculties that you need to get-along are, I don’t know, waterlogged? It’s just a pervasive slog and the whole of your person seems shriveled up.

You are fatigued with an unmistakable weariness, that is lodged in the deepest place.

Now, all of this can be confusing if you are an energetic and gregarious person, someone who is always relied upon to bring the juice for others. Or, at least it was confusing for me for those reasons. I have a lot of enthusiasm, drive, and optimism. I can have a happy-go-lucky disposition. I like to make jokes. I have a lot of passion. I have a lot of unspeakable gifts of God’s grace in my life. Gifts like friends, family and church. I have no reason to feel these things, right?

Experiencing depression made me feel like Joel Busby was standing at a distance watching a thing occur in his own life. He was seeing a struggling version of himself. It was like I watching a weary straggler standing there in the rain. Yet somehow, I could not get out there and didn’t know how to help that person.

Physical symptoms abounded, too. Though in my case, I think my physical symptoms were related to depression’s cousin: Anxiety. Chronic upset stomach. Fluctuating weight. A general look of drowning in the eyes that can actually be seen in the mirror. 

Depression and anxiety are like a pair of sharks that circle around, working together, waiting for the right time to nudge and nibble and bite and clamp down.

The whispers you hear in your head are another story, altogether. These whispers are like a dark brainstorming session, where ideas are scrawled on the whiteboard of your soul. “Hey, you could _________ to get a spark going. Why don’t you distract yourself with ________? It might take the edge off.”

These whispers become like gusts of cold wind in a winter rain. They blow the rain sideways so that it stings.

“Depression,” “depletion,” “burnout,” “out-of-gas,” “in a funk,” “a little overwhelmed,” “a lot overwhelmed,” “stressed,” “anxious,” “weary,” “worn-down”—these were labels without clear borders. I couldn’t think my way out, or distract-myself the way out. I’m still not sure that I can label exactly what I was experiencing, but I know I was wet and cold and stuck.

————

It also didn’t begin pouring suddenly, though that can happen. A soaking rain of grief six years ago must have dampened clothes that never quite dried, but were instead piled in a corner still wet. 

I kept wearing them, moving along, walking in light rain. Then heavier, then heavier still.

All the while, I’m a husband, so I was trying to carry the umbrella for her. I’m a daddy, so I was buttoning up tiny jackets and shodding my children’s feet with rain boots so they could pass safe and dry. 

I’m a pastor, so I was handing out ponchos, even gaining a reputation for being a good shelter for other folks facing these things. I was giving talks, thinking theologically, and helping other people understand these shadows, and shepherding folks through to safe passage. 

All of this was helpful pastoral ministry to others of which I was proud. I remain so. 

But I was like a dutiful church parking lot attendant, shuttling everyone from their cars to the building, all the while getting soaked. It is very possible to do this duty in ways that are deeply helpful to others and to enjoy the work.

But I wasn’t wearing a jacket, didn’t have an umbrella, or galoshes. So, I wasn’t exactly getting out of the rain myself. Honestly, I don’t think it was negligence, because I really don’t think I knew I was getting so wet. I think that I thought I was dry, or dry enough. Which sounds strange, but I wonder if you know what I mean?

Either way, you can only be out in the weather for so long before things start to get soggy and you start to get too cold. The ability to be present, to go there, to stay awake to important things, to pursue people was beginning to leave me.

————

The rain began to lighten for me, and faith that the clouds would part came at a normal, responsible adult check-up with my doctor. That appointment was like the sun showing itself on the other side of grey skies.

My doctor is a godly man, marked with humility and compassion. He is an elder in a church and, as such, had a better than average understanding of my life and its unique conditions. 

He asked me how I was handling the stress of pastoral work. 

You already know what I said.

“Fine.”

He asked a few more prying and compassionate questions. I kept answering, and as I did so, I started to realize what had been going on all this time.

He said, at the end of this, “I think you might be struggling with anxiety, maybe even depression.”

As soon as he said it, I had three instant thoughts, in a particular order: 1) “But I give talks about this.” 2) “I overcome challenges.” 3) “Crap.”

But, immediately after that barrage, I felt a strange release. I could have cried for a week.

It wasn’t that the rain stopped, the clouds parted, and the sun shone through, and birds began singing. Not that kind of release. But, I did sense the rain slack off a bit. More than anything, I felt like I was free to not have to stand there anymore.

