My Story Part 15: What? Me, a Pastor?

March 3, 2021March 3, 2021 ~ Derek Melanson ~ Leave a comment

I can’t recall a time when I wasn’t interested in truth or God or church or Jesus. So much so that I have long understood the arc of my life through the lens of what God is doing (or wants to be doing) in me. Even in those seasons when I drifted away, not only did God always pull me back but he actually never left me. Though I may have been paying significantly less attention to him, his eye was always on me. All I have to do is stop and consider all of the times I may have made an especially poor decision, or the times when a particular door just didn’t open like I wanted, and it’s clear that God was in some measure protecting me. When it comes to some of the potential decisions I could have made or paths I could have taken, I genuinely believe he was keeping me safe from the worst of myself.

True, I still made mistakes. Like I said, I have at times drifted. But never to the point of significant self-destruction. Never to the point where my life was irrevocably set in an unfortunate direction that I would regret but be unable to do anything about.

And I don’t really know why this is so. Why has God allowed my life to go as it has? What don’t I know about how my life may have gone that would explain the gracious providence of God’s hand? What dangerous turns might I have taken were it not for my Lord’s gentle prodding in one way or another?

Was all of it so that I could be where I am now? I mean, God has known all of my days from from the foundation of the world. Did he protect and steer my life so that I could later be a pastor, of all things?

There are things I will never know on this side of eternity.

What’s funny is that while I was studying for my MA, I remember thinking that being a pastor looked like an altogether undesirable calling. Having to wear a suit and tie all the time, dealing with church boards and committees, seeming to be always on guard around other people–none of this was attractive to me. I mostly saw older men who seemed dull and humourless. Give me instead some good theology books, evenings out with friends and good conversation, the chance to serve with a university campus ministry, and I’ll be happy.

God, being God, always has the last laugh, of course.

So how did it happen?

While I was at Acadia Divinity College, most of my classmates were, in fact, studying for their MDiv, the required degree for pastoral ministry. Over time I found myself feeling envious of some of their experience, how they were growing, and the way going through this together was creating a unique bond between them. I felt like an outsider. Not only because I was in a different academic program, but because I knew virtually nothing about this strange, Baptist world of local church ministry and what being a pastor was about.

At one point, I talked with the Dean of Students about what it would take to earn an MDiv alongside my MA. Wisely, she probed into my motivations. And at that stage they had nothing to do with discerning a calling from God into pastoral ministry or a calling that would require an MDiv. After graduating from ADC, I was off to McMaster University in Hamilton, Ontario. There I would earn my PhD in theology and from there go on to teach theology in a university, college, or Bible school somewhere. So that was that.

But at Mac I was in another university environment that included a local seminary. I quickly found myself surrounded by friends who were studying to be pastors, who were already pastors, and who didn’t want to be pastors but eventually became pastors. In fact, the friend with whom I shared an apartment in Hamilton, who went to McMaster to get his masters in Math, eventually experienced a call to ministry, went on to get his MDiv and become a pastor. They were dropping like flies all around me!

I wonder if God was putting me in proximity with certain people and leading me into some experiences in order to open me up to the possibility of pastoral ministry. During this time, I admit I occasionally wondered what preaching would be like. After all, I had lots of friends who were doing it. I knew I wanted to teach theology. Besides, isn’t that basically what a pastor does, preach and teach?

Without getting into the weeds of the story, I left McMaster after four years without a finished PhD. Honestly, my time in Hamilton counts as something of a lowpoint spiritually and personally. I was tired and didn’t know if I could finish what I’d started–or if I wanted to do so. On the one hand, it was only four years; on the other hand, I’d been in university in one way or another for more than a decade.

However, during my third year at Mac, I also met the woman who would later become my wife. We met online (a story all by itself!). We got engaged less than a year after we met. This is one of the reasons I moved back home to New Brunswick–to get married! And it was getting married, in part, that led to my entering pastoral ministry.

Note: The lesson here, of course, is if you want to avoid being called into pastoral ministry, don’t marry someone you meet online.

Or maybe not.

Looking back at that season of my life, it’s hard to believe how naive I was. We got married in the summer of 2002, were living with my in-laws at the time, and I had no job prospects at all.

