What Makes A Good Pastor Friday
Posted by: bigguyhereagain <bigguyhereagain@...>
One of the toughest tasks a church faces is choosing a good minister. A
member of an official board undergoing this painful process finally
lost patience. He'd just witnessed the Pastoral Relations Committee
reject applicant after applicant for some minor fault - real or imagined.
It was time for a bit of soul-searching on the part of the committee.
So he stood up and read this letter purporting to be from another applicant.
Gentlemen:
Understanding your pulpit is vacant, I should like to apply for the position.
I have many qualifications. I've been a preacher with much success and also
had some success as a writer. Some say I'm a good organizer. I've been a
leader most places I've been. I'm over 50 years of age and have never
preached in one place for more than three years. In some places, I have
left town after my work caused riots and disturbances. I must admit I have
been in jail three or four times, but not because of any real wrongdoing.
My health is not too good, though I still accomplish a great deal. The
churches I have preached in have been small, though located in several
large cities.
I've not gotten along well with religious leaders in the towns where I
have preached. In fact, some have threatened me, and even attacked me
physically. I am not too good at keeping records. I have been known to
forget whom I have baptized. However, if you can use me, I promise to
do my best for you.
The board member turned to the committee and said, "Well, what do you
think? Shall we call him?"
The good church folks were appalled! Consider a sickly, trouble-making,
absent-minded ex-jailbird? Was the board member crazy? Who signed the
application? Who had such colossal nerve?
The board member eyed them all keenly before he replied, "It's signed,
'The Apostle Paul."
Is there a magic cutoff period when
offspring become accountable for their own
actions? Is there a wonderful moment when
parents can become detached spectators in
the lives of their children and shrug, "It's
their life," and feel nothing?
When I was in my twenties, I stood in a hospital
corridor waiting for doctors to put a few
stitches in my son's head. I asked, "When do
you stop worrying?" The nurse said,
"When they get out of the accident stage." My
mother/father just smiled faintly and said nothing.
When I was in my thirties, I sat on a little
chair in a classroom and heard how one of my
children talked incessantly, disrupted the class,
and was headed for a career making
license plates. As if to read my mind, a teacher
said, "Don't worry, they all go through
this stage and then you can sit back, relax and
enjoy them." My mother/ father just smiled
faintly and said nothing.
When I was in my forties, I spent a lifetime
waiting for the phone to ring, the cars to come
home, the front door to open. A friend said,
"They're trying to find themselves. Don't
worry, in a few years, you can stop worrying.
They'll be adults." My mother/father just smiled
faintly and said nothing.
By the time I was 50, I was sick &tired of being
vulnerable. I was still worrying over my
children, but there was a new wrinkle. There
was nothing I could do about it. My
mother/father just smiled faintly and said nothing. I
continued to anguish over their failures, be
tormented by their frustrations and absorbed in it all.
My friends said that when my kids got married I
could stop worrying and lead my own
life. I wanted to believe that, but I was
haunted by my mother/father's warm smile and his
occasional, "You look pale. Are you all right?
Call me the minute you get home. Are
you depressed about something?"
Can it be that parents are sentenced to a
lifetime of worry? Is concern for one another
handed down like a torch to blaze the trail of
human frailties and the fears of the
unknown? Is concern a curse or is it a virtue
that elevates us to the highest form of life?
One of my children became quite irritable
recently, saying to me, "Where were you? I've
been calling for 3 days, and no one answered.
I was worried." I smiled a warm smile.
The torch has been passed.
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