These foibles are a good reminder that ministers too are jars of clay, sometimes struggling with fear (real or not), or worrying about things which are in reality the fruit of an inflated sense of importance.

It should not come as a surprise that when pastors get together (at denominational meetings, joint services, or conferences) we talk shop. The usual topics are the three “Bs”—buildings, bodies, and budgets— along with discussions about the latest doctrinal controversy, who is teaching what, and current cultural and political trends which impact church life for good or ill. Since so much of what ministers do is intangible, it makes sense that we would look for ways to evaluate how our particular part of Christ’s vineyard is performing. One of the ways to do this is to compare numbers and talk about trends. Motives here are mixed, of course, but much of this is merely routine chit-chat and part of catching up with other friends in the ministry.

I was ordained in 1988 and have spent much time around other ministers in the years since. What follows (offered in a spirit of informative good humor) are things ministers admit to worrying and fretting about while chatting with their fellows. We tend to keep this stuff to ourselves, but truth be told, most of us have dealt with these fears, worries, and frustrations at one time or another.

The Imodium Moment

For good reason, no one wants to admit it, but it happens—the moment when you are standing before the congregation and you realize that you’ve got mere minutes to find a way to excuse yourself before Montezuma takes his revenge. You hope and pray it happens when the assistant pastor is there to take over. As the dreaded moment draws ever closer, you panic and think of ways to exit. Do you ask the congregation to stop and pray or sing another hymn while you slip out, or do you tell them what is about to happen and run? Most everyone in the congregation has been there, so people are very understanding. But knowing that doesn’t slow the inevitable, nor ease the fear that you are about to embarrass yourself and ruin the service.

But I Wrote That Sermon Just for Them

Pastors often work hard preparing to preach a text knowing that it applies perfectly to someone in the congregation who is in need of comfort, encouragement, or to be convicted of a particular sin. You don’t mention them by name, and you carefully craft the sermon so that they don’t know that you are talking about (or better, to) them. But knowing their circumstances, you trust the Holy Spirit will apply the preached word to them exactly as you planned that He would. And then you realize that they are not in church that Lord’s Day. Drat—all that careful planning has gone to waste. Acts 16:6-10 comes to mind. Someone else surely needed to hear what you prepared.

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