A day at the office for Richard almost always started the same way. Parking in the space marked “Pastor Richard Wolf,” he would enter the administrative suite through a limited-access back door, head for the desk of his assistant and place his Palm Pilot in a hot sync cradle cabled to her computer. A beep confirmed that the latest version of his schedule was downloading.
With a cup of coffee, he would walk swiftly to his office and shut the door. He’d learned that if you moved fast, kept your eyes down as if deep in thought, people would leave you alone. This “I’m carrying the weight of the world; don’t interrupt me” posture had lately become a trademark.
At his desk Wolf would examine the freshened PDA for the contours of his day.
One Monday morning he muttered a bad word when he studied the Palm Pilot and saw that every hour had been crammed with administrative meetings and staff appointments. He said the same word again when he realized that every other day of the week was similarly crowded.
His over-the-top reaction (for him anyway) reflected promises he’d made to his wife and son at breakfast. He committed himself to an afternoon with her to see the fall foliage. He’d assured his middle-school son that he’d be at a Thursday afternoon soccer game. But the Pilot had laid claim to these hours, and the family things weren’t going to happen after all.
Everyone owns a piece of me, he mused that morning. When did this stop being fun? Anyone reading his thoughts would know there’s trouble building in Richard Wolf’s soul. But with whom do senior pastors share such thoughts?
Seven years earlier, a younger Richard Wolf had preached his first sermon to a congregation of a couple hundred. His manner had been appealing, and before long, the congregation had begun to grow. With growth had come building programs, an enlarging staff of ministry specialists, and a multi-layered organization of ministries and programs. Along came invitations for Richard to speak at schools and conferences.
Once upon a time, Richard had been accessible; his home phone number had been listed in the bulletin. He was approachable, visible at most church functions. In those days, the church literature designated him “Pastor.”
But now, years later, the literature called him Senior Pastor. Someone noting this had said-kidding, of course-“You can see a pastor any time, but you have to make an appointment to see a senior pastor: on his time and on his turf.”
The schedule for the Monday that elicited the wicked words, for example, included a strategic planning meeting, a budget session, an appearance at a staff training function, and 15 minutes (“tops!”) with the head of the personnel committee. And that was the morning.
In the afternoon, he was scheduled to meet with the executive minister on organizational restructure and visit with a furloughed missionary family the church supported. Then, two hours (one hour each) had been set aside for two staff pastors who were upset about a proposed revision in the reporting structure. Or was it really their spouses that were upset by what smelled like a demotion?
But the PDA didn’t stop there. Richard was scheduled to bring a brief greeting (“just five minutes, Pastor”) to the women’s Bible study, to say a few words at a lunch for the church bookkeeper, celebrating her twentieth work-anniversary, and to participate in a conference call with a college board on which he served (“Richard,” the president had said, “we can’t have this meeting without you”).
The elders would be meeting that evening, and the finance committee had asked if Wolf could give them 30 minutes after the meeting was over.
Somewhere in the cracks of this wildness, he thought, there had to be some time to lay the footings for next Sunday’s sermon. He always tried to have his sermon outline (at least the main points) in place by Monday night.
Whenever Richard’s assistant scheduled items into his PDA, she would activate the alarm function so it chirped a five-minute alarm. This kept him on schedule and also provided a convenient way to terminate conversations.
In the grip of that day’s schedule, Richard bumped into a woman standing at the receptionist’s desk. Not recalling her name, he offered his generic, “Hey, how’re you doing? Being taken care of?”
She was supposed to say, “I’m fine. Good to see you, Pastor. So appreciated the sermon last Sunday,” and then allow him to move on. But she didn’t.
“Pastor,” she said, “I was so hoping I’d find you here. Do you have a few minutes?”
Honestly? No. The finance people were waiting to talk budget with him, and the PDA showed only 45 minutes to the next chirp. Richard ratcheted up the charm.
“You know, I’m afraid I don’t. Why don’t you see if my assistant can get you on the calendar for later,” he said, half-knowing it wouldn’t happen. The next open slot for appointments with church members was two or three weeks away. She could meet with one of the pastoral care people, he was sure.
When will people get used to the fact that senior pastors in large churches can’t get into unscheduled conversations? Soon he was into budgeting, the encounter forgotten.
Three days later Richard’s assistant informed him that a church member had taken his life. When he heard the name, he recalled the woman in the reception area. She was the dead man’s wife.
When he saw her at the funeral parlor (his guilt induced the visit; he normally didn’t attend wakes), Richard learned that she had come that Monday seeking counsel about her husband who’d been out of work for six months, was drinking, and seemed unusually withdrawn. She’d thought that, maybe, if the pastor called him, it would lift his spirit.
“He always admired you and hoped that he could one day have a talk with you. But everyone knows how busy you are,” she said as they stood by the open casket.
