A GOOD PASTOR

I have never been called to serve as the pastor of a perfect church. But that is okay since none of the congregations I have been called to serve were calling a perfect pastor. I wasn’t perfect before they called me, I didn’t become perfect when I served the church and I didn’t become perfect when I left the congregation. There are some pastors who manage to achieve perfection—but only a few years after they have left the congregation and when succeeding pastors have more glaring weaknesses than they had. But while hindsight might make a pastor look perfect, that is more a case of selective remembering than actual reality.

Like congregations, pastors are not perfect. We are called, we are forgiven, we are gifted—but we are not perfect. We pick up our calling and carry it out with a confusing blend of good and bad that can be wildly infuriating to both pastor and congregation. We provide the absolutely perfect ministry that changes a life one minute and the next, we drive three other people to question not just our call but our basic faith.

When congregations forget that pastors aren’t perfect, all sorts of problems develop. Congregations forget to test the spirits, as I John 4.1 tells us. This allows us as pastors to operate without accountability—and the worst thing we can give to an imperfect individual is a freedom from accountability. With no accountability, we have no reason to see or acknowledge or deal with our imperfections. Generally, lack of accountability results in increased imperfection, not less imperfection.

When congregations forget that pastors aren’t perfect, it become very traumatic when the real imperfections manifest themselves. While some congregation members can and will ignore any and all imperfections, most people will eventually discover the pastor whom they thought was perfect isn’t perfect and that will create all sorts of responses, from mild irritation to rejection of the church to rejection of the faith.

When pastors forget that pastors aren’t perfect, the consequences are even worse. When we pastors forget that we don’t have it all together, we then begin to minister from our imperfection, not from our commitment to God. Our desire for power gets wrapped in “doing God’s will”; our need for approval overshadows the need to speak the truth of God; our desire for affection rewrites the moral standards of the faith. We end up hurting not just ourselves but the wider church. Our imperfections can often become the institutionalized dysfunction of the congregation or denomination.

So, let me be clear. Pastors are not perfect—nor will we be perfect this side of eternity. And since that someday perfection simply isn’t the reality here and now, we pastors need to learn to minister as imperfect people and congregations need to accept the reality that their pastor isn’t perfect and won’t be perfect—and wasn’t actually perfect in the case of former pastors.

How do we imperfect pastors minister to imperfect congregations? I think we start with honesty. It isn’t quite the blind leading the blind—but is the imperfect pastoring the imperfect. If we all start there, then we can become mutually accountable and responsible. As an imperfect pastor of an imperfect congregation, I need to make sure that both I and the congregation are willing to commit proper time and resources to seeking the leading from the Perfect that we need. My latest and greatest idea that will revitalize our church and change the face of Christianity needs the careful and prayerful consideration of the congregation to make sure it isn’t actually an expression of my imperfection wrapped in a few decontextualized Scriptures. While I am called to be their pastor, I am not called to be their boss or dictator. Rather, both pastor and congregation are called to mutual responsibility and accountability as we together seek to offer our imperfection to God so that he can bring us all closer to what we are meant to be.

The churches I have been called to serve as pastor didn’t get a perfect pastor when they called me. But then again, they didn’t have one before I arrived (no matter what the older members say) and they won’t have one after I leave. As long as I and the congregation remember that, we are better able to seek God’s perfection to deal with our imperfection.

May the peace of God be with you.

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A GOOD CHURCH

I have never been called to serve as the pastor of a perfect church. In fact, sometimes, I have found myself called to churches which were struggling with some serious dysfunction. I have also had contact with a lot of other churches over the years and have yet to find a perfect church. Because of the nature of the connections I have had with many congregations, I have often ended up discovering the hidden dysfunction in even the best of churches.

Now, I want to be clear at this point—I don’t go looking for the problems in various congregations. I am actually not overly interested in the internal dynamics of other congregations—most of the time, it takes most of my energy and ambition to cope with the realities of the congregations that I have been called to serve. But because I have taught pastors, written about the struggles of small churches and been the pastor of churches with open problems, I have learned much more about many congregations than I want to know.

The end result of all this experience with churches is the depressing insight that there are no perfect churches. That might seem like a totally unnecessary statement of the obvious to some people. But I think many people pay lip service to the imperfection of churches while at the same time assuming that the congregation they are part of or want to be part of is somehow an exception to the rule. Whatever the reason, there are plenty of believers out there looking for the perfect congregation.

