I had three unique interactions with three, distinct individuals while running errands on Saturday, and I was not the extroverted instigator of conversation in any of the three cases. In fact, in all three scenarios, I had both eyes (and nose) firmly planted in a book: The Pastor by Eugene Peterson.The Pastor is Eugene Peterson's memoir about the unexpected road of faith that led him to embrace a pastoral vocation. Along the way, he skillfully recounts various life stories detailing the ups, downs, failures, successes, oddities, rarities, surprises, and expectations about being (and becoming) a pastor. I find this book so engaging that I rarely look up to see what stop I'm at on the subway. Eugene Peterson gets me from point A to point B throughout the day, imparting an older and wiser man's insight into the pastoral vocation; a vocational track on which I'm embarked.
My three unique Saturday interactions took place within the context of reading this book about pastors and people; about people in crisis and the pastor's empathic response; about people in celebration and the pastor's joy; about people in worship and the pastor's liturgical guidance. About pastoring people in the everyday -- the grocery shopping-subway riding-sidewalk walking-child raising-working normalcy of the everyday. My three unique Saturday interactions took place within the context of paying attention to the ordinary.
Pay attention to the ordinary: that's how Eugene Peterson helped me notice the significance, the pastoral weight, of these three Saturday interactions.
1. The Elderly Woman
As I waited to cross the street at Amsterdam and 71st, my face buried in Peterson's book, I felt a hand take hold of my arm. I cranked my head over quickly. An elderly Hispanic woman, hunched over and slow, had taken hold of my arm. As we waited to cross the street, her hand latched on to my arm, she informed me sweetly (the way only a grandma could) and in Spanish, "Help me cross the street."
Taken aback, and simultaneously glad to be of service (not that she'd given me a choice!), I obliged. With some light conversation, we walked slowly and cautiously across the street. "I'm eighty-eight," she told me. "And I have grandchildren in Miami."
"I'm from Florida," I told her, eager to bridge the common ground. "My family lives near Miami. Mi abuela is nearly your age. Mi abuelo just turned ninety years old."
"Ninety!" She exclaimed, and continued speaking though I couldn't hear her. At this point, we'd crossed the street and I had to enter the subway station and bid her hasta luego. She replied, "May God bless you."
Through Eugene Peterson's book and this scenario with the elderly woman, I see that pastors are people who help the helpless. Pastors, people entrusted with the nurture of God's people, care for the vulnerable. They visit the sick, meet with the burdened, pray with the depressed. They invite the loner into fellowship, mourn with the abused, encourage the hopeless. Pastors help the helpless by showing them that in Jesus, people can have hope beyond hope; like Abraham, who hoped beyond any reason to remain hopeful, and so became the father of many nations (Romans 4:18).
Pastors care for the vulnerable.
2. The Lost Subway Rider
Later in the day, as I waited in a Queens subway station for the Manhattan-bound E train, nose buried in Peterson's book, a tall, buff, sleeveless-tee-wearing guy in sunglasses approached me.
"Excuse me, sir," he said to me. "Can you explain how I get to Grand Central station from here?" He looked pretty flustered; like he'd gotten on the wrong train several times. I consulted my iPhone, showed him a map, and helped point him in the right direction.
As God shapes my perception of the world around me through Peterson's book and through interactions like this, he's teaching me that pastors give people direction. They help lost people find their way; they thoughtfully answer people's theological and moral questions; they point people to The Way, Truth, and Life -- the person, the Word-of-God made flesh, Jesus Christ. Pastors sit with people when they say "I don't get it," and re-explain it, prayerfully, consistently, patiently. Pastors need to be present for times when the Philippian jailer asks "What must I do to be saved?" (Acts 16:30), and times when the Ethiopian eunuch, upon receiving the gospel word, declares, "Look, here is water. What can stand in the way of my being baptized?" (Acts 8:36).
Perhaps most importantly, pastors move out of the way and direct lost people to the Way.
3. The Late-for-Work Lady
Once I'd gotten back into Manhattan, the uptown C train was only running "express" (skipping several local stops along it's route), and I had somewhere to be in 20 minutes. Once again, I was stuck in a subway station -- this time at the 59th Street station, and I was going to be late. Pay attention to the ordinary.
A very aggravated, tattooed lady with dark hair and blue-eyed contact lenses stood next to me as a train whizzed by. "I just can't believe this," she said. "I'm two hours late for work because of all these trains!" I sympathized with her -- public transportation inconveniences are awful, especially when you have somewhere important to be. She continued. "And, to top it all off, I don't have any cell phone service down here below ground, so I can't even text my boss."
My phone was in my hand and I had service, so I offered it to her to text her boss. She thanked me. Over the next few minutes, we figured out that the A train would take us close to our destinations, so we'd better take it next time it showed up on the tracks.
It's clear that pastors console the anxious and help the overwhelmed -- that seems to be the obvious pastoral application of the scenario above, and it's a relevant one, a good one. But I don't think it's the most significant one. Here is the most significant one: the Late-for-Work Lady and I were both in the same predicament: we were both late! We both needed the same answer: the right subway train, and quick!
Pastors aren't people who've escaped the guilty verdict of sin by becoming "holy" pastors. They aren't 'going to heaven' because they've helped the elderly, studied the Bible, preached in church, baptized people, donated money, and "dedicated their lives to God." Pastors are people who "need the same train as everyone else."
Pastors need the forgiving and reconciling grace of Christ just as much as the people they counsel, pray over, meet with, and teach. Pastors, first and foremost, are people who recognize their deep need for and dependency on Jesus in order to minister in his name. Sometimes pastors are people who cry out, like the father who wanted Jesus to heal his little girl, "I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!" (Mark 9:24). And, surely, pastors ought to be people who want to live lives of integrity, who listen to Jesus when he says, "watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak" (Mark 14:38).
But most of all, pastors are people who confess Romans 5:6, along with St. Paul, and feel it in their bones: "For while we were yet weak, Christ died for the ungodly." Pastors are people who know that, apart from Jesus' work of grace and peace, they would remain lost and estranged from God like everyone else.
Pastors need the same remedy to the same problem, the same as everyone.
So, if you've ever wondered "What is a 'pastor' anyway?" I hope this entry is a starting point. I think it's where I'm starting as I begin answering that question for myself. And, curiously enough, aren't all these "pastoral conclusions" applicable to any Christian, whether in church ministry or not? Aren't all Christian called to be agents of renewal in their workplaces, with their families, among friends and strangers? Shouldn't we all practice putting the word of grace on our lips and hands for our neighbors? Because God has given us his Spirit in our union with Christ, empowering us to love because we've been extravagantly loved, the answer is "yes."
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