Everyone knows how busy you are. That was the word on the “streets” about him. He heard it often. A few years back the word was: He has this way of listening to you and making you feel that you’re the only person in the world.
Would the man be alive today, he wondered, if he’d been the old Richard Wolf and not the newer version?
The next day Richard was at lunch with two staffers when a man from the “back-row” part of the congregation stopped at the table. Introducing himself, he began the kind of trivial exchange of comments that leaves a pastor wondering where it’s all leading and how long it’s going to last. Wolf politely indicated that he was busy, and when the man left, Wolf commented to his colleagues that it was getting more difficult to be in public places without being interrupted.
Several weeks later he met the man again, same restaurant. “You know,” he said to Wolf, “a few weeks back you mentioned a book in a sermon. I bought it and read it. When I saw you here later-remember that day?-I was hoping we could talk about some questions the book raised. Anyway, later I met a guy at work who’s part of a group that meets at the Sheraton. I mentioned the book, and he had some thoughts I’d never heard before. I’ve been going to his group the last few weeks and met some good friends.”
The Sheraton group, Wolf knew, was nothing more than a cult. The evangelism department should have been there for this guy, he thought. For a moment he was reminded of the nutty salesman on TV who’d lost a loan to Ditech.
Checking his e-mail a day later, Wolf read a request from a 17-year-old whose family attended the church. The high schooler wanted to know if it would be possible to talk with him about what it meant to be called into Christian service.
“That’s why we have youth pastors,” he mumbled as he replied, suggesting the teen call the woman heading high school ministry. “Really, 17-year-olds aren’t my target audience.”
What he never knew, however, was that four days after the e-mail exchange, a college recruiter sold the boy on his school, its scholarship programs, and a business major, which eventually would lead him into hotel and restaurant management. Was this a case of a life redirected away from God’s calling, for want of a 30-minute conversation?
Unbooked appointment
The next day, Richard, heading to a worship department meeting, was intercepted by his assistant. “There’s an old man here, a John Shepherd, who says he’d like to meet you. I checked, and he’s not in our database. But …”
“John Shepherd? What does he look like?”
She described him.
“You don’t suppose …”
“You know him?”
“The John Shepherd I’m thinking about was one of the best preachers in America 25 years ago. I thought he’d died.”
“Well, he just wants to say hello. I could …”
“No, I’ll meet him. Tell the music people I’ll be right there.”
Wolf’s suspicion was correct. The man was the John Shepherd.
He invited his visitor to his office. As they sat down, Shepherd said, “I hear your name often, and I read things you write. I’ve said to myself many times, ‘If ever I get a chance, I’ve got to meet you. Been in the area visiting my daughter and realized that your church was nearby. So she drove me over.”
Wolf said he was “so pleased” that Shepherd had stopped in, and soon they were into an energetic conversation about ministries, leadership priorities, the health of the Christian movement, and other things pastors like discussing.
Then, without warning, Shepherd asked, “So, is your work here satisfying?”
Silence!
Just enough silence to prompt an insightful veteran like Shepherd to ask himself, Why does he need to think about this?
Just enough for Wolf to ask himself, Is this a trick question? What a provocative word: “satisfying!” “Happy” would be easier to respond to. “Happy” is a large congregation, good staff, being considered a prominent leader. But “satisfying”?
“What does satisfied mean?” Wolf asked. “Did you feel your work was satisfying?”
Shepherd nodded. “Yeah, I did. In fact my life remains very satisfying. Even after retiring from the church, I haven’t stopped being a pastor. It’s in my blood, I guess.”
Shepherd’s eyes closed briefly, then opened, and fixed on Wolf. “By satisfied I mean a sense of inner certainty that you’re doing exactly what you were called to do. There are many times when I’m involved with someone, and I say to myself, ‘I was made for this!’ That’s very satisfying.”
“What kind of involvements are you talking about?” Wolf asked. “My life around here is all meetings about the organization and its life. How did you lead a large church and stay, as you put it, satisfied?”
“I maintained a nose for pastorable moments and built my ministry around them.”
“Pastorable moments?”
“Yes, those little surprise meetings with people in need of spiritual care. I resisted the temptation to see myself exclusively as a preacher and an organizational leader. I decided I would seize as many chances as I could to connect with individuals who were looking for hope and assurance and prayer and guidance and, let’s call it, pastoral tenderness. Every once in a while a chance to introduce someone to Jesus.
“I saw pastorable moments as unplanned occasions where one has the feeling, when it’s over, that God punched a hole in the schedule and said, ‘Stop! Do this for a while. Talk to her; pray with him. You’ll both be the better for it.”
“I don’t think I have many pastorable moments, if that’s what they are,” Wolf said as he stole a glance at his PDA, hoping it wouldn’t start chirping. “You keep hearing today that it’s all about leadership, about vision, about reaching, reaching, reaching.” He paused. “I’m so busy leading and reaching, I rarely get to touch.”