To those of you still looking, let me be clear: there are no perfect churches. They don’t exist. Every Christian congregation in the world is going to be a confusing blend of good and bad; right and wrong; inspiring and depressing; perfection and imperfection. The congregation that produces the deeply spiritual Good Friday worship will also discriminate against some people groups. The congregation that condemns any deviation from their norms loudly and publically will also love and care for their disabled members in ways that put others to shame.

No matter what the congregation looks like from the outside, once you become a part of it, you will see both the good and the bad. Well, actually, you might see both, although there is a more than even chance that you will only see one or the other. We human beings are prone to selective vision so we can and do block out the parts we don’t want to see. But if we are honest with ourselves, we will soon discover that the great congregation has some serious problems and the dysfunctional congregation has some seriously good expressions of the faith.

There are no perfect Christian congregations. There are just gatherings of believers who are trying to work at and work out their faith in the context of a Christian community. Running through the whole of the New Testament is the assumption that believers will form communities and that these communities, which we call churches, will be imperfect expressions of the ideal that the New Testament writers keep pointing is towards. Many of the letters in the New Testament were actually written in response to the lack of perfection in various congregations.

Very early in ministry, I realized some implications of the lack of perfect congregations. If there are no perfect congregations, I will never be called to one—and even more importantly, I will never create one. My ministry goal isn’t to create a perfect congregation but to work with the imperfect congregation I have been called to so that together, we can overcome some of the imperfection and dysfunction and become a better congregation—not a perfect one but a better one. And the goal of every member of every congregation should be the same. We become part of a congregation and seek to use our gifts to make an imperfect gathering a better gathering, all the while recognizing that we are never going to be perfect.

Rather than look for a different congregation when we see the problems in the one we are at—or give up on the church completely, as some have done, our response to the reality of imperfection in the church probably needs to be confession of our part in the imperfection, acceptance of the reality of the imperfection and commitment to doing what we can to make things better. We might never become a perfect church but we can become a good church.

May the peace of God be with you.

WRONG TIME, WRONG PLACE

I am feeling a bit down on myself right now. For some reason, I have ended up in a couple of situations saying things that probably would have been better left unsaid. What I actually said wasn’t false, it wasn’t malicious and it didn’t cause any harm—but all the same, it was probably the wrong things to say in the context where I said it. Nobody was upset by what I said and there were no serious consequences. But I recognized that somehow, I had crossed a line I don’t normally cross.

The fact that I did it once would be unusual but I actually went too far twice—in different contexts and about different things but both times, I realized that I said too much to the wrong people. That by itself is somewhat surprising. I am an introvert with a very strong listening gift, which means that most times in a group setting, I am the one in the group who is helping everyone else talk and share. I am also often the one people look at when they are sharing something difficult or painful.

But here I was in the group talking—and talking too much, taking the group in a very different direction than our stated purpose and in the process giving people too much information that they really didn’t need and which wasn’t all that helpful in the context. I am feeling kind of something which although I can’t exactly describe is somewhat negative.

My first response was to do what I always do when something isn’t right: I analyse. I needed to know what prompted the over sharing. Interestingly enough, each infraction had a different reason. In the first case, our group was given a discussion question that I couldn’t answer for a variety of reasons. Instead of letting the group carry on, I blurted out my inability and essentially stopped the group process. I am pretty sure that that was result of being tired and therefore less able to discipline myself—my normally efficient self-censor was off taking a nap.

The second time was different. Someone asked me a question and in the process of answering, I went a bit too far. I knew a lot about the question they asked and once started on the answer, the teacher inside kicked into gear and I kept going after I had given the questioner everything they wanted to know—and then I proceeded to give them lots that they didn’t want or need to know. Sometimes, my teacher likes showing off.

So, different reasons for the same behaviour. Given that there were no negative consequences that amounted to anything, it might seem like I am making a mountain out of a mole-hill. But I like to understand what I am doing and why I am doing it. It is part of my continual growth emotionally and spiritually. Knowing why I do what I do, or knowing as much as I can about why I do what I do is important to my continued growth.

