Pastoral Visit Quotes

Lord. Count not thine handmaid for a daughter of Belial:

It became obvious why Catholics had built such beautiful cathedrals and churches throughout the world. Not as gathering or meeting places for Christians. But as a home for Jesus Himself in the Blessed Sacrament. Cathedrals house Jesus. Christians merely come and visit Him. The cathedrals and churches architecturally prepare our souls for the beauty of the Eucharist.

I regularly tell our seminary students that if I happen to visit the church in which one of them serves, I will not ask first, “Is this man a good preacher?” Rather, first of all I will ask the secretaries, office staff, janitors, and cleaners what it is like to work for this pastor. I will ask, “What kind of man is he? Is he a servant? Is he demanding and harsh, or his he patient, kind, and forbearing as a man in authority?” One of our graduates may preach great sermons, but if he is a pain to work for, then you know he will cause major problems in any congregation. Leaders in the church are required by Scripture to set an example in the areas of love, kindness, gentleness, patience, and forbearance before they are appointed to preach, teach, and rule. If we obediently require these attitudes and character traits of our leaders, what will our “new community” look like

A suburban pastor maintained services appropriate for his respected, professional parish. His father, an excitable traveling evangelist, visited and challenged the congregation to confront pride and sing out loudly with the windows open. The next day, the pastor’s banker mentioned overhearing, and he was sheepish. The buttoned-up banker said, though, that the neighborhood had been WAITING TO HEAR the church live out the joy they claimed.

I had expected them to talk about my childlessness. I was armed with millions of smiles. Apologetic smiles, pity-me smiles, I-look-unto-God smiles - name all the fake smiles needed to get through an afternoon with a group of people who claim to want the best for you while poking at your open sore with a stick - and I had them ready. I was ready to listen to them tell me I must do something about my situation. I expected to hear about a new pastor I could visit; a new mountain where I could go to pray; or an old herbalist in a remote village or town whom I could consult. I was armed with smiles for my lips, an appropriate sheen of tears for my eyes and sniffles for my nose. I was prepared to lock up my hairdressing salon throughout the coming week and go in search of a miracle with my mother-in-law in tow. What I was not expecting was another smiling woman in the room, a yellow woman with a blood-red mouth who grinned like a new bride.

A pastor visited a family whose son had been killed in an automobile accident. He heard the mother lash out at him, “Where was your God when my boy was killed?” He quietly responded, “The same place He was when His Son was killed.

Just then, in that instant, I saw His eyes. I recognised them. They were the eyes of that trembling father in a smoke-filled room on the ninety-third floor of Tower One, dialing his little girls for the last time. Those were the eyes behind that calming voice singing 'Amazing Grace' in a crowded and slippery stairwell, trapped outside a roof door when the ceilings began to cave. The eyes of the people who stayed behind with the handicapped victims waiting for police officers who never made it up the stairs. Those were the eyes of firemen who pushed me to safety, the doctor who cared for me for more than a year free of charge, the therapist who visited my home regularly so that I could sleep a little, the children who loved me, the brother who prayed nonstop, and the pastor who became my friend. Those were the eyes of God.

He has left out details of the barbershop he visited, in which he was shown to a windowless room behind a red curtain, where a short man in the pastor’s same shirt quickly dispensed with his beard (unasked) and the hair on the side of Less’s head, leaving only the blond wisp at the top, and then asked: “Massage?” This turned out to be a series of thumpings and slaps, a general pummeling, as if to extract military secrets, ending with four resounding wallops across the face.

Woe! Woe! Woe! "Woe be unto the pastors that destroy and scatter the sheep of His pasture! "Woe to him that buildeth a town with blood and by iniquity! "Woe unto you that are rich! For ye have received your consolation! "Woe to the pastors who are brutish and have not sought the Lord! "Woe to the Inquisitors, for Jesus will inquire unto them! "Blessed are the faggots, for their voices will be an angel's choir. "Blessed is my sister, Lila, for heaven is within her. "Blessed are the rabble, for they shall know God. "But woe upon you, for the evil of your own doings shall be visited upon you. "Let my sister go!

