Pastor I need to talk

People come in my office and sit down to talk. It’s part of the pastor gig. It’s just what happens. My secretary says, “So and so is here to talk to you.” And then someone one walks in, sits down, and starts to talk.

It doesn’t matter what I am doing at the time; trying to craft together words that I can speak the next Sunday explaining the whole of theology in twelve minutes, struggling to find a way to assure a woman that she is worthy and loved despite having been abused by a friend, or, once agian, lost in prayer. I stop, grind the gears of my mental transmission, and grab for the road map that will help me navigate the circuitous path of thought the person starts going down.

Don’t get me wrong. I actually don’t mind the interruptions. This is what I do. What I am called to do. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of new thoughts or behaviours that just might have been initiated by something I said in a class or sermon. Sometimes I get to hear exciting news. Sometimes I am permitted to simply be a listening ear, a tool used to pry into the atmosphere words that must be spoken so they can by heard by the speakers own ears. There isn’t a lot that I do in a day that absolutely cannot take a few minutes longer to complete. If a few minutes of time helps someone, I am happy for them to be used.

There are days like today when I become so very jealous of the people who come into my office. Days like today I want to be able to walk in, sit down, and start to talk. I want to be one more person who can come in and talk to Pastor. That’s one of the loneliest things about being a pastor. Who is my pastor?

Actually, I am blessed. I serve in a denomination with a developed hierarchy. When the wheels absolutely come off the cart I can talk to the Bishop. And I am doubly blessed. My Bishop has a pastoral nature and loving concern for professional church workers in our area. I have friends whose Bishop doesn't know they exist and doesn't care to know. Other friends serve in denominations that don’t have any hierarchy to go to for support. I hurt for them. It must be so very lonely.

I feel a certain amount of guilt in taking my Bishop’s time. He has a large number of congregations to care for and even more workers and he has his own office and its work to oversee. When there have been major crises or when I need to make certain things are being done in proper order under our denominational guidelines I have talked to him. [I have never actually plopped down in his office. His office is one city and mine in another.] He always returns my voice messages and e mails. But there is something about the physicality of sitting down and looking across a desk that I miss.

As professional church workers we are told over and over in seminars, workshops and conferences to find another pastor or worker to talk to. Someone who can be our pastor. But I don’t know any pastor who isn’t just as busy as I am. I can’t bring myself to usurp time they are so desperate to give to their own flock. Like so many great ideas offered in seminars, workshops, and conferences this one too goes the way of, “Yeah, well it works great on paper.”

For some reason I feel better having written this. In some ways I have come in, sat down, and started talking…if only to myself. Maybe I’m a better pastor than I think myself to be. Tomorrow there will still be a gaping hole in the worship centre wall. The rotting support beam will still not be replaced. I will still be worried that worker here at the church will return from vacation and have decided that they are unable to continue working here. Somehow though, it’s okay. I think I will open my office door again, take the phone off do not disturb and go ask my secretary if anyone is wanting to see me.

And they will come in, sit down, and start to talk.