I don’t want to go with the flow and not understand myself. I want to know what rough edges still need sanding, what holes need patching, what weak spots need shoring up. I think that is all part of personal and spiritual growth. Yes, I am what I am—but my faith teaches me that I am not what I could be. God loves me as I am—but he also loves me enough to encourage and help me to become what I can be.

And it is important to me to be involved personally in the development process that God has going on in my life. I believe I went too far both times. I see something that I need to work on. I don’t think I am a failure or a hopeless case. I goofed. I messed up. What now?

Well, I figured out what went wrong. God has already forgiven me. I can and will forgive me. And together, God and I will move on, continuing to work at the project of helping me become what God knows I can become. I hope I won’t make those same mistakes again—but if I do, well, God’s grace is big enough to deal with it.

May the peace of God be with you.

I DID IT AGAIN

For just the second time in my 45+ years of ministry, I walked out of a worship service. Given that I was conducting the worship service both times, these mark two very significant events. Let me say that I didn’t walk our because I disagreed with the leader/preacher—I was the leader preacher.

Not did I leave because I was upset with the music or the singers. We have a small church but our musicians are dedicated and do a good job every week. I wasn’t fighting with anyone in the congregation and they weren’t fighting with me. No, the reason I walked out of worship was simple—both times, I was sick and realized that if I stayed in the pulpit, I would pass out. The first time, I realized this after the invocation prayer. This last time, it occurred three minutes into the sermon.

Both times, the congregations were deeply concerned and understanding. I had lots of offers for a drive home. No one was upset in least. But both times, I left the worship and headed for home, I felt guilty. But this last event reminded me of something I know but need have reinforced now and then.

Worship is an important part of my faith and the faith of the people I serve. I work hard to prepare for worship—not just the sermon but everything. I spend time on prayers, make sure the worship theme is clear and understandable, pay attention to transitions. Leading this group of people in worship is an awesome responsibility, one that I work hard at—and which always takes a lot of energy.

Both times I left worship, I knew I was feeling sort of miserable but not all that bad. I was able to function and didn’t have any serious symptoms. But when I was standing in the pulpit, I became aware of just how much energy this activity required—much more than I had available at the time. I think I could have easily managed a lot of other activities: reading, watching TV, cooking a meal and so on. But leading worship and preaching—the energy demand was well beyond what I had available at that point in time.

I know that worship is a corporate activity and I know that the Holy Spirit ultimately directs our worship. But I am the designated worship leader and preacher and because I take that set of responsibilities seriously, it demands a lot of energy. I have to be willing to focus on the worshippers; seek to be open to the Spirit, make sure that everyone hears what I am saying, keep my tablet on the right place in the order of service and critique my process on the fly.

It might be possible to lead worship and preach without such involvement. My guess is that there are people out there for whom the process isn’t demanding and taxing. I have heard hints and stories that suggest to me that this is the case. But I am not able to do that. If I am going to follow the sacred calling to lead worship and preach, I am going to give it my best, which is demanding and requires a great deal of energy. My commitment to the people whom I serve, my calling and God himself demand that I treat what I am doing with respect and reverence.

And so, when I can’t carry out the duties I have been called to, I feel a bit guilty. I feel I cheated the people I serve both times. They came expecting to worship God and perhaps to hear a message from God for their lives. They have a right to expect that. I couldn’t do what I was called to do or what they were expecting. I failed those times.

Fortunately, we serve a God of love and grace and forgiveness, who doesn’t hold grudges and doesn’t require detentions. I failed to do what I was called to do—but God has already forgiven me. The people I serve are more concerned with my health than with my failure. And me—well, the bug was short lived and after an evening of vegging in front of the TV and a good night’s sleep, I am doing much better, which is a good thing since I have to conduct a funeral today.

May the peace of God be with you.

GOING BACK

Like a good many other people today, I am deeply concerned about the present and future of the Church in the west. I became involved in the church in the late 1950s as a Sunday School student so I remember a different church era. Those were the last of the glory days of the church—the days when Sunday School was a part of every kid’s life; when every almost adult attended worship at some point; when faith leaders were respected and consulted; when it seemed that the Kingdom of God had arrived in its fullness.

My whole ministry has been spent dealing with the reality of the western Church’s downward spiral. I have ministered to declining congregation that decline even in the face of new believers joining. Although there are some bright spots in the North American church scene, overall, the picture isn’t great—the Church is losing ground and only the most naïve refuse to see that this is a serious problem.

