I typically don’t write blogs like this. But right now my heart is bursting. I have given my life to Christian ministry. I love God and his people. I usually tell people that I have no regrets. But here I confess that I have some regrets.
My grandfather, Al Franklin, died in April 2004. We held his funeral on Saturday morning in Chattanooga. Afterwards our family gathered for a meal. For a couple of hours I visited with cousins, aunts and uncles, I rarely got to see. They encouraged us to stay over and spend more time with them. But I protested. After all I was a pastor and had to preach the next day. I regret that. That was the last time I had with some of them.
My dad died in March 2006. My brother called to tell me Dad was hospitalized in Savannah, a five hour drive for me. About the same time a wonderful man in our church was in the ER in critical condition. After a quick visit with his family in the ER I headed for Savannah to see Dad. I arrived that Friday evening after a long drive, to visit with Dad and my brother, Tim. I soon became aware that my dad would probably not survive the week. I told Tim that I had to return home because a member was critically ill and I had to preach that Sunday. So, I made the drive home to fulfill my pastoral duties. I never saw my dad alive again. I was not by his side when he died. I regret that.
My brother, Randy, died unexpectedly last year. He loved to sail the waters of the Gulf coast of Florida. Through the years he would call and ask me to go sailing with him for a few days. I replied that I was too busy. I regret that.
We impose an impossible job description on pastors – to be a god, or to be like God who is omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent. However, after 30 years of pastoring I have discovered that I can’t fix everybody, I don’t know everything, and I can’t be everywhere. I’m not a god.
Too often congregations don’t understand the emotional toll that trying to be a god takes on a mortal. There have been times when I have conducted five funerals within a few days. Each time I had the proper words of comfort and encouragement. I appeared to be the embodiment of faith and peace. But they didn’t see me when I escaped from the crowd to weep profusely.
I’m not complaining. I’ve certainly not experienced the persecution of my colleagues in other parts of the world. I’ve never been imprisoned or beaten for my faith. But I have been tempted to walk away from the pastorate from time to time. I got tired of trying to play god. So a few years ago I decided to quit – to quit trying to be a god. I quit trying to please everyone, I quit trying to fix everyone, and I quit trying to be everywhere. One of my favorite gospel stories is the raising of Lazarus. When he got the news of Lazarus’ illness, Jesus didn’t immediately respond. He waited. He couldn’t be two places at once. In the meantime Lazarus died. When Jesus arrived in Bethany, Martha exclaimed, “…if You had been here…” (John 11:21). I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard those words. Well, I just can’t be there every time.
Also, I have discovered that God has called me to quit. It’s called Sabbath – rest. Just so you will know, Sunday is not a Sabbath for pastors. It’s the busiest day of the week. Mondays are worse. We’re often musing over how we could have preached better, worried about declines in attendance and giving. Sometimes we need to rest – to remove ourselves from every semblance of ministry. Even Jesus took a Sabbath escaping the crowds for quiet time in the mountains.
Sometimes pastors need to escape. They need to get away to pray, to study, to attend a conference, or further their education. Sometimes pastors need to spend time with family, and sometimes pastors just need to go fishing. But pastors really do need to quit trying to be a god. That will lead to burnout, or even premature death.
I said earlier that my heart is bursting. Why? Because this week I took time to be with my very sick mother. I’m glad I did. Today, Sharon and I are away from our pastoral duties (people I love and am honored to serve), worshiping with our sons. My heart is bursting for joy. Sometimes, it’s good to quit.
