At the age of forty-seven, Roy Oswald has already endured more career shifts than many people do in a lifetime.
A Lutheran pastor for four years in Kingston, Ontario, he then became a denominational youth worker in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, in 1966. From there he became a synod executive, working in leadership development.
After personal crises cost him his marriage and his job, he accepted a position as director of training at the Metropolitan Ecumenical Training Center in Washington, D.C., where the spiritual guidance of executive director Tilden Edwards helped Oswald rebuild his life.
Since 1977, Oswald has been director of training and field studies at Washington's Alban Institute, which provides resources for clergy and congregations. Not only does he know the upheaval of transition personally, but it's now the object of his professional research.
LEADERSHIP editors Marshall Shelley and Dean Merrill asked him to map out the pastor's passages.
A lot has been written about passages or seasons of adult life. Are there also predictable stages in a pastor's career?
Definitely, especially at the beginning. The transition from seminary to first parish is usually a major cultural shock. The relocation from one parish to another is also dramatic.
After that, the transitions are more internal-the adult life crises, for instance. Another occurs when a pastor moves to a large parish and becomes a virtual corporate manager. Still another happens in a long pastorate, where a shift in thinking is required in order to thrive over the long haul.
Then retirement, naturally, is a big one.
Let's take them one at a time. What are the pressure points in entering the first pastorate?
The biggest is role and authority. Even if pastors had an internship in seminary, they're not ready to be the resident religious authority-the community holy man or holy woman. It throws them for a loop, because it can't be learned in an academic setting.
Some people have suggested that seminary should be four years of nothing but role clarity-the rest will come easy. The role can't be learned conceptually. You have to stand in the middle of the community and handle all the transactions coming at you.
Is it possible to be a good pastor in your twenties?
Wow. I'm just now understanding the kind of spiritual depth necessary to be a pastor. That makes me question whether I had much to offer when I first got out of seminary.
Are we asking the impossible of young pastors? Should we require them, like presidents of the United States, to be thirty-five years old?
Some denominations do encourage second-career pastors. Yet how else do you get pastoral maturity unless you start, make mistakes, and learn from them?
One of the evidences of the Holy Spirit's working is that congregations are forgiving and able to nurture and help us learn. It's surprising the authority they confer on even the young and inexperienced.
Does being an associate pastor help or hinder the process of learning the authority role?
It depends on the mentor. If your senior pastor is a good model, you need to follow that person around-into hospital rooms, in counseling sessions and do lots of watching and asking, "Why did you do that?" Seminary, you see, comes in separate pieces-theology, Bible, history-and you're expected to integrate. But you can't until you see somebody actually mixing it into a lifestyle and ministry that works.
If your senior pastor isn't a good model, you'll have to find one elsewhere, preferably among your colleagues. But even someone in the next town would work.
How much time should you ask for?
One day a month would be fine-a whole day spent together, concluding with time to debrief so you can ask questions.
How do you find a good mentor? What do you look for?
Some denominations try to match up names. That doesn't work. Carl Rogers's research shows there are limits to what you will learn from someone you don't like. Personal respect-"chemistry"-is a crucial factor. So you should look for a mentor with a style of ministry you'd like to emulate.
Did you have a mentor in your first four years in Kingston?
No, and that was traumatic. A mentor would have helped greatly, but I wasn't prepared even to think in those terms. I came out of seminary thinking I was complete, wholly trained, and adequate. I felt I needed to face issues myself.
Later in my career, when I had good mentors, I realized how important they were.
How would a mentor have helped?
I spent 20 percent of my ministry trying to cure one woman, clearly neurotic, who didn't want to be cured. I was naive, totally blind to the fact that she was sexually attracted and only wanted to spend time with me. A mentor could have given me clarity.
Another example: I was so turned on by systematic theology in seminary that I thought all I needed was to begin teaching that in church. When I did . . . and the Kingdom didn't come in . . . I said, "Now what?" The whole spiral of self-doubt began. A mentor would have helped.
You mentioned a second passage-moving from one parish to another. What are the important elements here?
Learning to say good-by. Our research on termination styles of clergy shows they are typically bad, not allowing adequate opportunity for people to express their feelings, to say what this pastor has meant. Maybe pastors feel it's maudlin. Usually, however, they slip off into the night without really saying good-by, and that can undercut everything they've done up till then. People may question whether the pastor really cared for them at all.