While there is much that can be and should be said about this whole painful situation, one particular aspect of it caught my eye again recently. Given the level of concern about the state of the Church, it is not surprising that many people are writing and speaking about this issue. And among the myriad of writers and speakers, there is one group whose approach I find equally fascinating and annoying. This is the group who wants to solve the whole thing by going back.

There is generally one key thing that needs to be changed back to the way it was that will wipe out the whole problem. The decline of the Church began with that one change and all we need to do is go back to what was and the decline will magically disappear. Over the years, I have been told that once we get prayer back in our schools, all will be well. Others suggest that we need to go back to the days when Christian men were men and Christian women were women. Or, as some suggest, if we allow parents to really parent, things will change.

A few have some more disputed suggestions. Getting rid of new music in favour of real Christian music has its supporters. The proliferation of translations and paraphrases in English is the problem for others—going back to the real Bible, the KJV, will fix everything. Occasionally, I run into someone who suggests that the problem is that hell has been removed from the preaching and if we would give people more hell, the church would flourish.

There are lots of other suggestions of things from the past to bring back—but the painful reality is that if any of these suggestions were the reason, we would be seeing results. Every suggestion has people trying to bring it back—and the results are almost uniformly underwhelming.

I think that the problem is bigger than we want to realize. Somewhere along the way, the Church in the west has lost its way. There isn’t one mistake or change or event that we can point to as the essential problem. I think we have made a bunch of mistakes, we have shot ourselves in the foot too many times, we have missed people too much for any one thing to be both the problem and the solution.

In fact, I don’t really think that there is a solution, at least not one that will magically fix the whole church. The decline of the Church and the Christian faith in the west is the result of uncounted mistakes, issues and even sins, so many that church historians will had doctoral thesis topics and book themes for centuries.

But I am not without hope. The future of the Church doesn’t actually depend on what its theorists and pastors and theologians think and do. The Church depends of the power of the risen, living Christ expressed through the presence and leading of the Holy Spirit. God will take care of the Church—even a quick glance at church history shows how the Church has defied every attempt to destroy it.

It is God’s church and he will care for it. We might have created the mess—but in the end, God is and will be working in, through and even around us to accomplish his goals for us, churches and the Church.

May the peace of God be with you.

NO PHONE

I have been having some medical issues and therefore have to go for lots of medical appointments. Since most of the people I need to see are specialists who live and work at least 100 kms away, that means a lot of driving. So, my last appointment with one place was scheduled early in the morning, which meant I had to get up and leave early, which messed up my normally relaxed morning routine.

Rather than a leisurely breakfast while checking news headlines and glancing at email, followed by some initial work before getting dressed, I had to be up, have breakfast, dressed and out of the house in a half an hour. I can do that—I have done it lots of times. But the reality of the rushing is that I sometimes forget stuff. Once, on such a rushed morning departure, I forgot my wallet. Since then, I specifically check that I have my wallet.

So, wallet firmly in hand (or pocket, rather), I hobbled to the car and headed out. Fifteen minutes down the road, I realized that while I had my wallet, I didn’t have my phone. I contemplated turning around but the travel calculation didn’t work: fifteen minutes back, five minutes to find the phone, fifteen minutes back to this exact spot would make me late for the appointment. So, I kept going—after all, I had made this trip countless times before cell phones and should be able to make it today.

Except, well, if I was going there for the appointment, there was some shopping that needed to be done—and the shopping list was on the phone. So were the directions to the place where the appointment was, although since I had been there before, I wasn’t worried about that. I was concerned about the roadwork along the way—if I got stopped for too long, I couldn’t really let them know I would be a bit late.

I fretted and fussed about the lack of a phone for most of the trip—actually, I didn’t completely relax until I got home and retrieved the phone. Even though I remembered everything on the shopping list, found the place, didn’t have to call about being late and there were no missed calls or texts while I was away, I wasn’t completely comfortable making the trip without my phone.

I am not really sure what to think about that. As I mentioned, the trip I was making was a common and familiar one for me—one that I had probably made more times without a phone than with one—and many of those trips were made in cars that were a lot less reliable than my current Jeep. For years, grocery and todo lists resided in my pocket on their own piece of paper, not on my phone. For many years, being in the car on a trip was a perfectly understandable and valid excuse for missing a phone call.

