So it's been four months since I retired, and I recently received an invitation to serve as fill-in preacher at a local church. I accepted with the idea that I would simply dust off an old sermon (after all, I have lots!) and re-preach it. Simple and painless.
But then, as I was worshiping at another church this past weekend, the pastor read a passage from 2 Kings and my mind took off. I don't remember much of what he said, because my mind was racing in other directions as I thought about the implications of that text for my "new" church later this month.
All of which is to say I spent today working through that text for myself and coming up with a new sermon for my fill-in opportunity. I guess I hadn't realized how much this wonderful process of listening to the text so I can explain it to my people has been burned into my bones! Second hand is just not good enough.
(On the other hand, I still have no regrets about my decision to retire! This is fun — literally — not work!)
Monday, October 05, 2015
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
One Month Into Retirement
I've been retired for one month, and while additional time may bring different perspectives, I am thoroughly enjoying my new life! That tells me a couple of things:
1) It was time. Retired friends had always said to me, "You'll know when it's time." And I did!
2) The ease with which I've been able to let go has surprised me. A retired colleague attending my retirement party cautioned me that not only would the church family grieve, but I would especially grieve. "One day you're this important figure in all these people's lives, and the next day you wake up and you're a nobody," he said. It takes a while for a pastor to work though that transition. Well, maybe; but I haven't felt that way yet! (I certainly went through some grieving in the months following my announcement, and perhaps that anticipatory grief prepared the way for how I feel now.)
All this confirms for me a truth I have always felt deep in my soul — that despite my extended tenure there, I never thought of it as my church. People often called it, "your church," and I probably even called it, "my church" from time to time, but I never felt possessive; I never felt it really was mine. So, while I wish the best for "my people" that I've left behind, I do not in the least feel a need to keep my fingers in the pot, nor am I threatened by the inevitable changes that will come.
It's Jesus' church, and He'll take care of it and me just fine.
1) It was time. Retired friends had always said to me, "You'll know when it's time." And I did!
2) The ease with which I've been able to let go has surprised me. A retired colleague attending my retirement party cautioned me that not only would the church family grieve, but I would especially grieve. "One day you're this important figure in all these people's lives, and the next day you wake up and you're a nobody," he said. It takes a while for a pastor to work though that transition. Well, maybe; but I haven't felt that way yet! (I certainly went through some grieving in the months following my announcement, and perhaps that anticipatory grief prepared the way for how I feel now.)
All this confirms for me a truth I have always felt deep in my soul — that despite my extended tenure there, I never thought of it as my church. People often called it, "your church," and I probably even called it, "my church" from time to time, but I never felt possessive; I never felt it really was mine. So, while I wish the best for "my people" that I've left behind, I do not in the least feel a need to keep my fingers in the pot, nor am I threatened by the inevitable changes that will come.
It's Jesus' church, and He'll take care of it and me just fine.
Thursday, June 04, 2015
Early Post-Retirement Thoughts
A friend encouraged me to enlarge on some comments I made to the congregation at our retirement celebration.
Some have asked — as they saw the books in my office grow fewer and fewer — if it was a hard process for me to clean out my office. While I had a few sad moments, I found it all surprisingly enjoyable. Almost immediately after announcing my retirement plans last November, I began to cull out books that I intended to give away, throw away, or sell. That only took a few days, because even though you accumulate lots of books, you only need a few. (A lesson I had learned years ago, during a building program in which I had to store nearly all my books for almost a year. I thought it would be unbearable, but I made it through the year with just one bookcase and, as a result, ended up giving away about half of my collection. From that point on, I deliberately limited the book space in my office, giving away, selling, or throwing away an old book before adding a new one.)
Next, I turned to cleaning out my file cabinet. Because I had been collecting materials since my high school days, I assumed this would be a weeks-long process, but it took perhaps an afternoon and a half as I tossed file after file into the recycling bin (finally they would be put to good use!) and came across the occasional serendipitous find (like my candidating sermon from 1978 that I re-preached in my final service at the church).
There was for me something cleansing about getting rid of all these old files that I no longer needed (and probably, for the most part, never did) and those old books that had outlived their usefulness. And then it dawned on me why this whole process had not been that difficult: ministry is not about books and files and plaques on the wall, it's about people. I used books, but I don't love my books. Like tools, I used some of those files, but I never cherished them. Rather, as I told our folks that Sunday afternoon, "It's you I love, and it's you I will miss."
