Why My Wife Is A Better Youth Pastor Than Me
People typically have set ideas on what makes a pastor a pastor. A pastor should look a certain way, have the right title, sound a certain way, have the correct education. My wife does not have the title of “youth pastor.” She’s an early childhood teacher, greatly-talented photographer, and world-traveler but she also is one of the best pastors I know.
I have been involved in youth ministry for almost 10 years now, leading worship, teaching, leading small groups. Because I’m on church staff, I have been referred to as both a “priest” and a “reverend.” Titles that assume I am somehow “holier than thou” or more important than others in our church. My wife is a perfect example of someone who simply believes what Jesus said and longs to live for a greater purpose in life. Over and over again she pours herself out for the benefit of others. She has shown that a pastor truly making a difference is less about title and status and more about love and effort. Here are a few examples I’ve learned from her on how to truly help others.
- giving time: a full-time wife and two part-time jobs demand tons of time. she still finds slices of time to meet with her girls, write them on facebook, answer texts
- getting coffee with girls several times a week
- listening first. showing she cares instead of slathering advice and correction
- prayer
- actually caring. I’ve seen her shed plenty of tears when talking about the girls she leads.
Leading worship is easy compared to what my wife and other volunteers at our church do. I’m in awe of how they give so much passion and energy to the investment of others.
What makes a pastor a pastor? Who do you know in your life that regardless of their job-title is a full-time pastor?
a great easter song.
black & blue
Isaiah 42
my dad, resurrection, & the shawshank redemption
[My cousin and best man, Ryan Weaver, asked me to write a blog for his website for the upcoming season of Lent about how the concept of “Resurrection” has affected me in the past year. Here’s what I came up with.]
My dad was seriously the best dad possible. During springtime, when I was in junior high, I would get done with school and he would ask, “Do you want to go fishing, play golf, or watch the Cubs this afternoon?” How many kids get asked that question every day? I never experienced an absent father like much of our world does. Dad was involved in every aspect of my life. He played sports with me, taught me how to work hard, how to have fun, and let me be the person God created me to be not the person he wanted me to be. He was the greatest dad in the world and he died unexpectedly one year ago at the age of 55. This completely altered my perspective on the afterlife. For a year now I have wrestled with the concepts of resurrection and heaven.
It feels silly sometimes to believe in life after death. Many think that the belief in heaven is strictly wishful thinking, a concept invented by humans to comfort our fear and provide for our complete lack of control in regards to death. For practical adults, resurrection makes no sense because it requires something supernatural to occur, beyond scientific and logical explanation.
My favorite movie, “The Shawshank Redemption” is a great analogy for our struggle with the concepts of resurrection and heaven. The movie takes place in a prison where the inmates see the same gray walls and rusty prison bars everyday. Most prisoners are resigned to the belief that they will spend the rest of their existence in this prison, never experiencing anything greater.
Andy Dufresne is different. He has the audacity to hope in something better. He hopes in the impossible, that one-day he will leave this prison and live in freedom beside an endless, blue ocean. His best friend, Red, is not nearly as ambitious. He, like many of us, thinks it is silly to hope for something better, a scenario that is seemingly impossible. He sees the reality of their situation and refuses to imagine anything better. In one of my favorite lines he tells Andy, “Let me tell you something my friend. Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane.”
Sometimes I can’t help but feel this way. Why hope in the impossible? I am stuck in this reality, a reality that takes place in a broken and unjust world, dealing with income, job performance, taxes, and stress. That’s just the way things are. My father is gone and it will be easier to just get on with my life. Why spend much needed energy, hoping in something that cannot be proven? I am an adult, why expend my thoughts on childish wishes
After leaving the prison, Andy writes something to Red that rings deep in my heart. “Remember, Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies. I will be hoping that this letter finds you, and finds you well.”
Later we see he has persuaded Red. Even though his situation has not changed he begins hoping to see his friend again. This hope carries him through. When tempted to give up or stop his journey, Red is urged on by the hope of a great reunion with Andy beside an endless, blue ocean.
We live in a prison of flesh and blood. We get sick, hurt, and broken. Our lives are but a mere breath. We are born and will soon die. This darkness can invade our every thought; it can cloud our dreams and blur our vision. We can choose to reside in this darkness or we can choose to believe in something brighter; that our steep and rough journey is leading us to something greater. We can believe that Jesus conquered death and darkness and He is waiting for a reunion with us beside an endless, blue ocean; that our current struggles will disappear in the light of His glorious face.
It feels silly and pointless at times but I choose to hope. I hope that I will see my dad again. I hope that we will go fishing on a pristine lake, under a never-ending sun. I hope that we will play catch for days while wearing our Cubs hats. I hope that we will laugh and be overcome with joy. I hope in the seemingly impossible, in a God that has prepared a place for me, a God that takes joy in the ultimate redemption.
weary and burdened.
pastor shmastor
Today I got a haircut. Sometimes I dread this, not because I have some fear of getting a bad haircut but it’s the amount of awkward interactions that have taken place in hair salons. Stylists make small talk and they always begin it with one question, “where do you work?”
So, today I sit down and prepare for the question.
“You off work today?”
“Yes,” I reply.
“What do you do for a living?”
“I work at a church. I am a pastor.”
There, I said it. I am a pastor. I anticipate what kind of reaction I will get this time. Will she go with option A, discomfort? Those who choose option A tend to ignore me the rest of the time. Maybe she’ll go with option B, debate. Option B is my least favorite because people want to see where I stand on different issues, usually issues I could care less about. Instead she goes with option C, confession.
In the next 20 minutes she tells me all about her marriage struggles, her husband’s attempt to record a Victoria’s Secret show, her retaliation of threatening to watch a Playgirl movie, and her husband’s alcohol addiction and what that has done to the family.
I loved her honesty and the trust she gave me. I also love to listen and care for others, trying my best to encourage them. Sometimes though, I wish I wasn’t called a pastor.
Does a pastor have a special connection to God or more spiritual insight? The truth is a definite no. Does a pastor go through life looking down on others and passing out judgement to each person they come in contact with. Definitely not, at least I hope not. There are just so many perspectives people have with this title; so much baggage from whatever culture or church they come from. It is such a complex job title. Sometimes I wish I had a different title, something that said, “Yes, I do love Jesus and attempt to follow everything he does but no, I am not holier than you and I am not judging you.” It is a bit wordy but I’ll try to think of something.
What do you think of when you hear the word, “pastor.”