My doctor talked to me about my life stage. He mentioned the spiritual realities and attacks latent in pastoral work. He talked about serotonin and adrenalin and the sustained stress of planting a church. We discussed learning to be a pastor, the vulnerability of that. We talked about writing a doctoral dissertation. Adding three kids along the way. He talked to me about limits. He talked to me about weekly patterns and routines. We talked about healthy habits like exercise and diet. He spoke about medicines. He listened and prayed for me.

I called Mandy as I was walking out of the clinic. I heard the compassion in her voice that has become one of the more familiar sounds that I know. 

And more than anything, I was comforted with the comfort of Jesus himself. 

I knew I had hope, even if it would be hard-won.

————

I’m in a really good place with all this.

It isn’t that the fronts do not roll in. They do. But the sunshine peeks through a lot also. This winter, though much rainier, has been sunnier for me.

There isn’t a place to end the telling of this story, not only because it is ongoing, but because it is not the kind of thing that just ends.

I have received grace to bear it, however. And this grace has come through ordinary means, mostly.

I want to offer a few markers of the hope I have experienced. I invite you to think of these like getting the proper clothing on for the rain that is coming. These truths are an umbrella, a pair of waterproof boots, a wool base layer, and a Gortex raincoat.

In all these things, I have found some ways to stay dryer, if I have to be out in it. But, they also are like a sidewalk, giving me a path to get into the house.

1. Future Hope

The Scriptures teach that Jesus Christ upholds the universe by the word of his power (Hebrews 1:2). That right now, in this very moment, he rules and reigns over all things. That all powers of darkness are being corralled underneath his cosmic feet (Ephesians 1:22). This does not mean things will resolve neatly in this life. But the arc of our lives is bending toward our enjoyment of Jesus, face to face. At that moment, there will be relief from every pain and every sorrow will be no more.

There is a consolation in knowing that these painful experiences are temporary. The Lord will end these things one day, in his own time, and in his own way.

2. Common Grace(s)

One of the great things about our God is that just as he has ends, he has means. And if he plans to bring warmth to our skin, and dry clothes for us to put on, he has ways in which he intends to do this. These are concrete resources of which you should take advantage.

My city has many wonderful counselors. These are folks who are trained and gifted by God, to help someone pass safely through these valleys.

Doctors can recommend courses of action including the use of medications, if necessary. These gifts of common grace are gifts indeed.

3. Habits, Patterns, P.I.E.S.

A dear friend speaks of the “Renewal Cycle.” He explains this as daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly patterns that help us replenish physically, intellectually/mentally, emotionally, spiritually (P.I.E.S.).

Having the discipline to establish patterns of proper exercise, diet, rest, sabbath-keeping, prayer, friendship, journaling, solitude, and silence has been beyond helpful to me. Thinking more carefully about my care load for others in our church, so that I can be truly present, and keeping a realistic calendar has made such a difference.

It is simple in concept but painfully difficult in practice and everything in you will resist these changes. This is one of the unique hardships of depression—that it cuts your legs out from under you in all the places you need to walk through it. 

When you are struggling with discouragement, you know the last thing you want to do? Exercise. Explain. Or, sometimes, pray. 

I have found, however, that pushing through, walking these simple pathways, yields reward over time. These are not magic tricks or “cures” or anything of that nature. In fact, there is a lack of compassion in suggesting such.

But these measures have really helped me gain my bearings.

4. Not Alone and Sufficient Grace

We’re not alone. Despite what dark thoughts whisper in your ear, we are not alone.

I mean this in two ways.

First, there are guys like me standing out there, too. As I began to share these struggles with friends, I began to find that there were even more folks out in the rain too, all around me. The more folks I let in, the more folks were praying and encouraging me.

The British preacher Charles Spurgeon, who struggled with depression wrote, “The road to sorrow is well-trodden. It is the regular sheep track to heaven, and all the flock of God has had to pass along it.”

It is a very normal human experience. It doesn’t necessarily mean you have done anything wrong. It doesn’t necessarily mean your faith is weak. (In fact, these clouds have come over me in the most spiritually rich times of my life.)

In the world East of Eden, these things are normal. It is helpful to know that we’re out here together. Knowing how normal this is, has helped me speak about it in a lighthearted way at times. In a way that disarms the darkness.