How do you say a good farewell? One to one? You obviously can't go out to dinner with five hundred people.
We tell clergy to make a list of the people closest to them-probably between a dozen and twenty names-people who ought to get a visit because they need the closure, and you do too.
There's another list of people who should at least get a phone call. Then there are the significant groups you've worked with, and you need to spend an evening with them.
What do you talk about?
The good-bys we detest are the ones where all is sweetness and light. If you talk only about the good things, you leave knowing that wasn't reality.
But if you can agree on what was good and what wasn't good about this relationship, and celebrate that, then you're free to move on to another part of life. When those things aren't surfaced and celebrated, the unresolved tensions linger for years.
It's up to the pastor to initiate this. Most laity won't bring up negatives unless you give them permission.
Should any of this be shared in public?
Yes. In the final sermon, at the farewell party, or somewhere, you need to share what it's like to be their religious authority. That doesn't mean backing up the truck and dumping on them. But this is a teachable moment when the congregation can learn something about its corporate identity- how it comes across to a pastor. People need to know their strengths and what makes them hard to live with.
How long should you be a lame duck?
Closure takes a minimum of two or three months. In one sense, you are a lame duck, but that's good. You can stop programming and bolstering your favorite activities. Your task now is closure, and that takes time, especially if you're well liked. People's initial reaction is shock and denial. They can't say good-by on the spot. There's a subtle withdrawal, and then they come back. This can't be done in two weeks.
Good closure prevents lots of problems. Pastors don't realize that in order to start well in a new parish, they must say good-by to the old parish.
Why? How does unfinished business at the old parish affect your new ministry?
It can get you into trouble. When I left St. Mark's in Kingston, part of me genuinely wanted to try youth work, but part of me was also deeply hurt by having to leave. I didn't close well. I spent most of my time trying to prop up my programs and see that they would continue after I left.
When I arrived in Harrisburg, I had lots of unexpressed emotion. I took out that unresolved anger on my job. I became a radical. Those were the days of the Vietnam War and the race issue, and youth work was an excellent opportunity to beat up on people. If you were for kids, you were against adults. I was more biting, cynical, and controversial than I needed to be.
Eight years later, I shaved my beard and put on a three-piece suit, but I couldn't escape my radical image. I left that job as a broken person.
How you come across in the first twelve months often determines your effectiveness for your entire ministry. Communication patterns, roles, and expectations all get set. If you come in with anger, that will create a style you'll be locked into for years.
If you close well, you can get on with life, put to rest one chapter, and begin another. Both congregation and clergy feel better about themselves, and they can reach out in ministry sooner without emotional scars.
Give us an example of someone who closed well.
A friend of mine in a church near Washington recently accepted a call from Michigan. Before he left, we sat down with a tape recorder, and I asked him what was good about this ministry, what had been painful, and what things he was having to let go of. Feelings came out in that exit interview that surprised even him.
We distributed the transcript of that interview to the church board. His candid comments encouraged them to be candid, too. When he visited the key people personally, it set a healthy atmosphere.
Just before his departure, the congregation held a roast in his honor. With humor, drama, and songs, they recalled his faux pas-he was a terrible administrator, never on time, often scatterbrained. All this came out, but the tone was affirming: "It was worth it because you're a loving person, and we're going to miss you."
You mentioned the first twelve months in a parish are crucial. How can new pastors make sure they're setting good patterns?
The task of the first twelve months is to be a lover and a historian-to fully understand what has taken place here and to learn to love these people before making changes.
Most pastors arrive and make immediate changes, which says to the people, "You don't understand Christianity. I'm the expert, and you need to do it my way." It's an act of rejection, almost hostility. It undercuts lay ministry.
Some clergy cook their goose right away by too many immediate changes, especially in worship.
I know one young woman who started pastoring in a small town, and she thought it ridiculous that the pulpit Bible was a huge King James, which didn't leave room for her notes. So she put it away. The next week it appeared back on the pulpit with a note: "This Bible belongs on the pulpit. (Signed) The Management." She refused to give in and removed the Bible again. She began having major problems in that congregation, largely because she couldn't recognize what was valuable to those people.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer talks about "honoring the Christ that is present in the community," and that means discovering how the Holy Spirit has already been working. A congregation may not be doing things the way you think they should, but something is happening.
It'll take at least twelve months to find out where the power is, build credibility for yourself, and show the people you care about them.