After we were married, I began looking for work. I got a job working at a call center (attempting) to sell AT&T long distance phone services. My wife did too. Though she didn’t last as long as me. Neither of us were particularly suited to that work. Obviously, working at a call center couldn’t be the long term plan for our livelihood.

As it happens, there was a small Baptist church in the area whose pastor was retiring. It was the church my father-in-law grew up attending. His mother and a couple of his sisters still attended there. And the church was looking for supply preachers while they began searching for a new pastor.

Can you imagine what happened next? Did I excitedly compile my resume, hoping against hope that not only would I get the chance to do some supply preaching but maybe even be considered for the pastor’s position?

Well, not exactly. I got my resume ready, yes. But largely at the prompting of my wife and, I think, my mother-in-law. In submitting my resume, I really didn’t know if it was the right thing to do or not. Or if I wanted it to be. I was newly married, living with my in-laws, and my options were, shall we say, limited.

Both my wife and I were interviewed by one of their deacons, and were offered the opportunity to preach a number of times in the fall and winter of 2002–2003. Eventually, after we had preached there several times, they asked us to consider being their part-time pastoral team. A husband and wife ministry package! One of our church regulars later quipped that “the church got two pastors for the price of half-a-one.” After much prayer and conversation, we accepted the invitation.

Let me pause here. Some of you might think: That doesn’t sound very spiritual. Some of you might ask: But did you feel a call to pastoral ministry? That is, apart from the invitation to do some supply preaching, did I have a strong and certain inward sense that God was calling me to enter pastoral ministry?

Or did the clouds part and a clear voice (sounding suspiciously like Morgan Freeman) tell me to consider pastoral ministry?

Were there trumpets?

Songs of angels?

Put simply, no.

Here’s the thing: I almost never experience anything that way. I am almost never certain about big life decisions. It’s simply not who I am. But especially at that point in my life, I was still driven by a lot of fear and indecision.

But God knew me then like he knows me now, and if he wanted me in pastoral ministry he also knew, therefore, how it would have to happen. He would have to push through all of my emotional baggage and personality quirks in order for me to listen.

I’m guessing that had God tried the aggressive approach, I would have been like Moses at the burning bush. “Ummm, are you sure you want me to do this? You must have someone better you can call. I really don’t think I’m your best choice. That, and I really don’t want to do it.”

So what made it possible for me to consider such a calling at that time? It helped that this was a very small church, as well as one connected to my wife’s family. It was part time. We wouldn’t have to move a great distance (the parsonage was less than 10 minutes from my in-laws) and so we would still have a family support system in the area. While it was a serious commitment, it wasn’t an overwhelmingly frightening step to take. I didn’t know if this would end up as a life long calling, but it was the chance to explore the possibility and to see where God might lead us from there.

One step at a time, right?

Thinking about it now, just how gracious and patient is God?

It brings to mind some folks in Scripture. Abram was 75 before God called him. Moses, again, was 80 before God appeared in the burning bush, telling Moses to get his people off of Egyptian soil. Paul was a persecutor of the church with murderous intentions before Jesus knocked him to the ground with a blinding light.

Isn’t it possible that God, being the perfect shepherd that he is, knows not only precisely where to lead but how to get us there?

And doesn’t God make a habit of calling undeserving, unprepared, unexpected people to do his will?

Doesn’t God colour outside the lines?

In any case, my wife and I spent roughly three years pastoring at our first church. The people were kind, gracious, and encouraging. Especially given my nearly total lack of ministry experience. At the time, my wife had more experience in ministry. In some ways, the folks at this church were my seminary professors. And I really began to learn what pastoring was about.

I should say that this is why the Body of Christ is important with respect to someone hearing God’s call. Not every individual will see in themselves what God and even other people might see in them. At our first church, I also felt very affirmed and encouraged in what I was doing as a pastor.

When our first church was no longer able to support us financially, God graciously provided a call to another congregation. We were at our next church for nearly 9 years, had ups and downs, real struggles and joys. Most importantly, we grew to love the people there. Every time we have the chance to go back and visit, which isn’t often, I am glad to see old friends.

Our current church has been our spiritual home for nearly 7 years. Again, life being what it is, we’ve experienced much in this time. Some good, some not as good–and I’m not speaking only of church here but of family life and everything in between. Indeed, one of the lessons, I think, of pastoral life (and the Christian life) is learning to trust and walk with Jesus in the ordinary and the messy, in the uncertain and the imperfect. Don’t abandon the call or turn tail and run when things get hard or confusing. Resist the tendency to think that life and ministry shouldn’t be difficult because God has called us and promises to be with us. Understand that God seeks to extract all manner of wrong-headedness from our hearts and minds and to produce resilience and perseverance, to grow us into saints with roots planted deep in gospel soil.