Secondly, and even more precious was realizing I wasn’t alone because of Someone out there. 

Again, Spurgeon encouraged the sufferer to look to Jesus. He wrote, “…bodily pain should help us to understand the cross, and mental depression should make us apt scholars at Gethsemane.”

Somehow, Jesus knew mental anguish. We see the sorrow in his life. He is known as a Man of Sorrows, in fact. We see grief, emotional and physical weariness in the gospel stories. We see Jesus in knots before he goes to the cross.

He knew these experiences in a different way than we do, I believe. But his taking on our form means that he took on the full range of our troubles. He knew them, and took them upon himself, truly.

Again, Spurgeon wrote, “It is an unspeakable consolation that our Lord Jesus knows this experience.”

In rainy moments, I remember that Jesus promised he would not leave us or forsake us. And the rain and the wet and the cold does not stop negate this promise. He isn’t present only to the degree we are feeling it. He is present.

The Scriptures also teach that Jesus’ grace is sufficient in our weakness. This does not solve anything. But I know that he gives a special grace that will help you through.

He’s there. And there is nothing like being sheltered by Jesus himself. In suffering, we take hold of him in a unique way.

There may come a point where knowing he is there, and that he knows, and that he is at work, will seem like a life raft in a whelming flood.

I know it’s true.

———

“It's a strange and lovely world
It don't make no sense to me
There are few things I am sure of
Ain't nobody got it easy
Ain't nobody got it easy

Standing on the edge of a confession
Waiting for the sorrow to break
Too many reasons, too many questions
Ain't nobody got it easy
Ain't nobody got it easy”

- Drew Holcomb

What is a Pastor?

The pastoral vocation is in deep crisis. A deep, deep crisis.

There are no doubts about this for anyone paying attention. Patterns of sexual abuse and narcissism and issues of physical and emotional health are painfully common.

Because I’ve been in this work for 15 years and because I have served in a lead pastor role for nearly the last 4, I’ve been giving lots and lots of thought to the basic question, “What is a pastor?”

For now, I’m proposing the four-part model above. I’ll explain these components, in no particular order.

1. Tools, training, ministerial skills, etc.

We engage in formal training for this piece of pastoral preparation. It is only a piece, however. Strangely, some believe that the M.Div makes the pastor. It does not. This actually seems laughable to me now that I’m doing the work.

However, formal training is absolutely essential. At least, this is my very strong opinion. Formal training enhances ministry, it clarifies gifts, and it can provide a foundation for future fruitfulness. I’m an enormous advocate of formal training, especially at Beeson Divinity School.

Seminary training, or its equivalent, gives a set of tools, it cultivates the skill of thinking theologically, it gives the lay-of-the-land with regard to important debates, it helps the student see the contours of an issue so that the student learns to ask the right questions. Formal training invites a student into the conversation, the Great Conversation of the Great Tradition that has occurred for over 2,000 years.

But, seminary training’s ability to make a pastor is tremendously limited. One hears often, in a tone of frustration, “Well, seminary didn’t teach me this.”

But, that’s okay.

Seminary isn’t supposed to teach you that.

Formal training is essential, but it is limited. Something more is necessary.

A pastor is also more than a person who is “good” at certain ministerial skills. A pastor must be something more than someone who is good at preaching and who wants to be in front of people. Being good at preaching, and having a holy desire to lead, is very helpful. But a pastor is more than a person possessing at certain skill set.

There must be something more.

2. A deep, “pained” love for people.

In Galatians 4, the Apostle Paul says that it was like he was in the pains of childbirth. That is how bad he wanted to see Jesus formed in the Galatians (Galatians 4:19). He loved them and wanted them to know Jesus with such intensity that it physically hurt.

Though I have never been in the agony childbirth, I have seen the task up close and quite personal. This makes Paul’s image ring with power in my heart.

Until the would-be pastor experiences a deep pain, a deep inexplicable longing for something more for particular people, I’m inclined to think that we are not quite dealing with a pastor yet.

3. Calling: External and Internal.

I believe that an internal calling is essential. I believe it provides a unique fuel for the soul in the hardships of pastoral work. I also believe that an internal call has to travel with an external one. An external call, from an identifiable church community, inviting you to the work is equally essential.

