Holy Man

Recently a pastor friend told me he saw me as a holy man and meant it as a compliment not a joke. The context of his remark was a conversation he had had with someone else who was complaining about some of my ideas. (And certainly some of my ideas are, shall we say, not mainstream.) He said he had told the person, “John is a holy man.” Then he reiterated it to me, “I see you as a holy man. I really mean that.”

His statement set me back on my heals. Me? A holy man? Whoa. What does that mean?

I don’t consciously “pose” as a holy man, but for at least a decade it has been my conscious goal to be a holy man. It seems to me the most important ambition for any clergy person. If I am a holy man, in fact or even merely in the eyes of others, what obligation does this impose? How do I avoid rank hypocrisy?

It is almost comic to think of how deeply conflicted my own faith and spiritual life are. I carry in my own soul the unanswered questions of truck drivers, physicians, scientists, seekers, and agnostics–most of them men. The same people who sit down at 11:00 on Sabbath mornings and look at me expecting to hear something believable about God.

I was called by God. I know that. God is good; the purpose of life is love; making beauty is better than making ugly. On good days, I know that, too, but not much more. Still, I have a job. And since I am called (not merely employed), I somewhat boldly stand and speak for God, flattered by the honor my audience confers by listening, grateful for their support in my calling.

I am carried by the very people who see me as a holy man. My religion and spiritual life are utterly dependent on the church. I preach their Bible (not the Bible of the academy). I do the work they give me. I live on the income they provide. I serve the God they know better than I do.

What do they expect in return? That their holy man speaks well of God. That I voice their faith–both the faith they possess and the faith they aspire to–a faith, that somehow, in spite of my defects, doubts and failures, I embody. What an honor. What a daunting responsibility.

Except for their confidence, it would be a joke. Maybe it really is a joke. A happy one. God using a buffoon for some grand and glorious purpose.

Keeping Company with the Dying

Not long ago late on a Sabbath afternoon, I remembered one of my church members was gravely ill. She had been gravely ill for months. For some reason that afternoon, I suddenly realized it had been a while since I had been to see her.

I went.

Only her relatives could tell that she was aware of my presence.

She died the next morning.

Today, I sat for an hour with a friend who is dying. He's been dying for two years or more. I can't stop the dying. My prayers have been ineffectual at shrinking the tumors. He says it matters that I show up.

Do you know someone who is dying?

Go see them. Today, if at all possible. Then go again and again and again.

Keeping company is something we pastors can do.

I don't understand why it matters that we do, but apparently it does.

So do it now. Don't wait.

The Book that Saved my Ministry

Some years ago I read a book titled Father Joe: The Man who Saved my Soul by Tony Hendra. The book saved my soul or at least my ministry.

I’ve often gone through crises of vocation. What business do I have being a minister. Yes, I was called by God. But that was long ago and far away. How do I, a man tormented by unanswered questions and incompetent in many ways, justify continuing as a professional clergyman, taking a salary to represent God? Father Joe offered a believable answer to that question.

If you are better at encouraging the ministry of others than you are at giving orders, if you are better at giving permission than giving directions, or if you are amazed at the good things God is doing in people around you, you will probably appreciate the story of Father Joe.

I see his ministry (and--on my good days--my ministry) paralleled more closely by the story of Barnabas than the story of Paul.

My blog this week at liberaladventist is a sermon based on Barnabas. Maybe it will offer you some encouragement. But I think Father Joe would do you better.