You're saying beware of taking too much initiative early, and yet a few minutes ago you said the young pastor's biggest battle is establishing authority. How does a pastor demonstrate authority while not making changes?
That's quite a dance, isn't it? Making changes isn't the only way to gain authority. The authority that's needed comes from one's own credibility and caring. You clearly diminish your authority by not honoring what's there.
Is there a "honeymoon" with a new congregation?
That's a deceptive term. I prefer to call it a period of suspended judgment. It feels like a honeymoon, because people withhold criticism to give the new pastor a chance. But they're sizing you up. In one sense, they're giving you enough rope to hang yourself.
What then do you want to accomplish while the wolves are still at bay?
In the first twelve months, you need to establish personal authenticity. People try to see if you're genuine. They'll listen to your sermons, observe your life, and see if your head and heart are together. They want to know if you can be trusted with the deeper issues of life.
What can you do to help that happen?
Be aware that you're being tested with seemingly insignificant issues. Word spreads fast about how you manage things and whether you can be trusted.
What kinds of things are people watching for?
How you deal with chronic dependents is one. You can get sucked into spending too much time with them, like I did, and lose your credibility. People will like you for taking these dependents off their hands (after all, they had to deal with these types before you came), but they won't respect you if needy people are able to wrap you around their fingers. Somehow you've got to say no at the right time in the right way.
Other people will try maneuvering into an influential relationship with you. You've got to set boundaries, and that sometimes means conflict.
Perhaps the most traumatic transition is resignation. In some situations, of course, the actual decision is out of a pastor's hands-the denomination reassigns or the church fires. But where pastors do have a say, when should they resign, and when should they fight to the bitter end?
The history of the congregation is an important factor. If a church has perpetually solved its problems by getting rid of leadership, its welfare will not be served by pushing yet another pastor out. That just repeats the negative cycle. Sometimes clergy need to hang in there with the support of their denomination.
What about cases when you're not under heat, when no petitions are circulating? When should you stay, and when is it time to go?
That's a complicated problem, because the longer you're in a church, the harder it is to get accurate feedback. People say, "I can't be honest with Pastor Joe about his weaknesses. He sat with my mother when she was dying-I could never thank him enough. … " The more people trust him as an individual, the harder time they have talking about his professional inadequacies. And yet, pastors need that information to make decisions about resigning or changing their ministries.
How do you get that information out of reluctant parishioners?
They'll evaluate honestly when they know the comments will be handled well-likely when there's a professional around. They'll risk candor if someone with authority, integrity, and skill is available to help them if they get in trouble.
Once you get an honest evaluation, then you and the congregation must decide together the direction of the church and the cluster of skills needed to move on. Pastors must honestly decide if they have the necessary skills and energy. Some pastors go to seed because the church is too comfortable; they're not excited anymore. I call it "going native"-they've become like everyone else, and they're not willing to confront the congregation on where it needs to grow.
There needs to be a little tension. If things are too comfortable, you've got folk religion.
Suppose you miss all the warning signals-and are asked to leave. What happens to you at that point? And how do you recover?
Fired pastors are deeply wounded. Often a downward spiral begins. The divorce rate among clergy being fired is enormous. They may need counseling. They probably have been neglecting their own growth. They probably need to face some pretty painful things to turn it around. Despite the emotional shock, a pastor must seek an objective answer to the question "Do I still have a valid ministry?"
Admittedly, sometimes pastors are victims of scapegoating. Clergy may be more vulnerable to that than other professions. If the Sunday school isn't growing, if the church isn't moving, some churches assume removing the pastor will solve the problem. But even with scapegoating, pastors can learn something about what they did wrong.
Do you seek closure when you've been fired?
Absolutely. Even with the people who signed the petition against you. You can learn a lot by seeing these people and asking, "Where did this relationship get off track?" and "I'd like you to hear my point of view before I go."
And every pastor has supporters, too. These people will be upset over what the congregation did, and the pastor needs to get closure with these friends.
You mentioned internal transitions that pastors face. Describe some of these.
According to Daniel Levinson, adult life crises for males happen at the decades, give or take a few years, and the crisis at age forty is the most traumatic. These crises come when people realize their finitude-I'm forty, and I've only got half my life left. How do I want to spend it?-which catapults them into making drastic changes.
They look back and see what they're not getting out of life. Usually it has to do with marriage or work. Many get divorces. Others find their marriage relationship changes. Attitudes toward work shift dramatically.
