Working Hard

I have been a pastor, in one form or another, since I was nineteen years old.  I have had other jobs, as well.  I sold shoes; I dug ditches.  I waited tables; I washed dishes.  I taught seminary; I now teach high school students.  But, through the majority of that time, I have been a pastor to a group of people while working those other jobs.

My parents were (and continue to be) hard-working.  They typically rose before the sun and went to bed long after I was fast asleep.  I am thankful for the example my parents provided.  My dad was a small-business owner, and he embodied the simple truth that one's ability to work often led to one's ability to eat.  Or purchase clothes.  Or vacation.  When he worked; money arrived.  When he was ill or we were on vacation, income ceased.  There were no investments providing passive income.  Sustenance arrived based on work.  Work was necessary, and, to an understandable degree, good.

I suppose that is why, at least in part, I never begrudged work as an adult.  I understood the connection between work and provision.  Much like a farmer knows that the harvest depends upon working months in advance, I had been trained to work so that I might see results.

Generally speaking, this sort of mindset served me well.  I worked hard at my studies, so I typically received good grades.  I was a good employee at my side jobs, so I was often promoted or received raises.  The formula seemed really simple: work hard; get rewarded.

Of course, pastoring is similar.  It demands hard work.  And, like other jobs, when you work hard, good things tend to happen.

Pastoring is also quite different.  Where my shoe-selling, ditch-digging, and dish-washing had definite hours, the schedule of a pastor is much more amorphous.  It leans toward those who are entrepreneurial, those who are self-starters.  In other words, you can work as much as you want to.  So, as my family and other demands have allowed, I've worked a good deal.  I think about church every day, perhaps too much.  But I enjoy it.  Like an artist fashioning a new painting or a builder framing a house, I take pride in thinking through the processes, functions, sermons, and intricacies of church.  It has, in a manner of speaking, become my craft.  I enjoy my craft, and I want to do it well.

My trouble lately has been my temptation to see my craft as the primary source of my identity.  I am a pastor; that is certainly true.  But sometime in the last eighteen months, I began to think of myself as a pastor, above all other traits.  I am not certain how this began; perhaps it started with The Commons.  Perhaps it started when I was nineteen.  Nevertheless, I started to notice that my mood and self-worth were increasingly connected with my perception of how the church was performing.  When we had spiritual victories or high attendance, I was elated.  When we had spiritual failings in the congregation or people left the church, I struggled with sadness.  To be sure, some of this is normal for any sort of job; what salesman wouldn't despair over losing a big account and what shopkeeper wouldn't worry about the amount of foot traffic in the store?  But within in my heart, I knew that I had crossed a line.

I had begun to identify with the church, not with Christ.

I've confessed and repented of this, both with JB and with my Community Group.  I imagine I will struggle with this from time to time, but identifying the issue has been liberating.  I'm finding new freedom in remembering that it is Jesus who builds the church, and I am grateful that my ability is not the bedrock upon which The Commons is founded.

I am sharing this story today because, as I have processed and prayed, I've discovered that my craft is not the only to perform identity lobotomy.  I've had friends confess that they find their identity in family, children, salary, position, friends, popularity, and the like.

I was feeling as if I was the only one who made my craft my identity, when, in fact, many others struggled with the same thing.

I've landed here: I am a pastor, and I love being one.  It is my delight and joy to build a healthy church that points toward Jesus.  But I am many other things first.  Among those: I am a husband; I am a father; I am a child of God.

May you find your craft.  But may you also know that it is only a craft.  May you know that your craft is part of who you are, but it is not you in entirety.  You are something else.  You are the Lord's.