It’s risky to visit a congregation you formerly pastored-especially one from which you resigned. But time helps close wounds. So when the current pastor of my former church heard I was going to be in town to attend a wedding, he invited me to preach that Sunday morning. And I accepted.
After the service, I was standing in the foyer when the wife of an elder approached me. Her eyes glistened as if she’d been crying.
“Please forgive me,” she said quietly. “Only recently have I come to appreciate your ministry outside our congregation.” With that brief statement she passed by.
Those words uncorked memories. She and others in the congregation had insisted the pastor belonged to the church and to no one else. I stood committed to community involvement. Our collision had been inevitable. Out of the steaming wreckage had come my resignation.
I remembered driving alone on a rural stretch between Astoria, Oregon, and the church in Hammond shortly before the clash. I often took the back road because it gave me those few precious minutes away from the telephone and the tyranny of daily crises.
Ahead I could see a forlorn hitchhiker hoping I would be his answer to tired feet for the three miles to Fort Stevens State Park. Immediately a battle began to rage within.
You better give the guy a ride.
You better pass this one up. He probably needs a job and somewhere to live, and if you get involved with one more person outside your own congregation, things are really going to get rough.
You can’t just let him walk. He knows you have to go by the park to get anywhere from here. Besides, think how many people you have introduced to Christ this way.
Yeah, with your luck he’ll probably become a Christian in the next three miles and then you’ll really be responsible for him.
Our eyes fixed for a brief moment-then I drove by. Even though his frame gradually disappeared in the rearview mirror, his bewildered expression continued to haunt me. Maybe I have an overactive sense of responsibility. But I suspect most people in helping professions, especially pastors, feel vaguely guilty about consciously passing by people in need. Even those who don’t belong to the church.
Did God call me to serve only the church, because they pay my salary, or was I called to serve the whole kingdom of God? I wrestled within. Where should I draw the line between commitments to the church I serve as pastor and the needs outside our congregation?
The members of my congregation did have a point. Even my wife said I was too involved. The problem wasn’t new. During my nine years as a public school teacher, I always seemed to get more involved in extra-curricular activities than was wise: the Parent-Teachers Association, the California Teachers Association, the National Teachers Association, curriculum committees, fund raisers, along with church activities, Sunday school, choir, various committees, and youth work.
I pulled the car off the road to pray this one through. I mentally listed my current involvements: I was an active member of the ministerial association, a local adviser to the Women’s Aglow Fellowship, chaplain at the county jail, chairman of the developmental training center for the mentally retarded, and on the board of directors of Conviction magazine. The criticism that I was too involved outside the congregation wasn’t unjustified, but what could I do?
I should have learned something from the previous Wednesday, which had been nothing short of chaotic. My mother was visiting from California, and Wednesday was her birthday. My wife wanted to bake a cake and have a small family party, but every night that week was already scheduled with some church or organizational activity. We finally found an hour between dinner and the midweek evening service. But late that afternoon I was called to the jail to work out details of a new ministry there. Since I had suggested the idea, I felt I had to go. The meeting ran longer than expected, and I was late for dinner. We postponed the party until after the service but before the men’s fellowship that met in our living room each Wednesday night from 9:00 to 11:00.
After the service, I stole to the car, trying to avoid any entanglements, but before I could get across the parking lot, two young women approached. One was sobbing.
“Pastor, this is really serious,” the other said. “We have to talk to you right away.”
After listening a few seconds, I knew it was indeed serious, so I asked the women to follow me home. At least if I were inside the house, the birthday party could begin.
When the three of us walked in the door, the family was gathered in one room for the party and the men’s fellowship was already assembling in the living room. I stayed in the family room long enough to sing “Happy Birthday,” moved to the living room to open the men’s group in prayer, and then went to another room to do some counseling, taking a break often enough to keep the other two activities going.
I had to admit such evenings were no longer isolated occurrences. And things at the office were little different. My outside involvements made it impossible for me to keep the staff apprised of all my commitments and promises. They began to dread times I was out of the office because they seldom had the information people requested. At the last board meeting, three of my staff had recommended my requested two-week leave of absence be denied.
