As we drove home from the annual convention, Jim turned to me and said, “Pastor, you’re my best friend.”
I was stunned. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing, keeping my eyes on the road ahead of me. I knew Jim wanted me to affirm him as “my best friend, too,” but I couldn’t. I was his pastor and his supervisor, but I wasn’t sure I could be his best friend.
Or wanted to.
Jim’s future in ministry was on the line. More than a friend, he needed a pastor. It became my calling to help Jim find his fit in ministry.
Jim was my first associate. He came straight out of seminary, bringing a wife and children. He came highly recommended and full of bright ideas. Calling an additional minister was an act of faith for our small congregation, but we were confident the investment would strengthen the ministry.
I had great expectations of Jim, but most were soon dashed. I never expected anyone to need so much attention and affirmation. I hadn’t found a colleague; I had a new puppy.
Likeable and Destructive
At first Jim seemed to work well with others. He was jovial and good-natured. But it became apparent that he had some serious people-skill issues. Soon I was scrambling to put out relational fires that he was setting.
On one occasion Jim confronted a faithful and at one time very active congregant. The member’s father had suffered with cancer for two years, requiring a lot of personal care.
Two weeks after the funeral, Jim told the member that he needed to examine his commitment to the church and get over his father’s death. The amazing thing to me was Jim’s inability to see that as a mistake. That was his pattern.
Another time one of our senior ladies, who headed up our food pantry, came to church on Saturday afternoon to do some straightening of our supplies. She stopped at Jim’s house nearby to ask if he could open the building for her. He informed her that Saturday was his day off and he was busy.
I learned of this months later at a senior adults meeting. As the lady told the story, I slumped deeper into my seat, praying for her tale to end. She concluded, “So I guess we’ve got ourselves another one of those do-nothing ministers.” I could see Jim’s future: angry church members would rise up with torches and pitchforks to slay the monster. I wondered if Frankenstein had a senior pastor.
Then there was the incident with the napkin.
I had asked for a breakdown of his budget to present to the church business session. We were meeting on a Sunday afternoon. Jim came into my office that morning, his numbers scribbled on a restaurant napkin, which he handed to me. I was shocked. Then angry. “Jim, do you honestly expect me to accept this?”
“Well,” he replied, “we were out to dinner last night, and I had forgotten all about the budget presentation today, so I thought I would jot down some numbers for you.” I told him he had four hours to make the numbers presentable. He acted offended when I handed the napkin back.
His best friend? I could not be his best friend. Friends don’t treat friends to this kind of foolishness. And pastors don’t let it go on uncorrected.
What’s Better than Best?
Jim needed someone to look him in the eye and tell him the truth. I had two choices. The first was the simplest: fire Jim (in the nicest possible way, of course, since this is a church). My other choice was to help Jim grow in ministry.
A friend of mine suggested that during our staff meetings we should work through some leadership material together, some book that would help Jim understand the importance of trust and teamwork and would speak directly to the people skills issue.
So I brought a couple of texts to our next meeting and together we selected one. Week by week we worked through the chapters. As we studied together, marvelous things happened, not only to Jim, but to me. I began to realize that my role as pastor was central to his success or failure as a minister.
The young man could leave our church and find another position with no problem. It might even be a bigger setting than ours, and the pastor might not have patience with a green staff member.
Jim’s future in ministry was on the line. More than a friend, Jim needed a pastor.
First we had to lay aside unrealistic expectations. Jim had envisioned becoming the independent super-minister empowered by his seminary degree. That was storybook stuff. But I, too, had hoped for far more than a young minister could deliver. I was forced to consider my own role in Jim’s failures. I expected too much and explained too little. Seeing myself through Jim’s eyes, I also fell short of the expectations of others. This—more humble and realistic—was a better starting place for both of us.
If Jim couldn’t do all that I hoped, what could he do?
One of Jim’s strengths was dealing with the contractors the church employed from time to time. No matter the job, I placed Jim in charge. He always made sure that it was done on time and under budget. He haggled over labor, price, procedure, time spent on the job. Jim was tenacious. The people who worked for us were concerned about keeping Jim happy, but I never had a minute’s worry. I learned that leading means helping others maximize their strengths.
As our relationship developed, my role as his pastor grew. I continually sought the Lord on Jim’s behalf. It became my calling to help Jim find his fit in ministry and to learn the culture of our congregation.
We talked a great deal about the proper use of personal time and casual relationships. I helped him cultivate friendships with other men who modeled healthy marriages and godly money management.
Jim confided some difficult family issues he and his wife faced. By his openness, he was inviting me to help him through these conflicts. The Lord gave me an assignment to care for that family in ways I never could have with other members of the congregation.
Best friends? This was more important than that.
A Good Good-Bye
Eventually Jim moved on to another ministry. His departure was healthy and affirming to him and for our congregation.
The church held a farewell dinner marked by the usual things: Aunt Vergie’s apple pies, gallons of hot coffee, and warm conversation. But I noticed something else that night.
I was moved by the number of testimonies about the impact of Jim’s ministry. One member after another told how Jim had served in times of need. As the tears of thanksgiving and well wishes flowed, I suddenly realized how much he had grown. Jim had endeared himself to this congregation in spite of the bumps along the way.
What a wonderful grace Jim had been for me and for our small congregation. We were never “best friends” as Jim intended the term.
We were better than best friends.
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