In 1854, at the young age of twenty, Spurgeon became pastor of a church in London (New Park Street Chapel), which later became the Metropolitan Tabernacle. Spurgeon had barely been in London twelve months when a severe case of cholera swept through London. Spurgeon recounts his efforts to care for and visit the numerous sick in the midst of horrific conditions: “All day, and sometimes all night long, I went about from house to house and saw men and women dying, and, oh, how glad they were to see my face! When many were afraid to enter their houses lest they should catch the deadly disease, we who had no fear about such things found ourselves most gladly listened to when we spoke of Christ and of things Divine.”16

At a conference, I preach Christ for you with a hemorrhoid while my books are on sale out in the hallway. What is more, I may have seen myself in my children’s eyes that morning and had to ask their forgiveness for something the day before, or maybe I’m still blind as I speak to you regarding what my wife or my children or my congregation still desperately need me to see. When I visit you in the hospital, I had to tie my shoes that morning or figure out which sweater makes me look a bit slimmer or cry out to God with my own doubts as you hurt and I have no answer why. When you’ve been changed by grace through something I said or wrote, I likely had a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast or enjoyed the sound of the owl that visits our place. Therefore, as we begin to think about desires, we need to cry from the rooftops that pastoral ministry is creaturely. A pastor is a human being. I believe that Christian life and ministry are an apprenticeship with Jesus toward recovering our humanity and, through his Spirit, helping our neighbors do the same. All of this is for, through, by, with, and in him for the glory of God.

A visiting pastor at our church in Plains once told a story about a priest from New Orleans. Father Flanagan’s parish lay in the central part of the city, close to many taverns. One night he was walking down the street and saw a drunk thrown out of a pub. The man landed in the gutter, and Father Flanagan quickly recognized him as one of his parishioners, a fellow named Mike. Father Flanagan shook the dazed man and said, “Mike!” Mike opened his eyes and Father Flanagan said, “You’re in trouble. If there is anything I can do for you, please tell me what it is.ℍ “Well, Father,” Mike replied, “I hope you’ll pray for me.” “Yes,” the priest answered, “I’ll pray for you right now.” He knelt down in the gutter and prayed, “Father, please have mercy on this drunken man.ℍ At this, a startled Mike woke up fully and said, “Father, please don’t tell God I’m drunk.ℍ Sometimes we don’t feel much of a personal relationship between God and ourselves, as though we have a secret life full of failures and sins that God knows nothing about. We want to involve God only when we plan to give thanks or when we’re in trouble and need help. But the rest of our lives, we’d rather keep to ourselves.

Not long ago I was in Istanbul, Turkey. While there I toured the Topkapi Palace—the former royal palace of the Ottoman sultans and center of the Ottoman Empire. Among the many artifacts collected throughout the centuries and on display was an item I found quite remarkable—the sword of the prophet Muhammad. There, under protective glass and illuminated by high-tech lighting, was the fourteen-hundred-year-old sword of the founder of Islam. As I looked at the sword with its curved handle and jeweled scabbard, I thought how significant it is that no one will ever visit a museum and be shown a weapon that belonged to Jesus. Jesus brings freedom to the world in a way different from Pharaoh, Alexander, Caesar, Muhammad, Napoleon, and Patton. Jesus sets us free not by killing enemies but by being killed by enemies and forgiving them … by whom I mean us. Forgiveness and cosuffering love is the truth that sets us free—free from the false freedom inflicted by swords ancient and modern. Muhammad could fight a war in the name of freedom to liberate his followers from Meccan oppression, but Jesus had a radically different understanding of freedom. And lest this sound like crass Christian triumphalism, my real question is this: Do we Christians secretly wish that Jesus were more like Muhammad? It’s not an idle question. The moment the church took to the Crusades in order to fight Muslims, it had already surrendered its vision of Jesus to the model of Muhammad. Muhammad may have thought freedom could be found at the end of a sword, but Jesus never did. So are Christians who most enthusiastically support US-led wars against Muslim nations actually trying to turn Jesus into some version of Muhammad? It’s a serious question.