But once I got a cell phone, it simply felt wrong to be out of contact. Even more, it felt uncomfortable making even a familiar trip without the phone. I have become so habituated to the phone that I even keep a charging cable in the car, just for those rare moments when the phone needs a charge while I am on the road. I specifically looked for a car with Bluetooth capability so I could safely use the phone in the car.

Like many people, I have become dependent on technology and am very uncomfortable without it. I love the ability to call from anywhere, to look up a Bible verse anytime, to write notes, take pictures, check email all from one tiny piece of equipment. I even have a back up of my sermon on the phone when I preach in case the primary tech, my tablet, has problems during worship.

I really don’t know if that is a good thing or a bad thing—it just is. I am pretty sure that when people first started experimenting with writing, someone complained that people would not be able to remember stuff any more—but the people who caught on to the writing would likely just make sure that they remembered the (clay) tablet with their grocery list on it.

Now when I leave in a rush, I check my wallet pocket and my phone pocket. Technology has changed me but as long as I remember the wallet and phone, I don’t have a big problem with that.

May the peace of God be with you.

WHAT DO I DO?

I had my dream job: I was teaching in Kenya, helping prepare students for ministry in a growing, independent denomination. I was teaching in English but had ample opportunity to use Kiswahili. Everything was great except for the fact that I didn’t seem to be able to establish a comfortable working relationship with the mission board leadership. Eventually, things got to the point where we were fired.

I was deeply hurt. I crashed into a depression which was made worse by the fact that very few churches want to call a pastor who was getting close to retirement age. My pain and hurt and disappointment and depression were deep and strong and more than I wanted to deal with. I wanted to finish my ministry teaching others some of the things I had learned over the years—but instead, I was unemployed and perhaps even unemployable.

I found myself sometimes engaged in an interesting process. I wanted the whole mission board leadership to fall apart. Their mishandling of the situation would be discovered, they would be fired, I would be vindicated and offered the job of rebuilding the whole thing. I would, of course, refuse to accept the job, preferring to see the whole thing crash and burn. If I was going to have to feel pain, they should also feel the pain.

It was a pleasant fantasy that got me through more than a few difficult nights. But I was never tempted to make it more than a fantasy. While having the whole leadership become unemployed and the whole organization come crashing down might have seemed like a fitting response to my pain, even if that had happened, I would still have been unemployed in Canada, not teaching in Kenya and more importantly, still dealing with as much pain.

I made a decision very early in the pain management process that I think was God-inspired—it certainly didn’t originate with me. I decided that I was going to let them go their way and I was going to go my way. I would speak neither for nor against them. The painful process we were involved in was done and in the past—nothing was going to change that.

By helping me accepting that reality and focus on dealing with my pain and hurt, I think I was given a gift of grace. God showed me a better way. Rather than try to make others feel pain, I was given the grace to see and feel and deal with my pain. This grace kept me where I needed to be—dealing with what I could deal with. I couldn’t change the decision that brought us home. I couldn’t alleviate my pain by causing others pain. I couldn’t bring peace by stirring up trouble for others.

I could, with the grace of God, see and deal with my pain. As I waded through depression and hurt and confusion, I was able to see how much I was hurt, why I was hurting, how the hurt was affecting the rest of my life. I was also able to see the grace that God was setting before me through empathetic friends, concerned pastors, even inspired strangers. God was and is at work, helping me not only see the reality of the pain I was experiencing but also helping me see that through his graceful presence, I could deal with the pain.

I was able to see how my personality interacted poorly with the corporate culture I was trying to work in. I was able to understand that when one thing falls apart, God in his grace has a plan B or C. I was able to see that in the power of God’s presence, I could live in spite of the hurt. I learned to deal with the pain in the way it needed to be dealt with. It is and was my pain and I needed to deal with it internally. Fortunately, I had the grace and presence of God to help me in the process.

I still am aware of the pain that came from the whole event. But I am doing okay—I am not depressed, I am involved in what I see as an important ministry and I am at peace. The mission board hasn’t collapsed and they haven’t offered me the job of reforming it but that really doesn’t matter—with God’s grace, I learned to deal with the pain.

May the peace of God be with you.

DISAPPOINTMENT

I was having a discussion with a friend a while ago—so long ago that I can’t remember most of the details. I think it was with someone involved in ministry and we may have been having coffee together I do remember that the conversation turned to the issue of disappointment, specifically disappointment with people who do something that goes against our hopes, expectations and desires for and about them.

