Taking advantage of the perks of ministry is one of the best ways to foster healthy attitudes toward the church and ministry.
—Kent Hughes
We moved to College Church when our oldest daughter, now a missionary, was sixteen. Holly hadn’t wanted to come. Understandably she felt robbed of her identity, having been uprooted from her school, the friends she grew up with, and all she knew and loved. Inside she was an angry young girl.
We knew she was angry and discussed it with her, believing it would soon pass. But within her there was a deeper subterranean river of rage that boiled to the surface after a few months. She had huge resentments against me and the church. I may have been “called”—but she wasn’t!
Our sweet daughter, who had never had a rebellious day in her life, became secretive and developed some dangerous relationships that threatened to ruin her life. I actually feared that we might lose her.
At one point, in fact, I began to question my own fitness for ministry—if I failed in parenting, how could I presume to pastor the church?
And what was the cause of this misery? My decision to follow what I believed to be God’s call to uproot my happy family and move 2,000 miles to a radically different community and church and engage in a particularly demanding pastorate. The stress of attempting to meet the needs of my congregation and be an effective father repeatedly brought me to desperation.
Pressures like this—and many more endemic to the pastoral calling—make ministry homes particularly vulnerable, as horror stories of preachers’ kids sadly remind us.
What is the answer? There are, of course, no guarantees. Venture into ministry and you venture into risk. But my wife and I have discovered some attitudes and actions that help the pastor’s family appreciate the ministry and love the church.
Overcoming the Preoccupations
Early in ministry my young family suffered from my preoccupation. The demands of ministry distracted me too easily. I simply could not turn it off when I left the church and went home for the evening. I loved my children and enjoyed them, but nonetheless, I would not be all there sometimes. At supper I would converse, smile, chuckle but inwardly chew on ministry concerns.
Ministry worries didn’t drive me as much as career goals. I yearned to succeed, to prove I was worth something. It got so bad that Barbara finally told me directly, “You need help. You need counseling.”
When you’re in the ministry (a patently spiritual occupation) and in your mid-twenties and trying to be a “man of God,” that’s a humbling thing to hear. But I took her advice and engaged a professional counselor. After a few sessions he said, “Kent, you’re trying to earn self-worth through ministry, and the way you approach life, you wouldn’t feel good enough even if you became President of the United States!”
He was right. I was hooked to a barometer that went up and down with my youth ministry—and that is a wild ride to say the least! If attendance was up one Sunday or I taught an effective Bible study, I felt great. If attendance dropped or a program lagged, I felt bad. I measured myself by ministry performance, subject to the vicissitudes of the church.
If my behavior had affected only me, that would have been bad enough. But my preoccupations impaired my whole family: Barbara sometimes had a distant, disengaged husband; my kids had a benign, empty, ecclesiastical father.
It has not been easy, but over the years I have worked to overcome this attitude. I now maximize my ministry time and work efficiently so I don’t feel guilty about unfinished work when I go home. On a recent New Year’s Day, I remembered I had a load of work waiting at the office. But I pushed the thought completely away, reminding myself of my blessed “obligation” to relax with my family, which I wholeheartedly did.
Barbara also helped me focus on my family when I was home. She made our evening meal a sacred family time. When our family was young, we took the phone off the hook so we could converse without interruptions. Barbara and I would ask each other and the kids a hundred questions. We’d find out what had been happening in each of our lives, making each one feel what they were to us: special.
I have also learned to ask myself, “When I’m no longer pastor here, what will be the things that endure?” After all, on the flow of this church’s history, I’m just a blip. (I’d like to think I am more than that, but that’s it.) Pastors come and go, and the church goes on.
What will endure are my relationships with my wife and children. They will never come and go. That means coming home at five o’clock regularly (there are exceptions, of course!) and with enough energy left to be fully present.