When a Christian is delivered from demons or curses, it does not mean that those spirits had been living in his spirit. The Holy Spirit occupies the spirit of the believer, but demons can harass, torment, and oppress the soul of the believer. The Holy Spirit possesses the believer, meaning He owns him. Demonic spirits seek to oppress the Christian by controlling a part of his life. Being tormented by demons does not mean that you are not saved. It does not mean that those spirits own you. Derek Prince, who is a powerful influence on my life in the area of deliverance, shared in one of his talks that the Greek word New Testament writers used for demonic possession is “demonized.” He would explain that being demonized does not mean ownership, but partial control. It means that demons seek to control one area of your life. They cannot have possession or ownership of your spirit. How do you know which area demons control? Usually, it is in the areas where you are not in control because some demon is dominating that area of your soul. When you get delivered, you get the control back. During deliverance, that part of your soul gets released. Maybe you are thinking, darkness and light cannot abide together. It does not say that in the Bible. Some think that the Holy Spirit and an evil spirit cannot dwell in the same vessel. Really? Says who? The Scripture that we get this from says, “Do not be unequally yoked together with unbelievers. For what fellowship has righteousness with lawlessness? And what communion has light with darkness?” (2 Corinthians 6:14). This verse does not say light and darkness cannot coexist. It says they should not exist together. Paul is telling us the way things should be, not what they cannot be. If you think Christians cannot be demonized, let me tell you, I have heard stories of when both light and darkness operated in the same person. For some examples, there was a fallen pastor who once preached holiness while frequently visiting prostitutes; a newly saved believer who habitually returned to drug abuse and suicidal attempts of self-destruction; a Christian leader who influenced many for the Gospel’s sake but ended up in jail for fraud and thievery.  Paul stated in 2 Corinthians 6:14, “Do not be unequally yoked together with unbelievers,” and then went on talking about how darkness and light should not have any fellowship together. If darkness and light cannot coexist, then Christians cannot date unbelievers. We know that this happens all of the time. It should not, but it does. The same thing happens with demonized Christians. They should not be under this demonic influence, but nowhere in the Bible does it say that this is not possible.

At the Judgment Seat of Christ, believers were thoroughly examined to see how faithful they were to the Bridegroom [Jesus] during this time. But this was also a time of celebration, as the Redeemed were rewarded for the good they did and for the evil they refrained from, after believing in Christ. Five eternal crowns were awarded to those deserving of them—the Crown of Righteousness, the Incorruptible Crown, the Crown of Life, the Crown of Rejoicing, and the Crown of Glory. These eternal rewards would never rust, tarnish or ever be stolen. The Crown of Righteousness was awarded to those who lived righteous lives in the eyes of the Lord, shunning evil whenever it visited their doorsteps. The Incorruptible Crown, also called the “Victor’s Crown”, was awarded to those who denied self, and rejected earthly opportunities in order to fully pursue God’s Kingdom. The Crown of Rejoicing was awarded to those who led others to faith in Christ. The Crown of Glory, also known as the “Elder’s Crown,” was awarded to those who preached the Word of God—pastors, ministers, priests, bishops, evangelists, and the like. The Crown of Life, sometimes called the “Martyr’s Crown,” was awarded to those who were killed because of their faith in God, and for their testimony. Those who lived righteous lives in the eyes of the Lord, who shunned evil in the flesh, denied self in order to further God’s Kingdom—leading many to Christ in the process—and preached the Gospel everywhere they went, then died martyr’s deaths received all five crowns. Many received four crowns at the Judgment Seat of Christ. Multitudes more received three. Others two. Some received only one. Sadly, some received none. As recorded in 1 Corinthians 3:15, “For no one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ. If any man builds on this foundation using gold, silver, costly stones, wood, hay or straw, his work will be shown for what it is, because the Day will bring it to light. It will be revealed with fire, and the fire will test the quality of each man’s work. If what he has built survives, he will receive his reward. If it is burned up, he will suffer loss; he himself will be saved, but only as one escaping through the flames.

