I Once Was a Pastor

Over the past few months, as I have begun making a vocational shift, many of the conversations with new acquaintances have gone along these lines,

Them, “So what do you do?”
Me, “I’m a writer.”
Them, “Really? Have I read anything you’ve written?”
Me, “Probably not.”
Awkward silence.

Them, “So what do you do?”
Me, “I’m writer.”
Them, “Really? What do you write about?”
Me, “Faith and Progressive Christianity”
Awkward silence.

I am an absolute hit at mixers.

Seasons change.
Change happens.
It’s all good.
I’m good.

And just like that, I am no longer a pastor.

Do not get me wrong, I loosed the idea that my identity was wrapped up in being a professional pastor many moons ago, but with the shift being definitive now, it does feel a little weird.

Them, “So what do you do?”
Me, “I’m a pastor.”
Them, “Really, which church?”
Me, “Well, technically I am a minister and not a pastor because you see, in the Presbyterian Church (USA) . . .”

Glazed over eyes and more of that awkward silence.

I say this not as some tragic development in my life but as one who honors the nature of the tradition I am a part of. Pastors are trained, called, and often paid to have the honor, privilege, burden, and responsibility to guide, nurture, inspire, and provoke entire communities to seek out and pursue the path that God lays out before them. No, they don’t do it all on their own (or shouldn’t, *ahem*"), but their role is unique. And as I recently shared, I am grateful for those who have answered the calling to be a pastor.

I am simply not called during this vocational season to be a pastor.

Also, before folks start with the “you are always a pastor,” technically, that is not true. One can be pastoral without being a pastor and one can be a preacher without being THE pastor. I hope to dwell in these spaces for a while, but neither allows me to claim the title of Pastor.

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Don’t get me wrong, this is a post about being driven out or away from congregational life. Make no mistake, I do miss it: being the pastor, so I am allowing myself to hold onto the loss.

I miss the worship planning process: This will show up later, but the discipline of planning and leading worship has always been a creative outlet for me. The Spirit has always surprised me with how it has made itself known in writing liturgy, creating space for movement, and inviting folks to expand their experience and expression of worship.

I miss leading worship. This shocks no one, but leading a congregation in worship after having been in random and holy conversations and interactions over the weeks, months, and years is pure joy for me. The relationships that give depth and texture to the worship experience bring communal belonging to the experience, and I will miss playing a role in that.

I miss the weirdos. I often talk about church being like the Island of Misfit Toys and how much I love it. Few places these days allow us to choose to gather and serve in community with folks across such difference: personality, culture, life experience, etc. While not always rainbows and often awkward, I miss the people who remind us what it means for the church to be the church.

I miss the tender times. Being the pastor means being invited into some of the most tender spaces a person or family can experience. Sometimes, these spaces are filled with exuberance and joy; sometimes, they are overwhelmed by despair and grief, but being present to provide the healing presence of the community has always been a profound privilege.

I miss the journey. Nothing is as fulfilling as journeying with a community from possibility to fruition. This could be changing internal operational systems, shifting worship practices, or engaging in new community partnerships. Many things drive change, but getting to the place where new life and resurrection are experienced, embodied, and embraced is deeply fulfilling and hope-generating.

But, yes, these first few months have been deeply liberating.

I no longer feel the constant pull for congregational life. While I think I handled my time and energy well, the continuous presence of congregational life can become a lot to hold all the time. I am not sure one can understand the welcomed weight that Pastors carry until it is put down.

I no longer have to plan worship. Yes, this is also something I missed, but the crunch and pressure of the process can be a lot. No more last-minute worship cramming for this guy. I now get to work on and think through words in a way that I hope will help alleviate some of the worship pressures that face pastors and planners every week.

I no longer have to worry about my employment based on one or a few people’s satisfaction with what I say (or didn’t say) or do (or didn’t do). I can be bolder and more exploratory in my thinking without worrying too much about the impact on the community I am called to pastor.

My keyring is lighter.

My inbox is manageable.

My weekends are mine.

To be clear, this is not a transition brought about by burnout or tragedy but a shift in call and excitement born from possibility. I look forward to writing, speaking, preaching, and engaging with communities differently, and I am grateful that so many of you are along for the ride.