In my opinion, until someone besides you has asked you, commissioned you, called you, or affirmed your sense of calling, you might not be a pastor.

Normally, these two kinds of callings work together in a beautiful way.

Maybe it is like this. Someone feels an urge for the work. That gnawing desire is expressed to church leaders and it is met with investment and encouragement (and a lot of redirection if necessary). It is affirmed over time. These external promptings fan into leaping flames the internal fire that burns inside.

(Something like this is the logic behind ordination, for what it is worth.)

Or, quite often, existing church leaders observe something in someone. Things that they cannot see alone. They begin to push and develop and encourage. Eventually, these external calls are yielded to, even reluctantly. From that point, the internal urges begin to follow suit.

In my experience, this is how calling works. There is an obvious implication here: seasons of waiting will be an essential piece of preparation for pastoral work.

4. Life with God, attentiveness to God, humility, posture, character, etc.

Unfortunately, it is not obvious, so I’ll say it. A pastor is a person who lives a life before God’s presence. A pastor is a person who seeks to cultivate, with thoughtfulness, the soil of the heart, that fruits of the Spirit might grow. A pastor is a person who is seeking to decrease that Christ might increase. A pastor is a person who endures spiritual embattlement with faith in Jesus, instead of fear (or, is trying to do this).

A pastor is a person who is gentle with people, even when telling them hard things. A pastor is a person whose personal godliness becomes the basis of all of the other ministry activities.

A pastor is a person growing in love for God and God’s word and who takes those loves and brings them into conversation with a deep love for God’s people.

As others have pointed out, the work of the pastor is a habitus— “ingrained skills, habits, and dispositions.” It is a way of living and being in the world that is a combination of character, skill, and attentiveness.

It is worth noting, as an aside, that this kind of life, posture, and character is mostly cultivated through suffering, trial, and trouble. Endurance, therefore, becomes an essential pastoral task.

———

There are other helpful models for how to think about the person of the pastor and the work of the pastor. I’m indebted to many folks who have gone before.

But, these are the things rattling around in my mind, that I share for your consideration. I would love to interact with you around these ideas, and if you are an aspiring pastor, I would love to invite you into a conversation about “how you are coming along” with regard to these things.

Reading a Psalm: A (Very) Simple Guide

The book of Psalms has been the single most important piece of my own formation — personally and pastorally. I have spent lots of time with them in academic research, in prayer, in devotional reading.

A primary desire, a calling, in my life is to try to make the Psalm’s riches as accessible as possible for my friends and for the people that I pastor.

Here’s an attempt at a very brief and simple guide for reading a psalm. Consider this merely one pathway as you explore the riches of the Psalter.

———

1. Metaphor

The Psalms are poems. As such, the images, word-pictures, and metaphors presented are integral to the meaning itself. A psalm’s metaphors are not interchangeable with modern ones. We must have an understanding of the images presented and think deeply about what these unique pictures mean.

Take, for example, Psalm 95, and the image of the sea: “The sea is his, for he made it…” (Psalm 95:5).

The reader needs to ask some questions: “Why is the sea mentioned? Why does that matter? In a Psalm that praises the Lord, what is the big deal about the fact that he made the sea?”

After some thinking, the reader will realize that the sea is more than the docile Gulf of Mexico. It isn’t mainly a backdrop for sipping beverages and building sandcastles. The currents and tides of the world’s oceans create the world’s weather patterns. The sea is perhaps the most powerful force on earth. The sea is big, wild, vast, immeasurable and strong. Ancient peoples believed the sea was the place where the forces of chaos lived. Modern people acknowledge the same thing, actually.

But the psalmist wants you to know the Lord owns it. He made it. The most fearsome force on earth is like a thing sits in his workshop, tamed and under his direction and authority.

The image points to the Lord’s unrivaled strength.

Here’s a suggestion: While reading a psalm, jot down every metaphor you find and try to think about how that particular image contributes to the tone, feel, or truth of the psalm. If you are interested, the single greatest Bible study resource I know of—especially for gaining a grasp of the Bible’s images—is this one.