They visited a small parish close to their apartment (always his recommended way to find a church: whatever was in your neighborhood). 50 or 60 people at most, spare surroundings—simple. That’s all I want in worship: a place and time to attend to God, and no pastor or priest getting in the way.

One of my former assistant pastors and his wife were on their way to visit their friends in another state. They were driving down the road when all of a sudden the Lord spoke to the wife and said, "Oh! By the way, when you get to your friend’s house, they are going to have a new refrigerator." The wife heard this just as clear as could be, but she didn’t understand why God would tell her something like that. It seemed to be a revelation with no purpose, no usefulness. She had just had one of the clearest revelations in her life and she didn’t know what to do with it. And so, she asked the Lord, “Lord, why would You tell me that? What am I supposed to do with that?” The Lord’s reply really surprised her. He said, "You can’t do anything with it. I didn’t tell you that because I wanted you to do something. I talk with you because I like to. [...]

In the years to come, Emily and the team would paint a pastoral scene, complete with cows and ducks, so a visiting chef known for hunting much of the protein at his restaurant could choose his entrée by shooting it with a Nerf gun during his kitchen tour.

I don't consider myself scarred or wounded by the Cathedral of Life experience, but I admit I picked up a few quirks. I never believe anything just because a big-named Christian leader says it. I never do anything I don't want to do just because a pastor, presuming to be the voice of God, tries to coerce me with guilt or threats. I no longer respond to visions God gives to others about what I should or should not do, think, or be. And since the Cathedral I have never, and will never again, turn to someone and say something the pastor tells me to say. Never.

The sermon followed and it had to be the best sermon I’ve heard in a long time. It was probably less than ten minutes long, but he packed a punch. The Gospel lesson from Luke 7:1, 7-14, tells when Jesus went to a Pharisee’s house for a sabbath meal. When he noticed the guests jockeying for the best seat, Jesus admonished them, saying they should choose the lowest seat. By choosing the lowest, Jesus said, the Host may elevate and honor us. But if we choose the highest place, the Host may replace us with someone more worthy, and we will be shamed or embarrassed at the very least. This pastor artfully elaborated and articulated on this message. Then, toward the end of his sermon, he took the meaning one step further. He said that the lowest place of all is death. And every one of us, without exception, will one day sit at the lowest seat of death. The pastor said this scripture reminds us that in that day, when we sit in the seat of death, our Host will say to us, “Friend, what are you doing down there? Come on up here and sit next to me.” I can tell you that his interpretation had a deeply moving effect on the congregation, myself included.

EUSEBIUS [Chronicles, Anno 2083] (beginning October, A.D. 67), says, "Nero, to his other crimes, added the persecution of Christians: under him the apostles Peter and Paul consummated their martyrdom at Rome." So JEROME [On Illustrious Men], "In the fourteenth year of Nero, Paul was beheaded at Rome for Christ's sake, on the same day as Peter, and was buried on the Ostian Road, in the thirty-seventh year after the death of our Lord." ALFORD reasonably conjectures the Pastoral Epistles were written near this date. The interval was possibly filled up (so CLEMENT OF ROME states that Paul preached as far as "to the extremity of the west") by a journey to Spain (Rom 15:24, 28), according to his own original intention. MURATORI'S Fragment on the Canon of Scripture (about A.D. 170) also alleges Paul's journey into Spain. So EUSEBIUS, CHRYSOSTOM, and JEROME. Be that as it may, he seems shortly before his second imprisonment to have visited Ephesus, where a new body of elders governed the Church (Acts 20:25), say in the latter end of A.D. 66, or beginning of 67. Supposing him thirty at his conversion, he would now be upwards of sixty, and older in constitution than in years, through continual hardship. Even four years before he called himself "Paul the aged" (Philemon 1:9).

