I couldn’t so he did. He worked the barbs of the Hula Popper out of the fish’s mouth, and then he tried to hand the fish to me. “Here Jeff, hold him like this. Just put your thumb in here on the bottom of his mouth, and your fingers on the underside, and you’ll paralyze him.” “Won’t he bite me?” “No, he won’t because he’ll be paralyzed – go ahead, take him.” I tried. I really did. My hand moved toward the 17-inch large mouth bass, but I just couldn’t plunge my thumb into his gaping mouth!
“Jeff, don’t you trust me?” Oh, come on Pastor, I thought. Don’t make it about that! Don’t make my touching this stinkin’ fish personal between us… “Yes, I trust you.” “Then go ahead, just take him – you caught him, you can put him on the stringer.” When all was said and done, that dark Sunday night after the evening service, down at Mastin’s pond with my friend Hal, and the pastor’s wife and kids – I never touched that monster fish. I mean, I was only like ten years old. The thing is… I’ve never touched a fish since then either! But that’s a story for my counselor… MY PASTOR MY FRIEND I lived in that small town for only two months after this man came to pastor my church, then we moved. Just two months. Late one Sunday afternoon the Pastor stopped by my house and asked if I wanted to go fishing after the evening service (that I never attended), and if I did I could bring a friend. Of course I said yes. (It was always good to fish with others, so they could take my fish off the hook!) I still remember that night, the dark moonless sky held a bright canopy of stars. The crickets chirped loudly in the weeds. Bullfrogs and small fish splashed the surface of the water. “Jeff, on these dark nights it’s best to use black lures,” he said. “Why in the world would that be true?” I wondered back. “Here’s why Jeff, take your hand, stretch it out and hold it above your head. See? See how it contrasts against the night sky? That’s what the fish sees. The blacker the lure, the better the contrast.” Now that’s something I’ve never forgotten. I’ve never really used the information either – but I’ve never forgotten it! You know, when your dad never took you fishing, it didn’t take much to create a personal connection. My pastor noticed me. He cared. And that meant a lot to me. I remember that night, and our many encounters after it. Eight years later I would live with this pastor and his family for almost four months. He invited me to help him at his church, which I accepted. I was there, I’m not sure how much help I was, but I learned a lot. Thirty-five years after that night at the pond, I would stop at his house on my way to pick up my daughter from college. Hadn’t seen each other in twenty-five years! He was now an old man, and I was old enough. While talking to his wife in the kitchen, he walked in from the backyard. Without saying a word we embraced, two pastors now, and I wept. I couldn’t contain the emotions that welled up in me. This man, as flawed as we all are, had made a profound difference in my life, simply because he cared, and because he spent just a little time with me, and established a friendship. STILL MAKING A DIFFERENCE Hardly a week goes by when I am not influenced by that night at the pond. Will I stop and talk with a kid? Will I pay attention to a little girl who says, “Look Pastor, look what I made”? Will I give a teenager the time of day, saying hello and using his or her name? You bet I will! I’m the pastor now. In forty years I want some men and women to write about how their pastor knew them, cared about them, and had influence in their lives. It really doesn’t take much to make a difference. Of course, I’ll never take a kid’s fish off a hook. I mean, I do have limits. Or will I? I stepped out of my office this morning on a mission. T-Minus 15 minutes and counting, until the service would start. I needed to print the final revision of my message notes. “Pastor Jeff, I never got a stuffed animal.” There were several girls sitting outside the office in the overstuffed loveseat in the back lobby. This one had wide, somewhat pleading eyes. Susie clearly wanted attention, which was new. She was a quiet, shy, seven year old who until then had never spoken to me.
You see, I have this practice. I’m not sure when I started it, but it’s been years. Kohl’s has stuffed animals for sale near their checkout areas for $5 each. Sometimes they are “people” like Charlie Brown or PigPen, other times Disney, Dr. Suess, or other notable characters. So I buy a couple every time I go and stock them in my office. I let children come in and pick a stuffed animal from my caché. I’ve given stuffed animals to boys as old as ten, or to toddlers as young as two. But every kid can get one from me. So far I’ve been able to limit it to just one. Sometimes months will go by between opportunities, but it’s always a highlight for me to give a stuffed animal to a kid in my church. When I give a stuffed animal to a kid, I tell them things like:
So when Susie said to me this morning, “Pastor Jeff, I never got a stuffed animal,” I stopped dead in my tracks, (somewhat shocked that she had actually spoken to me!) invited her in to look at the collection, and let her pick out the little dog from 101 Dalmatians, whose name escapes me at the moment. We had a short conversation, but SUSIE TALKED TO ME! We made a connection, and she walked out happy with her doggie. Her dad told me on the phone that afternoon that she hadn’t put it down all day. I’m a pastor so that I can help children develop an idea of what God is like. God is happy. God loves them. God wants to know them. God likes to give them gifts. God is always there. I try to show happiness to kids, and love them, and get to know them, and even give them a stuffed animal at least once. And, I believe that a long pastorate helps kids to know God better. Susie’s words to me, expressed through wide, wondering eyes reminded me why I want to be a pastor, in the same church, for a long time. The second conversation was after church. With a young mom. She was walking across the lobby, and when I reached out to her to say hello I saw the tears in her eyes. “Oh, you’re crying… I’m sorry,” I said. “I know, I probably need to talk with you. Could we maybe talk right now, maybe in your office?” she replied. Well, of course. We spent about fifteen minutes as I listened to her fears and concerns. She was uncertain, confused, discouraged, and maybe just wanted to quit on this whole “God and the Bible” thing. What should she believe anyway? It was all so confusing. My heart went out to her as I realized that she was in the same place my wife has been, and I have been. She was deconstructing much of what she was taught as a child, and the theological reconstruction in her heart was very hard, very confusing at times, and quite unsettling. I encouraged her to talk with both my wife and I about this – “this is right down my wife’s alley!” I told her. She was happy to make an appointment to talk with us later this week. I am seriously, severely, vehemently, and voraciously looking forward to it! J This young mom reminded me why I wanted to be a pastor! I want to help people make sense of the Scriptures, and of God the Father. I want them to know Jesus, and his love. I want them to walk in the Spirit. I want them to have the joy of the LORD even in the midst of life’s inevitable crises, burdens, and trials. I want people to be freed from their burdens! The Pharisees placed huge burdens on peoples’ backs and did not lift a finger to help them carry the load. I don’t want to do that. With the Gospel of Jesus, we can remove her burdens, and lighten her load. Jesus’ yoke is easy, and his burden is light. Yeah. What Jesus said! I like it. One young girl. One young mom. Thanks to both of them, I am reminded again, and happy again, to be a pastor at my church. Two conversations that remind me the Kingdom of God is for people today, and I get to declare it to them, and share it with them. Why do you want to be a pastor? Share what fires your pastoral heart in the comments section below… |
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