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2. Movement

As poetry, the “movement” of the psalm is vital. The psalmists often take the reader on an emotive journey. Think of a psalm in the way you might think of one of your favorite songs. When reading, ask another series of questions:

“Does this poem build in intensity? Where does the psalm get quiet or loud? Does the psalmist begin confused and move toward understanding? Is the psalmist overwhelmed with joy? Or sadness? Where are patterns of repetition (this signals emphasis)? Does the psalmist build toward a climax or resolution? Where is the psalmist leading the listener or reader? Where does the psalmist want me to go?

Psalm 145 serves as a fitting example. In Psalm 145, the psalmist desires to overwhelm the reader/listener with a cascading waterfall of praise and celebration. The movement of the psalm is like waves of praise, crashing up the heart of the hearer/reader.

An exercise to try: track the movement of the psalm. I recommend you sketch a psalm’s arc. I try to do this for every psalm that I read.

Below, is Psalm 145, visually. The Psalm begins with the intent to praise and builds with more and more reasons to praise. It ends where it began but in a “higher” place of resolution to praise.

———

3. Mirror

Calvin wrote,

“I have been accustomed to call this book, I think not inappropriately, ‘An Anatomy of all the Parts of the Soul;’ for there is not an emotion of which anyone can be conscious that is not here represented as in a mirror.”

The Reformer, like the readers of the Psalms who went before him, believed the Psalms show us ourselves. As we enter the psalmists’ experience, we quickly identify with these ancient prayers. Another Reformation voice, Luther, added,

“The Psalter is a book of all saints, and everyone, whatever his situation may be, finds psalms and words in it that fit his situation and apply to his case so exactly that it seems they were put in this way only for his sake, so that he could not put it better himself, or find or wish for anything better.”

In other words, the Psalms speak to us as God’s word, but the Psalms also speak for us.

As a third step, the reader should ask, “Where do I see my own experience of the life of faith in the words of this poem? Where do I see the experiences of my friends in this psalm? Where do I see the experiences of the saints who have gone before me in this psalm?”

This is a key way that the Psalm can speak to the heart.

Take Psalm 32, and the line from verse 3, “For when I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long.” The psalmist is thinking about the physical sickness resulted from unconfessed sin.

Don’t you know this? Have you ever been so ashamed and guilt-ridden that you were physically ill?

———

4. The Man, Jesus Christ

Jesus Christ takes on human flesh so that he becomes the most human human, entering the experience of the life of faith most fully. Think about this for a moment: Jesus Christ was the most human human who ever lived.

We can think of the psalms, therefore, as the prayers of Jesus himself. On the cross, the words of Psalm 22 are on his lips. In Gethsemane, can’t we imagine Jesus praying a psalm of lament? On Holy Saturday, we can envision him praying Psalm 88.

Saint Augustine adds to this way of thinking with his totus christus (“the whole Christ”) method of interpretation. According to Augustine, the Psalms show us the “whole Christ,” experiencing the full range of human experience, bringing the whole spectrum of human experience before God on our behalf. Jesus experiences the full range of the Psalter either a) in his person, or b) in his union with his body, the church. For the Christians who have read and treasured the psalms before us, Christ becomes the key that unlocks the meaning of any psalm.

As a final step of engaging a psalm, I suggest you ask a final series of questions:

• Can we imagine Jesus praying these words at any point in his life and ministry? When did he experience these emotions? When would he have prayed these prayers?

• Does the New Testament quote or allude to this psalm?

• How are the covenant promises made to David in the Psalms fulfilled in his descendent, Jesus?

• Are the longings and desires expressed by psalmist provided for in Christ’s person or work? How?

• How is the celebration of the Psalm made possible because of Christ’s work? How is the pain and sorrow of the psalmist given a reprieve because of Christ’s work on our behalf?

• How are the attributes of the God outlined in the psalm revealed most fully in Jesus? (For example in Psalm 95 mentioned above, isn’t it curious that one of Jesus’ pivotal acts of his ministry is to calm a sea??????)

• In what other ways can we imagine Christ as the key to the psalm?

———

The riches of the psalms are immeasurable. I hope that you read them constantly, pray from them often, a treasure as a central part of your spiritual life.

Gifts in a Week of Sickness

This week, sickness has taken up residence in our household, evicting us, so it seems. This adds a layer of difficulty for sure. A road that we are normally privileged to bypass in our movements about.

There are gifts laden in this week of illness, however. I’ve been thinking of some of these.