Barbara and I set a goal for ourselves when we were in our twenties: “We’re going to be great grandparents,” we said. That goal influenced the way we raised our children, because it gave us a long-term perspective. Now we’re grandparents, and we love it! If I had a church of 4,000 but unfulfilling relationships with my children or my wife, it would all be ashes to me.
Sorting Through the Expectations
Raising kids is hard enough without any extra pressure. But like many pastoral families, some people expect pastors’ children to act better than their own—as if the atmosphere of the parsonage had mystical powers. My well-behaved kids were somehow supposed to validate my ministry. Barbara and I decided, however, we weren’t going to let concern for our reputation determine what we would do with our kids.
Some raised their eyebrows when I let my 13-year-old son William Carey be deejay for school dances. He’d wear a fedora and purple tie and think he was really great. Those who didn’t approve of rock music wanted my family to abide by their values.
Since Carey wasn’t doing anything illegal, immoral, or for that matter, unbiblical, I stuck to my decision. I didn’t want my children to grow up feeling they were living in a pastoral strait-jacket. I wanted them to understand that any restrictions I imposed on them arose from my personal convictions, not my vocation.
Later, when Carey was a senior in high school and his soccer team went to the regional playoffs, the team members decided to have their ears pierced and don a team earring. Some churched and unchurched parents objected, but I did not. Again, it was not a moral or biblical issue. As Christians we have to say no to enough things, so Barbara and I decided to say yes to as many things as possible, saving our noes for the truly important things. Today the earring is long gone. But my son’s heart is with me.
When our children were small, we were strict; we held the reins close. As they grew older, we wanted them to give the Lord control of their lives, and we realized they couldn’t give to the Lord what wasn’t theirs. So we gradually gave them the reins to their lives, hoping and praying they would turn them over to the Lord.
We didn’t always approve of what they did, and we often told them why. But little by little we increasingly let them make their own choices. They made a lot of mistakes, but they learned. And best, they were given their own chance to give the reins of their lives to the Lord.
I believe that risky but necessary process would have been jeopardized had we allowed some members’ expectations to dictate our children’s behavior.
Them or Us?
We wanted our children to develop healthy attitudes toward the church. So when I was working, Barbara would never tell the children, “Dad’s at church.” She would always say, “Dad’s at work”—just like everybody else’s father. She didn’t want them thinking church was taking their dad away from them. If I had to be gone, let work be the reason.
She also accentuated the positive side of ministry. “Aren’t we lucky?” she’d say. “So-and-so’s dad is a trucker (or a salesman or whatever) and has to be gone so often. Our dad’s a pastor, and he can be home to eat dinner with us every night!”
In fact, taking advantage of the perks of ministry is one of the best ways to foster healthy attitudes toward church and ministry.
For instance, one of those perks is access to church facilities, like the church gym. My boys regularly came to me for the gym key and took their friends over to play basketball. But the deacons, properly concerned about kids hurting themselves without adult supervision, decided that no teenagers should use the gym after office hours or when no adult was present.
Here was potential for huge resentment, I felt. So I had some private conversations, made some guarantees, laid some rules out for the boys, and they continued to enjoy their privilege. If I had not gone to bat for them, little resentments against the church could have started to build.
I also tried to take advantage of speaking engagements. On some I would take one of my children along—it was a great time to be together. On others I was able to arrange trips for my entire family, like the time I exchanged pulpits with a pastor in Boston, and on July fourth weekend no less. That weekend—with accommodations on the Boston Common, fife and drum parades, the booming salutes of muskets, a stroll along the Charles River, John Williams conducting the 1812 Overture with the Boston Pops on the Esplanade, complete with booming howitzers on the Charles—was one of our most memorable family trips. We saw fireworks in Boston because I was a pastor.
Pastors’ children also get more positive attention than most, and that we never discouraged. Especially when I did youth or college ministry, my children were always included. During Saturday night college Bible study in our house, for instance, we’d have sixty collegians, and each of our children would be in someone’s lap, just basking in the attention.
