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Some people try to hurt pastors, but most do not. Every person deserves the chance to prove that they are the latter and not the former.
I think it’s only appropriate to write a follow-up to my last post, “How to Destroy Your Pastor.” I do this partially because I highly doubt that I will write anything as popular, so I want to ride its wave as far as I can. But it’s also because the account I shared does not cover the full story. That particular experience went on to affect subsequent interactions I had with other parishioners, and so it seems disingenuous of me not to share about those conversations as well.
The conversation I’m thinking of took place in my office. A parishioner had made an appointment to see me, to talk about something that I had shared in a recent sermon. I feared the worst: that she was going to take this opportunity to pick my sermon to pieces. So I braced myself. But in truth, I did more than brace myself. I hardened my heart. I was afraid that she, too, was coming to criticize me, to tear me apart, piece by piece. And I was not going to let that happen, not this time. So in order to emotionally protect myself, I shut her out before she even walked through the door.
She did indeed tell me how she was having a hard time with something that I had shared in my sermon. I all but rolled my eyes at her. Here was yet another parishioner who felt free to call me to account because my sermon was not as perfect as it should have been, or because it did not cater to her exact set of needs. She must have sensed my naked irritation, because she started stumbling over her words and getting red in the face.
Serves her right, I thought self-righteously. Not so easy to dole out criticism when your target is sitting right in front of you.
But the more she shared, the more I realized that she had not come to criticize my sermon. She had come to express her love for the church. She explained to me that she had never really enjoyed church before, and so felt little inclination to make any investment in the church, not to mention her own spiritual life. This was the first place where she felt a real connection with both Jesus as well as with his body, and the first church that she loved enough to make an appointment with the pastor and to ask tough questions. It was not an easy thing for her to take this step. She blurted all this out to me, and then lapsed into an awkward kind of silence, staring at the dingy carpet at her feet.
Ashamed, my heart sank. I had completely failed to recognize that this woman’s visit was not a sign of her displeasure with me or with the church, but because this was the first time she loved a church enough to care. It was actually a sign of her enthusiasm and commitment, a sign which had been all but ignored by her own pastor. Unlike my earlier experience, this woman was not speaking to me as an enemy, but as a brother in Christ and as her pastor. But because I had been treated as an enemy so recently, I assumed that she was trying to do the same. Yes, I was only trying to protect myself, but it was still an unfair and ultimately incorrect assumption. With disappointment written so clearly on her face, I knew that I had to make things right.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being such a terrible and rude listener. I’ve had a hard week—or, more exactly, a hard season of life. I’m so glad that you love the church enough to bring up your thoughts and concerns; that really is so special to me,” I said. “I hope that nothing I’ve done has made you lose any of your enthusiasm for this church. If I have, please forgive me.”
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SOURCE: Christianity Today
Peter Chin