While I know that this is a real issue in all aspects of life, for those of us involved in ministry, it can be an all too common and deeply painful reality. The dedicated church member whose faith is growing and developing and who is set to make a significant impact on the whole church and even beyond decides that his love of gambling is more important than anything in his life. The individual who is being groomed and prepared to take over from the retiring deacons decides that really, the job isn’t for her. The member of the youth group who shows such promise and is actually entertaining a call to ministry decides that a career in IT will be more fun and pay better. The pastor friend who decides that having a sexual relationship with the church organist is worth more than the call of God. In ministry, we face the reality of disappointment on a regular basis as people make choices that are clearly going against God’s best will for them, at least according to our understanding. We also, if we are honest, are aware that disappointment with people often leads to anger and a withdrawal from the relationship.

I am pretty sure that one of the underlying causes of pastoral burnout and disillusionment is provided by such disappointments. Sure, the long hours, the lack of actual completion, the ever increasing demands, the inability to set hard limits all have an impact on pastoral burnout but the accumulation of what we often see as betrayals is certainly a part of the package. Since most of our work is built on and around people, their actions and activities are bound to have a significant effect on us and our wellbeing.

I am hoping that as you read the beginning of this blog that you were struck by how self-focused those paragraphs are. As I was writing the words, I was becoming more and more aware of that—my pastoral disappointment with people is actually coming from a very selfish place—as a pastor, I want and maybe even need people to act and respond and do what I am convinced is best for them, the church and the faith. Helping people grow and develop spiritually and emotionally is part of my job—I have been called and trained and prepared to help people live their faith.

The problem is that the more I expect people to do what I think they should do, the more I make them into less than free human beings. My disappointment with them is a not so subtle symptom of my thinking that I know best and that anyone who disagrees with me, even over their own life choices, is making a serious mistake. In effect, I am taking away the freedom that God has given all of us.

And that realization prompts me to take a closer look at the whole process. While I have been called by God to be intricately involved in the lives of the people I work with, I have also been called to be involved in a way that shows the character of the God who called me—and while the Bible does suggest that God is often disappointed with us humans, his most characteristic response to us is love and grace. No matter how much we disappoint him, he still loves us and even more, he still seeks to bring us back to him. God’s love, his grace and his willingness to forgive are the reason for the cross and the resurrection.

In that light, my reaction to the realities of people is disappointing to me—I am not actually being a particularly good servant of God when my disappointment with people creates anger and withdrawal and judgement. Fortunately for me, even when God is disappointed with me, he responds with an offer of more love, more grace and more forgiveness, coupled with an offer to help me respond to others in the same way.

May the peace of God be with you.

BEING SALT AND LIGHT

I knew a guy one time who was looking for the perfect church, one where he would be free to develop his understanding of God and the Kingdom. He was convinced that when he found that perfect church, everything would be great. He was a pastor and had some connections with the people who helped churches find pastors so he used the connections and discovered a church that looked good. Unfortunately, after he had been there a short time, he began to see some problems—and if the truth be told, he himself began to create some problems. Eventually, the imperfection in the church became so serious that he resigned to go to another church that looked perfect.

I am pretty sure that he is still looking for that perfect church. Personally, I entered ministry with the understanding that neither churches nor pastors are perfect and that we both need to try and help each other become a bit better at following the faith that we claim. So, whenever I am called to a church as their pastor, I know without question that I am not going to a perfect church. That is alright, though, because I also know without question that when they call me, they are not getting a perfect pastor.

Neither the church nor the pastor is perfect—and given the theological realities of sin and its persistence even after we become believers, there is no chance of a perfect church or perfect pastor this side of eternity. For me, that raised all sorts of questions, issues and concerns. One of those many questions, issues and concerns grows out of the fact that we are supposed to be sale and light in the world, a visible and concrete reminder to the community of the love and grace of God.

When we show our imperfection to the community, which we do with depressing regularity, what does that do to our saltiness and lightness? It can and all too often does turn into anti-salt and anti-light, discouraging people outside the faith from seeing our faith as a viable option for their lives. Mind you, if we try to cover up our imperfections, the community is also very aware that we are not perfect and our cover up attempts also discourage people when it comes to the faith.

