I have a group of fellow pastors I meet with once a month for breakfast. We socialize and talk shop, but mostly we just hang out. That’s right. We hang out. It’s not usually very “spiritual.” It’s not usually what a person might expect from a group of pastors hanging out together. No one brings a Bible. There’s no “devotional,” and we’re not working our way through some heady book. We eat breakfast, get caught up on what each of us is doing, and most of us drink too much coffee. But God is there.
Oops, did you think I lunged into something spiritual? Because I didn’t. What I was saying was spiritual all along. The Christian understanding (and the Jewish, and the Buddhist and that of other religions, for that matter) is that God is everywhere. We don’t have to baptize our meetings in overtly spiritual purposes for God to be there. God just IS there. The issue is whether we realize that at every instant we inhabit HIS world.
Working directly with people is incredibly rewarding, but has its share of pain and frustration. The last few weeks have been full of moments like that for me and so recently I made the difficult decision to reach out to this group of guys and tell them about my pain. That’s not easy. It’s far easier to keep stuff to ourselves, not share it with the people God has placed in our lives to love us, and then complain about being isolated and unloved. In fact that’s the choice most of us usually do make, and the choice I have made most of my life. But I chose to share this with them. The responses were amazing — encouraging, insightful, patient — the kind of stuff that helped me know that I really don’t have to bear my burdens alone. Below is a note I wrote just today to the group that probably sums up a lot of things I’ve been thinking lately about what it means to deal with the pain that inevitably comes into each of our lives.
I have really appreciated hearing from you guys, each in your own way.
Richard Rohr says that only two things, ultimately, lead us up the hill of spiritual growth — great love, and great suffering. I think Paul knew this when he welcomed suffering into his life and was thankful for it.
Dudes, if we can do this — if we can actually learn to be present to our own failures and sufferings, we will accomplish something great. Here’s what I mean.
I’ve been going to counseling for about eighteen months. My counselor is brilliant and he shared with me a little while back that in his 20 years of doing psychotherapy, he has only had a small handful of pastors come in to counseling and actually stick it out. He says most have wanted only to feel better about some specific situation and then once the immediate pain was gone, they bailed out of counseling. So they were not present to it. They sought only freedom from pain, but did not seek to learn from it, to be deepened by it, or to ask the hard questions like Brad was talking about — “where is this my problem? where is it truly not? what can I learn here?”
While it made me glad to be the exception to the rule, it also deeply bothered me. As pastors, we know that we’re working with colleagues who are deeply, deeply wounded (after all, they’re pastors — enough said). Either those wounds are faced squarely, or else they will be passed on to those in our congregations — as if our people aren’t bearing their own share of deep wounds. What’s this thing with pastors so often not being willing to be present to their pain? The answer is that pastors are people too, and people in general don’t want to be present to pain. But deep pain and deep love are the fires that forge deep spiritual understanding. If we are actually to lead our people anyplace worth going, we must be on this journey, because it’s the same journey Jesus took, and it must be the same journey we are teaching others to take as well. That simply IS the narrow gate — and, being fashioned by pain, we can certainly understand why it’s narrow.
Thus we leave an incredible legacy for our people as we determine to be present to our own pain. And I am thankful for how you guys also have been willing to be present to my pain. It was really hard for me to write that note to you because we’re taught to only share our stories of pain in the past tense, once we have knuckled through it and are feeling powerful and victorious again. But when we open up and actually share pain, that’s where others can identify with us and know us — and ultimately love us. And where love is, there is God.
Thanks again, my friends.