All throughout these years, right up until the present, God has been (and continues to be) mysteriously and wonderfully at work. It’s not always easy to tell what God is doing. Sometimes I just don’t know. And I wonder and question. More often I question myself. But part of the Christian life is developing the eyes to see the hand of God in the very ordinariness of our lives. It also means trusting God’s heart when his hand is hidden. Our lives are hidden with God in Christ. We live between the now and not yet. We’re not always gifted with the privilege of knowing how God is using us in the immediate present. Perhaps this is for our good.

Over the years, I have wrestled with the notion of call, and what it has meant for me to experience a call. Because I didn’t grow up in the evangelical sub-culture or the Baptist family of churches. I wasn’t familiar with the language or the expectations. Both then and now, I have never felt like I quite fit in. Truthfully, I feel like an awkward fit most places I go. Even after all of these years in ministry, I still don’t feel like a “traditional” pastor.

What I do know–and what I feel deep down in my soul–is that I want to lead and help others to follow Jesus. I want them to know Jesus, and to understand that Jesus, in knowing us perfectly, loves us just as much. I want to proclaim the reality of the kingdom. I want to preach the resurrection and new life. I want to live intentionally in the presence of the God who is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. I want to help others do likewise.

Wherever God plunks me down so that I can be a part of that is up to him.

And if there’s one crucial thing I have learned is that life doesn’t proceed on a clear, linear path from A to B (much less from A to Z!). Or, I should say, God doesn’t often lead us on this sort of path. Sometimes what we want from God is exactly what he withholds in order to teach us to trust in him. And let’s be honest, that can be frustrating. You’re probably like me; you want the well-marked roadmap for your life, to know all the twists and turns in advance to be sure you’re making the right decisions. “Good luck with that,” God says, “That’s not how this is going to go.” Learning to be ok with that, and even to prefer it, is what it means to orient your life around the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ; and this is true whether God calls you, step by step, into pastoral ministry, or to another calling altogether.

Pastors and Friendship

November 29, 2013November 29, 2013 ~ Derek Melanson ~ Leave a comment

The other day my wife and I were picking up our twin sons from preschool, and we met another father who also has twins. “No one else knows what this is like,” he said. We all agreed. Unless you have twins (or multiples) you have no idea what it’s like. Only by having the same experience can you identify with having twins.

That’s true of many things, including being a pastor.

This is why I am glad to be currently in a peer group of other, more experienced pastors. We meet usually once a month and we talk about stuff only pastors are likely to talk about. And in the midst of these conversations that sense of shared experience creates a bond, an understanding, that those of us who are pastors are unlikely to find anywhere else.

There’s a certain incongruity in preaching about the body of Christ, the church as the priesthood of all believers, when as the pastor you are in the unique position of not being just another member of the congregation. The funny thing is that sometimes I long for that feeling of belonging among my own people. I wish I could be more self-disclosed. I wish I could have closer friendships than I do with others in the church.

Of course, some of this is my fault. Because at one level a pastor should have friendships in the church, in his or her church. It may be more challenging, but it’s not impossible. The problem is that there are those who think that the pastor should have a sort of professional distance. I confess that I have thought this way at times. I probably have acted this way even more frequently. I recognize that I have not always made the effort to enter more fully into friendships with those in the church.

One reason I have kept my distance is fear. Fear of saying the wrong thing. Fear of divulging the wrong piece of personal history. Fear of trying to pastor someone when there is now an awkwardness between you. Fear of weakness and failure and of what others think. It’s this very same fear, I think, that makes me want to maintain a distance.

Having a group of other pastors with whom you can discuss the difficult problems, ask the awkward questions, and share more personal struggles is one way of addressing this gap. I am grateful for my fellow pastors. I hope that our peer group grows and becomes closer-knit over time.

Yet as much as I appreciate this peer group, there are aspects of church life that still escape the pastor in his local church. For instance, there have been times when I have wished I were just one of a number of other men at a similar point in their lives in our congregation, talking about kids, jobs, movies, maybe sneaking theological discussions in here and there, helping one another, praying with one another.