1. Sickness slows.

Lots of sitting around and laying around. The sickies have been mostly together in one room moaning together but giggling together, too. Our kids have wanted to snuggle non-stop. I’ll take it.

2. Sickness can cultivate dependence on others.

We have needed lots of help. And we have needed to receive it. Everything in our culture pressures us toward independence from God and from others. Everything in our faith pressures us toward dependence on God and on others. 

Illness helps you imagine the way your life could be always—carefully and conscientiously dependent.  According to Christianity, this is what it means to live the good life. And I want to live the good life.

3. Sickness can lead to prayerfulness. 

I have put my hand on my little children’s bony chests and prayed for them more than usual. The Bible is quite clear that stresses and troubles can promote prayerfulness (Philippians 4:6). Though it pains me, I’ll take every chance I can to become as prayerful as possible.

On Millie, Maturity, and Empathy. Or, Scattered Thoughts on What it Means to Be a #girldad

There are not a lot of things I’ve wanted in life.

Actually, this is not true. I’m a high octane, full-tilt, passionate person with many, many longings and desires. But at the very top of the list, for as long as I’ve cared about these things, I’ve hoped for a little girl.

Like everyone else, I’ve been thinking some about what it means to be a #girldad. I’m learning here, so I offer these thoughts provisionally, as a man who is striving but coming up short.

I’m pretty convinced, actually, that Millie needs most of the same things that my boys do. She needs gentleness from me, encouragement, protection, plenty of physical affection. She needs to see that my happiness is found in hers, that I have confidence in her unique gifts, that I possess an awareness of who she is and what she is feeling moment by moment. She needs, in her bones, a deep-seated knowledge that she can neither improve upon or diminish my affection for her and to see in me a love for her so heavy that it can only be described as a hurt in my heart. It is possible to love someone so much that it hurts you, by the way. You probably know this just like I do. If you don’t, I hope you can experience it one day. It is quite a thing and I don’t want you to miss it.

It is also obvious that Millie will mature me in a unique way. She will cultivate empathy in me. I will need to work harder in this realm, not only because she is a different person than me, but the fact that she will grow into a woman means she will be different from me one degree further. 

I know this will ask something extra from me—I feel it in my bones. Millie’s precious existence, in a good way, requires something special to grow in me. She will change me and has already. She has helped me in so many ways. Among other things, she has helped me better understand her mama, which has been a profound gift. Mille presents for me and new way of living and being that will change me and make me into the kind of man I want to be. It is hard to explain, but never do I want to be better than I am than when Mandy and Millie look at me.

Scott Van Pelt nailed it:

“To any man out there who’s about to become a dad for the first time. Maybe you grew up in sports, like me. Maybe you’re thinking you want a boy. And I get it, I do. That was me. And my sons are a joy to me. But let me tell you a secret, fellas.

Root for them to tell you it’s a girl. There’s no greater love than you’ll ever know and nothing that will change your world view more than holding a little girl and imagining the world through her eyes – wanting to be, for her, the very best version of yourself in the hopes that you might be worthy of the way she looks at you. Being worth being adored by her.”

I must give effort in order to find those things in me that are in her (This is a good way to understand empathy). I will need to listen closely and lives shades more patiently so I can learn to feel what it is like to be her. I will need to ask one extra question in that conversation. Stay in the room for many minutes longer. Be silent sometimes because I shouldn’t pretend to know when I, in fact, don’t know.

Of course, this sounds is daunting. But, it also sounds like being alive.

Knowing that Jesus’ strength is made perfect in weakness helps me not be afraid (2 Corinthians 12:9). And because God created male and female in his image (Genesis 1:27), she will help me take hold of what it means to know God.

I’m learning that these are things I wanted when I wanted a little girl.

The Psalms: A (Very) Simple Guide for Praying

Throughout the centuries, the Psalms have been understood to be, among other things, an effective tool for prayer. On a personal note, it is no exaggeration to say that praying from the Psalms has been the single most transformative practice in my own spiritual formation. A couple of scholars, Brian Daley and Paul Kolbet, write:

“What continually amazed the early Christian interpreters of the Psalms, in fact, was the apparently universal ability of these poems to transform the hearts and minds of the people who regularly prayed them.”

What follows is an attempt at writing the simplest guide to praying from the Psalms that I could possibly write.