When the leave was canceled, my immediate thought was to resign from every commitment outside the church. But I considered the consequences. First, it would be an immature reaction-taking my marbles and going home. Second, I wasn’t the type of person who could limit my activities to one set of individuals. Third, I had seen what pastoral isolation had done to one church. Not only did that pastor insulate himself from the local community, churches, and Christian organizations, but he jealously discouraged members from outside involvements. Soon the church was so ingrown, “outsiders” did not feel welcome. People who should have been referred to specialized community or parachurch groups for their drug addictions, domestic problems, homosexuality, or suicidal tendencies were told to just pray about it. The mortality rate was high.
I knew the joys of using networks in the Christian and secular community to help my congregation-to match employer and employee, student and teacher, patient and doctor, tenant and landlord, client and program. My good experiences wouldn’t let me retreat into isolationism.
Yet something had to change. No, I had to change. If I didn’t set some limits, my church board, my wife, or a coronary would.
In those few moments in prayer there in my car, I developed a formula that has served me well for the past nine years. I pass it on to you. My reasoning went something like this:
It is unhealthy for a pastor not to be involved in the community.
It is unhealthy for a pastor to be too involved outside his own congregation.
I recognize the needs of the community, yet I must place my calling as a pastor above those.
I resolved to limit myself, with God’s help, to active participation in one outside Christian organization and one non-Christian organization at a time.
It took nearly a year to serve out my various commitments. I chose to continue my ministry at the county jail, but I brought the jail ministry under the authority of the local ministerial association and thereby spread out the burden and consolidated my commitments. I also volunteered for another term with the Developmental Training School. Everything else was phased out.
As I limited my involvements, I found myself focusing more on people and less on tasks. I had time again to evangelize on a one-to-one basis. One of the lawyers on the Developmental Training Board sought me out for counseling, and soon he and his wife turned over their lives to Christ.
With the new balance, the criticism in the congregation began to ebb. A few critics, however, continued to focus on my previous imbalance and failed to see the major adjustments that had been made. The “overinvolved” label stuck with me up to, and even beyond, my resignation.
When I moved to my present inner-city Chicago pastorate, I took my formula of involvement with me.
Knowing I was allowing myself to become involved in only one Christian organization and one non-Christian organization, I was cautious not to make any commitments until I had done some research. Eventually, I joined the ministerial association, serving as secretary, vice president, and then president. For a non-Christian organization, I chose the Chamber of Commerce. Already I have seen this involvement open doors to ministry.
This formula has proven helpful. Requests from worthy causes outside my church continue. When they come, I simply explain my formula and tell the person I would be happy to consider involvement when my current commitments expire. This formula eliminates the pressure and keeps me from overinvolvement. It helps me-and my family-answer the question “Where do you draw the line?” without anxiety.
-Dennis Sawyer
Philadelphia Church
Chicago, Illinois
YOU KNOW YOU’RE IN TROUBLE WHEN THE GUEST SPEAKER BEGINS WITH …
A funny thing happened on the way to the church this morning . . .
Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking . . .
Did you hear the one about the three ministers on an airplane . . .
Here are the notes for the sermon I was going to give, but I’ve decided not to give that message and simply say some things that need to be said . . .
As I was eating lunch with (insert big name) last week . . .
Webster defines (insert any word) as . . .
Yesterday’s Cubs game has many parallels to this morning’s text . . .
My wife doesn’t like this sermon, but I decided to go ahead with it anyway . . .
This morning’s message has eighteen points . . .
Last night I had a dream-of footprints in the sand . . .
Cereal boxes don’t usually lead to sermon ideas, but this morning . . .
There are some topics that thirty minutes just can’t do justice . . .
I was digging through some old seminary class notes this week . . .
At first glance, variants between the Septuagint and the Masoretic Text don’t seem all that interesting, but. . .
Over the last few months, while struggling with my sexual identity . . .
I normally prepare my sermons in advances but today . . .
-Kevin Miller
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