“I’ll probably frustrate you when I say this, Richard. It’s obvious you have a tiger by the tail here. Church leadership is relentless, unending. It will absorb every ounce of your time. The system will try to convince you that pastorable moments are the responsibility of others, that you’re exempt from them. You’ll hear yourself say that you’re too important to the organization to let the little people get to you with their trivial problems.
“But, and this is an old man speaking, you’ll dry up without pastorable moments. They keep you fresh, humble, in touch with life in the streets. They also keep your preaching real and honest.”
“You’re not saying that a guy should sit around and wait for people to come at him, are you?” Wolf asked.
“Of course not. You’ve got to maintain your spiritual disciplines, your study, and necessary meetings with your leadership team. You’ve got to withdraw from people at times in order to connect with them later. But organizational activities grow to fit all the calendar space you’re willing to give. They make you feel important, in charge. You can’t fall for that seduction.
“Pastorable moments, on the other hand, force you to think like a servant. They introduce you to areas of life you’d rather avoid. They remind you that there are some questions with no answers and problems with no solutions. You mustn’t hide from them, Richard.”
Wolf looked like he wanted to cry. Inner frustrations he’d been denying recently threatened his composure, and his voice almost cracked.
“A church this size insulates you from what you’re describing. They call you a pastor, but you’re not a pastor in the strictest sense. You’re just doing meetings about programs and politics.”
Now he felt the need to explain himself, and John Shepherd had the kind of face that said, I’m listening.
“A few weeks back a woman asks to see me. I’m busy. I say, ‘come back later.’ Her husband commits suicide a few days later, and I can’t stop wondering if I wasn’t supposed to pastor there. She needed help, but I had a budget meeting and we have a good pastoral care department …”
“Was it the meeting that prevented you from talking with that woman?” Shepherd asked.
“What are you saying?”
“Maybe the meeting was a convenient excuse to avoid getting involved with someone like her. Any possibility that you’ve lost a bit of your love for being with regular folks and their struggles?”
Overmanaged ministry
Rather than answer, Wolf tells the story about the man at the restaurant. Wolf rolls on; Shepherd listens.
“My life is almost all about management now. Truly, Pastor Shepherd, I think I’m where God wants me, but it’s just not that satisfying.”
“Tell me Richard. What’s your wife saying these days?”
“Hannah? (He laughs.) I’m expecting a come-to-Jesus talk about our home life any day. She sees me going 24/7, and we’re getting almost no time together. I’ve missed three of my boy’s soccer games.”
John Shepherd looked at him intently. There were things about this young man he instinctively loved. Who could have known that he’d walk in here and become the younger man’s pastor for a few minutes?
“Richard,” he said, “can I talk to you like a father?”
“It’s been a long time (his voice cracks) since anyone talked to me like a father.” The PDA began to chirp. “Ignore it,” Richard said, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Shepherd smiled and said, “Our Lord was pretty busy laying the tracks for the Kingdom, but he still had a nose for pastorable moments. He crashed a funeral, dropped in on Zacchaeus, had a long talk with a fallen woman he met at a well, blessed a bunch of children … all pastorable moments. It’s Jesus telling us how real ministry works.”
“Well if I were in a smaller church …”
“Richard, This isn’t about large or small churches. I’ve had both. It’s about resisting the temptation to lose touch with real people with real issues. If ministry has become all about programs, you’ll dry out.”
“So what should I do?”
“Tell your staff and your elders that you’re no longer going to live by a schedule that isolates you from some of the serendipitous moments in ministry. Tell them you need their support to cut back on the admin meetings and that you need them to flex with you on those occasions when you feel the need to put pastorable moments first. They’ll get used to it.
“And, if I were you, I’d read everything you can about St. Francis. If ever there was a patron saint of pastorable moments, it was he. He was quite clear about the devilish ways of institutionalism. He never stopped hugging lepers and blessing children and finding bread for the poor.”
Finally, reluctantly, Richard stood up. The conversation had been cathartic.
“Could I give you a blessing?” Shepherd asked, and he put both of his hands on the younger man’s shoulders.
When the prayer ended, Wolf said, “After you leave, I’m going to have a conversation with my assistant. I don’t think she’s ever heard the term pastorable moment before.”
“Don’t be surprised if she is less than enthusiastic. The administrators, God bless ’em, won’t let up easily.”
“Tell me,” Wolf said, “What do you think made you come here today? Do you realize that at almost any other time I would not have been available?”
“Well, as I said, I was in the area, and my daughter mentioned your church. I don’t know.” He shrugged as if it were a mystery to him. “I just felt a pastorable moment coming on, and so I said …”
The Palm Pilot chirped again.
Gordon MacDonald will be speaking at the 2004 National Pastors Conventions in Nashville and San Diego. See www.nationalpastorsconvention.com .
Gordon MacDonald is editor at large of Leadership and chair of World Relief.
Copyright © 2004 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information onLeadership Journal.