Here you go:

1. First, pick a Psalm, any Psalm.

Any Psalm will do, but might I suggest one the following?: 8, 13, 19, 23, 28, 37, 46, 51, 79, 100, 103, 121, 139.

2. Next, read the Psalm carefully, very slowly, and if possible, aloud.

3. Now, take one thought from the Psalm, from one line, and use it as a theme for prayer for the day. Pray from this thought simply and boldly several times throughout the day. In fact, as often as you think of it, pray it.

4. Do this again tomorrow, perhaps choosing a different line from the same Psalm. Continue this pattern for days, weeks, months, and years. Do not expect anything dramatic to happen. Don’t try to judge effectiveness for many many years. Let it have its cumulative effect. But, know that you will not regret it. The words will seep into your soul.

————

An Example:

From Psalm 121

I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come?

My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot be moved; he who keeps you will not slumber.

Behold, he who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.

The Lord is your keeper; the Lord is your shade on your right hand.

The sun shall not strike you by day, nor the moon by night.

The Lord will keep you from all evil; he will keep your life.

The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in from this time forth and forevermore.

A (very) simple sample prayer based on the first line:

“Lord, I’m prone to look elsewhere for help. That is useless. So, fix my eyes on you today.”

A Burr Grinder, Grief, and Surviving The Worst Thing Ever™

I think about my brother-in-law every week when I grind coffee beans. My in-laws gave me Drew’s coffee grinder after his death six years ago. It took me many months after that to begin using it. 

I had to think about it and wait for a long time. For some reason, I couldn’t quite give myself permission.

The grinder is a burr grinder which is not to be confused with a blade grinder. Burr grinders are much better and more expensive. We’re talking $100 versus $15. But I believe in the ontological superiority of the burr grinder and so did Drew.

I remember talking with Drew once, and we discussed his desire to buy a burr grinder. He had no means of income at the time, and I remember thinking, “Of all the things you need to spend money on, I’m not sure a burr grinder should be top of the list.”

But this was Drew. Once he made up his mind about something, there was no convincing him otherwise. You might as well save your breath. 

But what gives me joy when I think about him is knowing Drew was this way about all the right things. Friends. Family. Jesus. And of course, coffee.

———

I could never begin to describe how dark the days were after his passing. The pain was the most intense thing we have ever felt. 

I’ll never forget the horrible scream and the look on Mandy’s face when we learned the news. Seeing her hurt that badly, in an instant, broke something inside of me.

I’ll never forget how our son Henry, who was 20 months old at the time, instinctively knew something was terribly wrong. I won’t forget the way he calmly climbed in his momma’s lap and put his head on her chest and hugged her tight. 

I’ll never forget the feeling of utter vulnerability. I’ll never forget how embarrassed I felt knowing there was nothing I could do to help.

I’ll never forget the ways in which those days felt like we were watching, from a distance, a thing occurring in our own life. 

I’ll never forget how unbelievably rainy and cold it was on the day of his memorial (a day in December), and how the weather itself felt like it was kicking us when we were down.

It hurt our hearts in the deepest way imaginable. It is an ache that, of course, will never go away until it does go away, at the end of all things (Revelation 21:4).

———

We’ve learned many lessons in these six years. But, I think we are just beginning to learn what those lessons were. Six years later, we are just beginning. Six years later. These things take time.

Here are two lessons we have learned.

First, most of us attempt to engineer our lives in order to avoid The Worst Thing Ever™. In general, we are actually pretty afraid. Our hearts pound, our necks get splotchy from worry and fear.

(Looking at our iPhone a lot can help us forget that we are afraid. Among other reasons, that is why we do it a lot, I think.) 

In Drew’s passing, we learned that you do not have to be afraid of The Worst Thing Ever™, not because you can avoid it, but because you can survive it. Trust me, the hope you have in Jesus will be there for you on that day and it will not disappoint you, which is not the same thing as saying it will make things easier. It will, however, make things bearable. You will be able to endure it, by God’s grace.

We learned, that because of Jesus, you do not have to be afraid.

Second, we learned the sacredness of ordinary things. Ordinary things are enchanted and alive.

The truth is that a lot of our life is determined by the way we handle, “the middle condition, the things-are-pretty-okay place in which many of us are fortunate enough to live our daily lives.”