We are called to be salt and light—and we are imperfect. And any approach to being the church or an individual believer that doesn’t keep those two basic truths in mind is doomed to failure. We can’t be perfect—and we can’t help but give witness to our faith. And so it seems to me that the only real choice we have is to be upfront about who and what we really are.

We need to be willing to admit to any and all that we are imperfect. What makes us people of faith and churches is not our perfection but rather the fact that we have admitted to God that we can’t deal with our imperfection by ourselves. We surrender ourselves to God who then has our permission to work in our lives: smoothing the rough spots; teaching our ignorance; forgiving the sins; guiding our footsteps and all the rest. God knows we are not perfect—but he loves and graces us anyway.

We are salt and light when we freely admit our sins and imperfections not just to God, each other and the church but also to the community and the rest of the world. We don’t always get it right—in fact, we get it wrong as much as anyone else and maybe even more than some people. What sets us apart is that we have discovered that God can deal with us in our imperfect state and wants us to be in a deep relationship with him even in our imperfect state. When we live our faith and run our churches conscious of our imperfection and our dependence of the love and grace of God, then our sin and imperfection become part of our divine saltiness and lightness because our confession and forgiveness and trying again point beyond our imperfection to the perfect God who can and does provide a way for us even in our imperfection.

We show salt and light when we remember and then let the community know that we are not perfect—but we believe in a God who is and whose love and grace can deal with our imperfection.

May the peace of God be with you.

MY DAY OFF

One day recently, I was so tired at night that I barely made it through the 10:00 news—I think I was awake during most of it but I am also pretty sure that I didn’t focus fully on what was being said. My reading time before going to sleep was rather brief—the words on the ereader didn’t seem to make sense, either because of a software problem with the ereader or a different problem with the actual reader.

I know why I was tired. The day had been very full and part of a very full week. It began with study time. I had a worship service to prepare for the local nursing home. I got that done and then turned to the funeral service that I had prepared the day before. I read it over, tinkered a bit with it and transferred it to my tablet. By then, it was time to leave for the funeral service. I arrived early, spent some time talking with people and at the appropriate time, lead the funeral service.

When that was done, I went home for lunch ( and a brief nap), followed by some work on a session for the lay preaching class that would be happening the next day. I also gave some though to a sermon because Sundays inevitably show up each week and the congregation expects me to have something to say. And so until the lay preaching class members are ready, that means I need to have a sermon prepared. I didn’t write the sermon that afternoon—I reached a point where I couldn’t do any more creative stuff and so too a bit of time to do very little.

But the day wasn’t actually done. After supper, I had a counselling session with a couple I have been working with for a while. We had been doing well but there had been some external trauma that we needed to work through. But after that session, I was done for the day. At that point, I think I began counting the minutes until I could actually go to bed.

As you probably guessed from the title, this all happened on my day off. I was not supposed to be doing any work that day, let alone everything I did. And this is where I have something of a problem. I grew up in the era of ministry being a 24-7 occupation. Clergy worked all the time—it was part of their commitment to God. There was stuff to be done—important stuff and no one called by God could expect to slow down.

I never bought into that particular myth. I have always believed that even clergy need a healthy work/rest balance and I have worked hard over the years to have such a balance. As a teacher and mentor of clergy, I have encouraged ministry students to take care of themselves and even scolded a few for not working on a healthy balance in their lives. Over the course of my ministry, I have worked hard not to work too hard.

But that week on my day off, I spent most of the day working. And it isn’t like I will get that day back during the week—that week was just beyond belief and there was no time, except for the few hours freed up because of a cancellation because of a snowstorm. I broke all my own personal rules about work/life balance that week.

And while I know many clergy who like to brag about how much they work, I don’t feel proud about my week—I feel equal amounts of fatigue and guilt. Fatigue because I worked too much with too little rest and guilt because I didn’t get the balance right.

Fortunately, not every week is like this and most weeks, I do get my day off. Equally fortunately, I have learned how to forgive myself for breaking my rules of work/life balance. Some days and some weeks inevitably demand more that I am supposed to give. But as long as I can forgive myself and make sure that I eventually get the break and rest I need, things will be okay. I am doing what God has called me to do—and part of that calling involves self care, which means I might have worked one day off but I won’t work every day off.

May the peace of God be with you.