The Lonely Pastor

A few months ago, I found myself sitting at a table in the back of the sanctuary of the church where I'd been on staff going on five years.   I stared at the table as a letter was read aloud to me.  It had been decided that - for various reasons - I would no longer be on staff and would be leaving the church that I loved dearly.    I can't explain how deeply this hurt.  To lose a job as a pastor isn't about a paycheck.  It's about family.  It's about letting go of people you've invested your entire heart into.   And of all the deaths, tragedies, and grief I've experienced, to leave a church is the most painful thing I've been asked to do.  

One of the reasons that this grief is so deep - and the reason I want to focus on - is the fact that many of the constituents of this church are my friends.   Not just friendly acquaintances.  But real friends.  Those people you call at 2:00 in the morning when there's an emergency.  Men and women who are written into your will and have agreed to raise your kids if you die an untimely death.    Friends who have seen you on your absolute worst days and know your deepest sins and greatest accomplishments.  Friends who know all your personality flaws but choose to call out the good in you.  Friends who have watched you struggle with the same thing over and over again, but still encourage you to do better.  Friends you call for advice on marriage or parenting or finances or cooking a pot roast.  Real friends.  

"Going to church" is a central part of my life.   It's not just something my family and I do... it's part of who we are.   We serve, we pray, we worship with our friends, we laugh and cry and mourn and rejoice with dear brothers and sisters who we live life with... all in the context of church.  My husband and I have developed deep and lasting real friendships within our church family.   To not be with them each Sunday is painful and difficult.  

So I completely understand why a very well-meaning and loving friend approached me a few weeks after my departure from the church staff and confidently said, "Maybe this is why you shouldn't ever pastor a church where your friends attend."   I know what she meant.  She meant that it would be easier to not put myself in a position in which I'd have to sever ties with my friends.   She meant that choosing loneliness in ministry would be worth not getting hurt again.  

I didn't immediately disregard the comment.  I actually thought about it for several days.   I wondered if she was right.  I wondered if I should put up walls and not let people in if I'm ever appointed to another church.   I wondered if I should choose professionalism and stoicism over authenticity and vulnerability.   

But I can't do that.  I won't do that.   It's taken me a few decades to tear down all those walls.  It's taken years to let people in.  It's taken a lot of work to get to a place where I'm okay with my story and my scars.   And it's been an uphill battle to get to a place of surrender... a place of holding loosely the things God gives, because those things - and people - are just as easily taken away.   

I've heard a lot of pastors say that they're lonely.  Most of them also say that loneliness is "just part of being a pastor".   Even though I understand there are certainly elements of pastoring that no one aside from pastors can empathize with, I don't think loneliness is part of what I'm called to as a minister of the Gospel.    When I look at Jesus, I don't see a man who kept everyone at arm's length or refused to let people in.  No, I see a man who invited twelve men into the most intimate parts of His life; day in and day out for nearly three years.   When I look at Jesus, I see a servant leader who chose to invest His life into His dearest friends.  When I look at Jesus, I see a man who wept over death and betrayal because they involved people He loved with His whole heart.   

And to look at a less deified example, Paul models deep friendship with those he pastored.  I can almost feel Paul's heart when he writes Romans 16... "to my dear friend..." over and over and over again.  For an entire chapter, he individually greets the men and women he loved and worked alongside during his missionary journeys.  In Acts 20, when Paul was leaving Ephesus, he said his somber goodbyes and his friends wept because they knew they'd never see him again.  Paul had deep and sincere friendships with those he pastored.   It shows up in almost every single book he writes.   I'm certainly not an historian or theologian, but I think it's an accurate assessment that Paul was a pretty effective pastor, and he loved with his whole heart. He said the hard things and offered discipline when needed.  But he loved those people - not just the church as a whole as but individuals - deeply and authentically. 

As for me, I will choose to love freely and deeply and without walls.  (Yes, I'm aware of healthy boundaries; that's another post for a different day.)   I will rejoice with my friends.  With the Church. I will mourn with them.  I will serve them.   I will break bread with them.  I will walk alongside them when they marry off their children and bury their parents.   I will sit with them when they are broken and tired.  I will laugh with them when they are on the high side of the mountain.   And I will let them do the same with me.  I will not choose the life of a lonely pastor.  

Keep your eyes open, hold tight to your convictions, give it all you’ve got, be resolute, and love without stopping.   - 1 Corinthians 16:13-14