Another perk I gave my children was open access to me. If after school they stopped by the office, it didn’t matter who was with me, my staff let them in to see me. They didn’t abuse the privilege, but once in a while they would strut in. It was a small privilege that signaled they mattered to me more than the church.
A few years ago we returned to visit the church where our children spent their childhood. When we pulled up to the front, a flood of memories swept over us. Our boys were surprised to see the courtyard they played in and said, “Our soccer field, it’s so small.” It was the church’s, of course, but they said “ours.” We encouraged that sense of ownership. We wanted them to feel they were part of things, that they belonged.
Since we took advantage of such perks of ministry, our children ended up thinking of the church and ministry more as friends of the family.
Juggling Time and Schedule
The pastor’s busy schedule can take a toll on the family. “Normal” people unwind on weekends; pastors are getting keyed up. For others, Christmas and Easter are relaxed family times; for us, they’re intense work periods. Since I cannot escape such liabilities, I’ve tried to balance them with one key asset of ministry: I can virtually schedule anything I want. The pastor’s schedule may be abnormal, but it’s also flexible.
For example, in my early ministry years, I’d visit the grade school once a month and take one of my children out for lunch. In fact, their friends would be jealous because my kids were “so lucky to get out of school!” It was a big deal for my kids—and me.
Barbara also helped me with this. She alerted me well ahead of time so I could put the children’s recitals and school programs on my calendar. When my children’s programs conflicted with regularly scheduled church board meetings, I would either reschedule the church meeting, attend late, or on infrequent occasions, simply not attend the meeting. Rather than engendering criticism, I more often received affirmation: “I’m glad our pastor has his priorities in order.” (Besides, I was happy to learn that the church’s leadership could do quite well without my presence!)
I also learned to work my schedule to my family’s advantage. For example, when I pastored in California, we would sometimes take the family for an early morning hike in “Wilderness Park,” a park in the nearby foothills, and cook breakfast outdoors before we dropped the children off at school. These fondly remembered times interfered with no one’s schedule and gave the whole family a great start on the day. Occasionally Barbara and I even took them out of school to go to the beach. (You can’t let school stand in the way of an education!)
Other families can do such things on Saturdays, but my schedule allowed me to make those times a little more special.
Processing Criticism
Recently at a holiday gathering, Barbara and I were reminiscing with our children about our early ministry, and to their surprise, we alluded to some difficulties in one of our parishes. “Dad, you’re kidding!” they chorused, “We had no idea.”
They were incredulous at what they learned: a few prominent families in our congregation had been seduced by a cultish legalism. They had rules about child discipline, dress styles, women’s hair, and even men’s beards and mustaches (a mustache was a sure sign that one had sensual problems!). Some even questioned the wearing of polyester and cotton blends (cf. Lev. 19:19).
For months, I had to endure weekly adrenaline-pumping confrontations and some comic opera (what about mixed fabrics? Good grief!), which left both Barbara and me drained and wounded.
Much of Barbara’s and my time together was dominated by our concern, and we often privately discussed the problem at great length. But we never shared the details with our children, because we realized that ministry families are especially vulnerable. Children don’t have the capacity to understand relational subtleties or the experience to put such wrongs in perspective.
It’s not that we acted like pastoral Pollyannas, whitewashing everything, wearing a perpetual Mona Lisa smile. But we did follow three guidelines:
1. Refrain from talking about church problems or people in front of our children. This included not using sarcasm, biting humor, wry smiles, and knowing glances between us at the mention of a sore spot or a troublesome name.
2. Speak lovingly and respectfully of our congregation, even the disordered personalities.
3. When children realize something is wrong (when people leave the church unhappily, for example), talk about it on a level they can understand and without rancor or bitterness.
As our children matured, they were able to keep things in perspective. Then criticism and difficulties were used as times of instruction about how to act in love during a dispute.