Drew helped us learn that—in this “middle condition”—grace is everywhere. He taught us that it is a real gift to be goofy, passionate, and particular about things like a burr grinder. And if you are, that thing will come alive after you are gone.

Your goofy determination to buy a burr grinder with money you do not have will be a gift to those you love. 

That is because someone you love will be sitting somewhere on a cold, rainy Friday morning (the conditions in Birmingham as I write this essay), in the middle condition. They will need to grind coffee beans. After doing so, this person will brew his coffee and he will smile because of your precious quirkiness. 

The cup of coffee will warm him, but the memory of you will warm him more deeply still.

Through the very real ache, this person will giggle and have hope.

Meanwhile, Death will be somewhere, awaiting its death, frustrated, knowing that once again, it did everything but win.

Take-Out Containers, Paul, and Finding Freedom in Pastoral Work

Mandy loves to cook for people. She understands that that support and encouragement flow from her kitchen, by the vehicle of food, into people’s bellies. Whenever someone in our church gives birth, whenever a friend is in a busy time, she loves to bring meals.

She has special containers for these provisions. At the bottom of our pantry, in a particular drawer, the take-a-meal-containers find their abode.

They are old takeout containers, saved for this purpose. She uses these particular ones because, “ I don’t want them to worry about getting them back to me. They can enjoy it and forget about it.” You know, the forget-about-it dishes. 

You must understand that their dispensability is a key feature of their effectiveness. They only have one, simple job: be the means to get the food to the person. We are talking simple point A, to point B, stuff. If the containers serve in this way, they have done their noble duty. Nothing more is necessary. They bear no pressure of being anything other than what they are: a vessel of transport. They can be just that.

Turns out, this is how you should think about your pastor. And if you are a pastor, especially a young one, this is a liberating way to think of yourself, too.

—————

“…we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.”

- 2 Corinthians 4:7

In 2 Corinthians 4:7, Paul writes about his pastoral ministry. He tells the church at Corinth that, “…we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.”

In the world of the New Testament, these “jars of clay” were common household food containers. They were for plain use. They would often chip or break, and they could be replaced easily. They were the ancient world’s takeout containers. Plain and simple. 

Paul wanted the Corinthians to think of his ministry in these terms. He knew that he wasn’t particularly impressive or clever. Rather, he was fragile and ordinary. Further, the apostle understood this has a holy task: to be a common vessel to carry the hope of Jesus to the hearts and souls of the people in the Greco-Roman world.

In this text, Paul is rejoicing in his dispensability—the Lord could have chosen anybody for this work. He knew he didn’t have to be amazing. Instead, he was free to be a common container. He was safe in this work, even in fragility and brokenness (as he goes on to say in 2 Corinthians 4). Paul understood that the Lord ordained to carry the gospel forward in this manner and that this method would demonstrate the power of God in a unique way. (Lest folks be tempted to be impressed with Paul).

You get the sense that he learned to glory in God’s gospel delivery strategy and his unassuming role as a means to God’s great ends.

————

If you are not a pastor, this, of course, does not mean that your pastor should be tossed out, forgotten about, purposely trashed, under-appreciated, or not shown honor. 

It does mean, however, that your hope should not be in your pastor, but instead in Jesus, the one your pastor proclaims and presents to you. It implies that your expectations should be realistic because your pastor is a plain old vessel called to deliver nourishing things for your soul.

If you are a pastor, especially if you are a young pastor like me, there will come a day when you feel radically freed by this vision of pastoral work.

You are invited to be ordinary. If your gifts are meager, that is okay. (Maybe even better?). Your approach to your work can be non-flashy. Truly, it can, and it should be. Things do not have to be so dramatically sensational.

You can work hard, diligently, faithfully, week after week. You are free to pursue things with passion and clarity and excellence precisely because “the surpassing power belongs to God and not [you.]”

Weights fell off of me when I first realized that I can be God’s free man, liberated from the pressure to be spectacular. They fall off afresh when I realize this again and again. Get this: I can simply deliver the foods as best I can—prepared in the kitchen of word, table, prayer—to the people that I love, and that love me back, in the common container that is Joel Busby.

Grace Fellowship can eat heartily and drink deeply of the true food and true drink that is Jesus. These souls can savor Christ. 

They can love and appreciate me, but kinda forget me. In a good way, you know?