“You don’t need to worry about us”

As was the custom, I’d offered a pastoral report to our church council on a Tuesday a few months ago. Sometimes, I tend to ramble or leave out important details. When someone then asks for clarification, I'd feel foolish. This time, trying to be more effective in my role, I prepared an outline of sorts.

My plan was to celebrate some of the ways we as a church had been growing in discipleship in recent months, in terms of participation in adult studies and small groups. Then I’d ask the council for feedback. How can we reach some of the less connected people? How might we get more people involved overall?

I say “tried” because it didn’t turn out as I’d hoped. What I planned to be an affirmation of people’s participation came out way weaker than I’d intended – no doubt tied to my introverted, understated, “don’t say more than needed” ways of the past. And after that reserved (not-quite-absent) affirmation, it was only reasonable that some folks might have taken my question about how to get people more involved a bit personally, maybe even getting a little defensive.

Maybe they didn’t and weren’t, but it was tense. And having shared all this you might agree that it's not surprising given the circumstances. Even so, through our conversation I got some good suggestions. And later, I gained another useful bit of perspective.

The day after the meeting, someone took me aside and told me he’d been offended. He spoke respectfully and I listened, not asking any questions. About a week later, after we’d each had time to distance ourselves from the experience, I approached him to ask what in particular had offended him. Thankfully, he was open to my question and explained. And as he finished, he said, “You don’t need to worry about us, you know.”

I’ve been giving that sentence a lot of thought in the months since then, how I worry about the people in my care. In a way it makes sense to be concerned, but in another way it’s totally unneeded and gets in the way of what I'm trying to do.

As one of the pastors in this church, I stand on the shoulders of all those who have gone before me. They blazed the trail that I now continue for a time. When my appointment here ends, another will continue after me. It’s a relay race. I don’t do it myself. All any of us can do, or need to do, is our own part.

The people of this church are good and faithful people, living out that faith in fear and trembling (just like me.) They've been at it a long time – their whole lives, many of them. They too stand on the shoulders of the ones who once filled their pews. Eventually, others will take their places.

All Saints Day is Tuesday. Maybe this is a good time to remember some of those who made our churches, our homes, and our communities what they are today. Maybe it’s a good time to assess the good we’re doing now, asking ourselves what will people say about us when we’re gone?

So then let’s also run the race that is laid out in front of us, since we have such a great cloud of witnesses surrounding us. Let’s throw off any extra baggage, get rid of the sin that trips us up, and fix our eyes on Jesus, faith’s pioneer and perfecter.  Hebrews 12:1f