I wonder if our (or any) congregation realizes how lonely being a pastor can be. I remember at my induction the pastor who spoke talked to the congregation about making friends with the pastor and his family. He spoke of including the pastor and his family in their lives—even in their life events like birthdays and other significant moments. And there have been a few occasions when a few folks have done this. I wonder now if I failed to take advantage of those opportunities. Was I so afraid to make the wrong impression or of being vulnerable that I didn’t open up, didn’t let myself be known?

Jesus once said to his disciples, I have called you friends. He said this because he was open about everything with them. He shared with them. He let them in. As risky as it might be, perhaps all of us—including pastors—are called to do this as followers of Jesus. Certainly I could use more deep friendships, because despite what Facebook tells me I do not have over 100 friends.

“Don’t Speak Until You’re Spoken to!”

November 4, 2013 ~ Derek Melanson ~ Leave a comment

There’s a saying: “Don’t speak until you’re spoken to.”

I’ll get to that. Eventually.

I’ve been a pastor for more than 10 years now. I’ve preached many sermons—and hopefully at least a few of them have been more than adequate. I find that at this point it’s not too difficult to put together a sermon; that is, the process and the rhythms are familiar ones. Of course, this can also be a part of the problem with what I call the “professionalization of faith.” Strange though it may sound, I have found that it’s possible to prepare a message at arm’s length. I do my exegesis, reflect on the meaning of the text, tease out major points to consider, decorate my outline with illustrations both serious and amusing, and make sure that the results are refracted through the gospel. And then tie it up with a neat, pretty bow. Well, maybe not a neat, pretty bow. But I can ensure you’re out by noon.

At the moment, I am also supply preaching at a church not far from my home congregation. They are a tiny church even by rural standards, and preaching whatever message I preached at my home church is all that they have asked of me. So that’s what I do. Since I know the people there, it’s been a blessing to serve there too. I’ve agreed to supply preach until they find a more permanent pastor who can preach in the mornings. Preaching the same message a second time has been an interesting experience; sometimes it goes better the second time! Each week before I leave, they hand me an envelope with a check inside to cover mileage and provide compensation for my service.

There’s something a little off about this. Preaching has become my half of a transaction. The worker deserves his wages, after all.

But is that all? It’s one thing to preach the word; it’s another to receive the word, to feed on the word yourself. Devotional reading. Meditation. Memorization. This is where my own submission to God’s word is perhaps scattershot and inconsistent. While I usually avoid thinking about it, most weeks the only Scripture I study and reflect on is my sermon text. And then almost always for my sermon exclusively. With the constraints of time and energy and life pressing in, I give in to the pressure of thinking that this is enough. Sometimes I actually believe it.

I can remember occasions when the Scriptures were something like a burning fire shut up in my bones. Or at least I can recall when it actually felt like God was at work while I was preaching. I can think of Sunday mornings when I would wake up, excited by what I had to share from God’s word. I am weary with holding it in, and I cannot. Joy spreads. Enthusiasm is contagious. Passion catches. When those of us who are preachers have been genuinely surprised by what God is saying in the Scriptures, our message is more likely to elicit surprise from people in the pews. A few less people check out or fall asleep.

I had this sort of experience recently when preaching on the parable of the Good Samaritan. Something in my study of the text surprised me, took me off guard, and made me realize just how incredible Jesus’ story-telling is. A few people told me they were surprised too. It was just a small example of what God can do when we pay attention, when we willingly receive before we prepare to give. So, like Mary, I have to learn to say more often and more faithfully, Let it be with me according to your word.

I’m thinking that’s where the disciplines involving the Scriptures come in: meditation, memorization, studying. I realize that too often I am doing more talking than listening, more preaching than praying. But the truth is that even though preaching involves a lot of study, I simply do not allow Scripture sufficient space and time to work its way into my heart and mind as I should. I need to ask: is God’s word touching me, moving me, challenging me, encouraging me, directing me? And do I allow the Spirit time to do this before I rush headlong into outlining my message? Do I allow God to say something to me before I open my mouth in the pulpit? If I have not listened to God speak to me through the text, why should I expect the congregation to listen to me? To paraphrase Jesus, Preacher, heal thyself!

Or to put it another way: “Don’t speak until you’re spoken to.”