WHEN I’D GLADLY PAY ANY PRICE

just for the privilege of doing what I do. When someone’s face lights up with the realization they know Jesus because I was there for them. When a marriage under stress gets it together again. When a small child runs up and wants to share their last cupcake with me. These are dividends impossible to bank in an institution …  only in one’s heart.

 

THEN THERE ARE OTHER TIMES

when I say a last “goodbye” to a good friend, and I lay awake at night wondering if that friend’s widow(er) is awake, too. Times when a marriage I reach out to, like a vase falling from a ledge, can’t be saved. And I remain to help pick up the pieces. Times when children die. These are the ransom notes addressed to a weary shepherd, carrying with them a fearsome sense of human frailty. “Do exactly what I say or you’ll never see …”

 

These are the paradoxes of being a pastor. Being a pastor was never meant to be just a job. It is a profession, yes, but more than that. It is a calling, one filled with incredible highs and inevitable lows. Minutes of peace. Hours of peacemaking. The affirming whisper, well done, good and faithful servant. And the nagging thoughts, well, servant … why couldn’t you do something good for the faithful? Words of hopefulness. Feelings of helplessness. The ‘other times.’

 

My work rarely gets up near the ivory tower. Mostly it’s spent down on life’s hard streets. Real time. Real life. Funerals and weddings in the same week. Sometimes the same day. Joy and pain. Laughter and tears.

 

“Thanks, pastor, for all you’ve done.” What did I do really? I can’t think of what it might have been.

 

“Pastor, you didn’t do enough.” But I spent hours with you. We prayed and cried and tried to work through your pain. Don’t you remember?

 

My calling is a 24/7 human paradox as well as a holy purpose. Surface and substance. Foolishness and fruitfulness.

 

Still, I love this work as an under shepherd among God’s flock. Everyday I stretch for excellence. Delighted in moments when I brush up against it. Disappointed at how often I fail to grasp it. Reminded of being an example observed and examined by those who follow. Scary to ponder that. I think, If only I could mirror Christ twenty-four hours a day. (Would anyone settle for twenty-four minutes?)

 

But maybe … maybe these are not just the thoughts of a lonely shepherd at the end of another day, or week, or year, or a lifetime of feeding, watering, finding, protecting. Perhaps I’m describing every heart. Yours. Mine. Ours. We’ve an ache that refuses to go away. God put it there. Where it will hurt.

 

Yes, there are times … when I wish I could show you more of the Jesus I know.

 

So, let’s not give up, okay? Let’s try again tomorrow. And the next day.

 

May Jesus keep us close.