Today my children sometimes challenge me. “Dad, I think you need to watch your attitude about those people.” Gulp! Nice role reversal!
Not Acting Poor
I guarded my family from other kinds of resentments as well. There were times, for example, when we lived on the economic edge. We had four children in five years—and this before I was 26 (not the way to the “Fortune 500”)! No matter how much we struggled, however, we never bemoaned our finances. Our children felt secure even when their parents didn’t.
It was important to me that my children not become resentful over petty material things. I didn’t want them blaming the church for not paying Dad enough. One Christian leader experienced grinding poverty during his child-rearing years. But all along he said he piously reminded his children that the family was doing without because they were “serving Jesus.” He confided to me that this had laid the foundation for his children’s later tragic rebellion.
Barbara and I concentrated on making the most of what we had and saved diligently for special purchases or activities. We always made family vacations extra special. We saved as a family so we could have our annual two weeks in a spacious rental on Newport Beach’s beautiful Balboa Island. What marvelous memories: “The sea rhythmic in platinum and blue,” I write after one trip to San Onofre. “My daughter’s hair more radiant than any jeweler’s creation.”
Also, although we could never dress our kids in the latest labels, we made sure they weren’t embarrassed about what they wore to school.
The central question for me is. How do I view life? Materialists come in every economic bracket. A poor minister can be caught up by materialism more than a wealthy man. I knew my attitude about finances would affect my kids’ attitudes about the church and God. So ultimately I tried to model contentment for them. I wanted them to see we are blessed when we have a lot, and we are also blessed when we do not.
Patience with Kids
As a pastor, I’m geared to work for and expect change. But it’s risky to expect too much too soon, especially with my children. I have to remember parenting is a process.
I know one pastor whose son struggled with doubts, almost driving his parents to distraction with his repeated questions: “What is truth? Who is God?” His parents could have either panicked or believed that God was with their son in the process. They chose to trust. “If you’re seriously wondering about it,” they’d say, calling his bluff, “why don’t you try being a Buddhist?”
They told him they were so convinced that Christianity is the only way, they were willing to let their son give it the ultimate test. They believed God was bigger than their son’s questions. They knew God was at work in his life, so they loved him and met him where he was. The last I heard, he was still struggling, but the young man was thinking about becoming a missionary!
God has a timetable for each one of us. He’s going to work differently in one person than in another. If I panic when my children go through doubts or trouble, I may circumvent the very thing God wants to do in their lives. If I obtrusively try to solve their problems or get them straightened out, I may prevent the mysterious ways of God. Like fruit that needs time to ripen, children need time for God’s process in their lives. And I’ve found tree-ripened fruit tastes best.
A disproportionate number of ministers’ children have become accomplished pastors, politicians, writers, educators, doctors, and scientists—people who have contributed much to humanity. They grew in rich soil where issues were discussed and life had a purpose. They saw the dynamics of human relationships.
But it’s also true that a disproportionate number of ministry children have achieved infamy. The pastor’s home has potential to launch people both ways. Jesse James and James Dobson are both products of a ministry home.
Barbara and I were not super parents. We didn’t have all the answers. But we loved our children and did our best. We blundered through many things, but we survived, and through God’s grace and faithfulness have four remarkable children.
Several years ago, when the youngest of our children was a senior in high school, I took all our children out to dinner with the purpose of finding out how they felt about growing up in a pastor’s home.
“Did you ever wish I’d done something else? That I’d never been a pastor?” I asked.
They were unanimous: “No. We can’t imagine you doing anything else, nor have we ever wanted you to.”
They considered themselves privileged to have been raised in a pastor’s home. They liked hearing me preach. They appreciated the many people they met through the years. They liked the fun things ministry allowed our family to do. They said they enjoyed being a part of the ministry. Today they love God and his church.
It was a holy moment, and we thanked God.
Copyright © 1991 by Christianity Today