When clergy do this, it shakes the congregation. They've had a staid ministry, and all of a sudden, they've got a hippie on their hands. Or the pastor drops out, or starts a second career.
So around age forty, most people find something has to give-or else they need outside help.
Parish ministry is especially hazardous to marriages. Why? Because the very commodities essential to marriage are the same commodities necessary to pastor: listening, giving, and caring.
Someone once defined love as "giving a person your full attention." That takes a lot of energy. When you come home from giving full attention to parishioners, and your spouse says, "Honey, we need to discuss something here," you haven't got the energy. The necessary ingredient for a good marriage has been exhausted.
The marriages of ministers require special attention; sometimes that means cutting back on the ministry.
Let's talk about another transition. Not so long ago, the first stop out of seminary was usually a rural church. Today it's more often a staff position in a large church. Describe the transition from associate to senior pastor.
I recently read that 80 percent of seminarians come from large churches, and yet 80 percent of the churches are small churches. And I don't think we fully understand how different large-church ministry is from small-church ministry.
As Lyle Schaller says, "A large church wants a pastor who leads them; a small church wants a pastor they can lead." Often the only way small churches have survived is by ignoring their pastors. When they've had a series of two- or three-year pastorates, there's no way they could take those pastors seriously.
Taking large-church associates and placing them in small churches sets up a cross-cultural barrier as tough as any foreign mission field. Committees and programs are the assumed structure of a large church, but they don't work in a small church, which is a unified system that makes decisions as a whole. Or perhaps they're patriarchal-matriarchal churches, where two or three key figures make all the decisions. Unless pastors recognize that and work with the key figures, their ministry is doomed.
In some ways, a small church is almost a tribal ministry, isn't it? If you win the chiefs, you've won the followers.
You got it.
Tell us about the final transition-approaching retirement.
The ten years between age fifty-five and sixty-five are the period of most discouragement, lethargy, and burnout for many pastors. They know they're not going to be bishop, they begin seeing colleagues die, they feel stuck. Many churches say they don't want a pastor over fifty-five.
Often these pastors don't know what else they can do; they're just hanging on. And hanging on for ten years is devastating to a parish.
The problem is that they've not developed interests in anything but the church. Most clergy have no idea what they'll do after retirement-they're sitting ducks for a bad transition.
When they retire from being an authority and become a nobody, it hits them psychologically. That vulnerability often draws them back to pastoral acts in their church, and nothing is worse for the new pastor. It's intoxicating to be asked to do a wedding for people "who need you," but you mess up the credibility of the new minister.
What are some other directions a retired pastor can go?
Interim pastorates are an emerging profession. Experienced, credible people who can move into a crisis situation for six to eighteen months can do some very effective work.
Not every church with an empty pulpit needs an interim. But denominational executives need a handful of effective interims for certain situations. A congregation that's fired its pastor, for instance, is in no position to call someone until it has healed for eighteen months or so.
Another example is after a long pastorate. A church's identity has been so tied to that pastor, it needs an interim so it can come to terms with its own identity. Yet another instance is where there has been rapid turnover or a church split. All of these could use an interim for a couple of years.
What are some other options for those approaching retirement?
Some do counseling, others oversee training programs, and still others become volunteer administrators of homes or large churches. Some focus on visitation.
The question of retirement options can't be asked at age sixty-five. It demands planning. Arthur Bell, who recently retired as president of Ministers Life, has for the past ten years been managing a small company on the side that builds log houses. When he retired, he had something to go to.
When should a pastor start planning for retirement?
Middle forties. You need to think about where you're going to live, what the new challenge will be, and what will keep you going. That's got to be a corporate decision with a spouse, because two people will be moving.
As pastors start their careers and look ahead to all these transitions they're likely to face, what maintains emotional and spiritual health? How can you prevent transition shock?
Spiritual depth makes the difference through all the transitions. The difficulty is that we're not taught how to keep ourselves alive spiritually. In seminary, with chapel and classes every day, we don't learn the disciplines we need to overcome the vulnerability and emptiness we face when we're alone.
The difference between seminary religion and parish religion is greater than the difference between denominations. When we graduate, we want to push seminary religion on parishes-the great singing, the thoughtful liturgy, the sense of community. But we haven't developed an authentic spirituality to carry us over the long haul.
The only way to negotiate the transitions is with a deep sense that God cares for me, and that I am nurtured by grace.
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