Some have asked — as they saw the books in my office grow fewer and fewer — if it was a hard process for me to clean out my office. While I had a few sad moments, I found it all surprisingly enjoyable. Almost immediately after announcing my retirement plans last November, I began to cull out books that I intended to give away, throw away, or sell. That only took a few days, because even though you accumulate lots of books, you only need a few. (A lesson I had learned years ago, during a building program in which I had to store nearly all my books for almost a year. I thought it would be unbearable, but I made it through the year with just one bookcase and, as a result, ended up giving away about half of my collection. From that point on, I deliberately limited the book space in my office, giving away, selling, or throwing away an old book before adding a new one.)
Next, I turned to cleaning out my file cabinet. Because I had been collecting materials since my high school days, I assumed this would be a weeks-long process, but it took perhaps an afternoon and a half as I tossed file after file into the recycling bin (finally they would be put to good use!) and came across the occasional serendipitous find (like my candidating sermon from 1978 that I re-preached in my final service at the church).
There was for me something cleansing about getting rid of all these old files that I no longer needed (and probably, for the most part, never did) and those old books that had outlived their usefulness. And then it dawned on me why this whole process had not been that difficult: ministry is not about books and files and plaques on the wall, it's about people. I used books, but I don't love my books. Like tools, I used some of those files, but I never cherished them. Rather, as I told our folks that Sunday afternoon, "It's you I love, and it's you I will miss."
Wednesday, June 03, 2015
The End of the Term!
After 36 1/2 years at the same church and 42 years in pastoral ministry, I have retired. And I must say I am enjoying it! I know that some believe pastors should never retire, but I was ready. I no longer have the energy to cheer-lead the growth and change that need to come, and I didn't want to be the one about whom people said, "Too bad he didn't leave a year or two sooner!"
When I was younger I worried about burning out; now I discover that I have worn out! I am sure, after a bit of R & R, that I will do something — fill pulpits, work as an interim, maybe push carts at Walmart (!) — one needs a reason to get up in the morning. But, for now, I am quite content to putter around our home and cottage and wake up in the morning with no particular place to go.
I am so grateful to our people who made my retirement celebration such a joy — as they have made my ministry a joy for so many years. Their cards and notes made us laugh and cry and reminded me that we touched lives in ways we had never imagined.
But now it's time for the next stage of God's great plan for us. This term — as long as wonderful as it has been — is over, and a new term begins. As one of my colleagues reminded me recently, I had said I wanted to finish well — to complete my ministry here, still loving Jesus and my wife. That I have done! But, God willing, I still have some years left in this world, and I want to finish those just as well.
So the adventure begins ....
On my final Sunday at the church, I gave our people a collection of answers to questions (about theology, the Bible, life) they had asked me over the years. Here's the last answer in that collection:
If you could go back and talk to your 26-year old self (when you began in pastoral ministry), what would you tell him?
I’d tell him that life and ministry are going to be incredibly more difficult than he could ever imagine — that the essence of ministry is suffering — but to relax and enjoy the ride, because God is incredibly more gracious and patient than he could possibly believe. I’d tell him to exchange his fear for faith and his self-reliance for humility — to trust in God’s power and plan. I’d tell him not to be so dependent on success nor discouraged by failures, because the one is a fleeting vapor and the other a constant companion, and above both stand the sovereign purposes of God that none of us will fully figure out in our lifetimes. I’d tell him to rest every day on God’s incredible grace.
I’d tell him not to work so hard (even though I know he wouldn’t listen) and to slow down and enjoy God’s good earth — to plant a tree and watch it grow (which, fortunately, he would manage to do on many occasions) — and to enjoy God’s good people who will be all around him, loving him and cheering him on. (And I’d tell him to pay less attention to those who don’t!) I’d tell him to trust his gut more and not worry so much about what others think — to be the person and pastor God had made rather than trying to be a clone of someone else or someone else’s vision of what a husband/father/pastor should be. I’d tell him to get out of the office and into the community (which I think he would do reasonably well) so non-church members could see that a pastor is actually a fairly normal person.
I’d also tell him that during the span of his ministerial career, dozens of Christian “fads” (“models” is probably a kinder word) will cross his path — relational theology, WWJD, Body Life, Evangelism Explosion, lifestyle evangelism, Promise Keepers, spiritual warfare, second coming fever, church growth, small groups, Purpose Driven Church, spiritual disciplines, Sonship ministry, the worship wars, the culture wars — to name a few. I’d tell him to take whatever good he can from any of these but to see none of them as the answer. They will pass, and the next generation will introduce its own suite of programs, but the Word of God transcends fads and programs and generations; and so more than anything else, he needs to major on the Word. I’d tell him (as Dick Lucas would put it) to “hold the line."
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