We must live by faith and not by sight. An elderly lady fell and broke her leg while attending a summer Bible conference. She said to the pastor who visited her, “I know the Lord led me to the conference. But I don’t see why this had to happen! And I don’t see any good coming from it.” Wisely, the pastor replied, “Romans 8:28 doesn’t say that we see all things working together for good. It says that we know it.” Faith means surrendering all to God and obeying His Word in spite of circumstances and consequences. Love and faith go together: When you love someone, you trust him. And faith and love together help to strengthen hope, for where you find faith and love, you will find confidence for the future. How can we grow in faith during times of testing and suffering? The same way we grow in faith when things seem to be going well: by feeding on the Word of God (Rom. 10:17). Our fellowship with Christ through His Word not only strengthens our faith, but it also deepens our love. It is a basic principle of Christian living that we spend much time in the Word when God is testing us and Satan is tempting us.

Pastors are to comfort, rebuke, correct, encourage, and instruct those who are in spiritual need. In order to be effective in biblical counseling, pastors must first visit with God before they visit with others. They must receive counsel from the Scriptures before they become competent to counsel others. Counseling is to come from the overflow of a heart that has been saturated with the Word of God.

...I digressed and forgot to direct you to a proper theologian. Why not start at the top? Start with John Calvin. Among Christians of our ilk, he continues to hold the center for biblical soundness and intellectual clarity. Buy The Institutes of the Christian Religion...If you're troubled by dust balls of opinion on Calvin that you have picked up through hearsay through the years, do your best to sweep them out with the trash---come to him fresh with a clear imagination. You'll be surprised at how accessible he is, how sane, how Christian. A truly elegant intellect...you can be expected to be directed wisely and prayerfully to God---thinking about God accurately, responding to God truly. Calvin brought a biblically disciplined mind and a Spirt-attuned heart to his writing. And he was a pastor, first and foremost a pastor with a congregation whom he taught and prayed for, visited, baptized, and married and buried, whose problems he dealt with and whose faith he guided.

Merkel knows how bad Trump is. She’s been briefed [by her agencies].” The ex-director said that as someone who grew up in communist East Germany, Merkel—the daughter of a pastor, a onetime research scientist, and a fluent Russian speaker who visited Soviet Moscow—had little tolerance for lying. “She lived through that. She’s almost Calvinist,” the former official said.

Externally I had appeared kind, gracious, and patient, when inwardly I was nothing like that. I so wanted to present a polished image as a good Christian that I cut myself off from what was going on within myself. Unconsciously I had been thinking: I hope I am a good-enough Christian. Will this couple like us? Will they think we are okay? Will John give a good report of his visit to my pastor friend? Pretending was safer than honesty and vulnerability. The

What is the most important thing you do in preparing to preach each Sunday?” I think we were all surprised by the answer, at least I was. His answer: “For two hours every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, I walk through the neighborhood and make home visits. There is no way that I can preach the gospel to these people if I don’t know how they are living, what they are thinking and talking about. Preaching is proclamation, God’s word revealed in Jesus, but only when it gets embedded in conversation, in a listening ear and responding tongue, does it become gospel.

a closer walk with God than any man he had known. Davenport went from place to place without invitation, and depending upon impulses and impressions, denounced as unconverted such ministers as disagreed with him and exhorted their flocks to desert them and follow him. Confusion and bitterness resulted in almost every parish which he visited. Congregations were divided, alienation and strife were created, the evil effects of which continued for many years.  In order to suppress these evils the Connecticut legislature in 1742 passed an act forbidding any minister or licentiate to preach in any church not his own, without the consent of its pastor and the major portion of its membership, under penalty of forfeiting the right to collect his legal salary, if a resident of the colony, and liability to expulsion from the colony if not. Davenport was accordingly arrested and brought before the assembly, by whom he was adjudged insane and sent to his parish on Long Island. Not long afterwards he appeared in Boston, where in accordance with his custom he denounced the ministers as "unconverted" and "leading their people blindfold to hell." He was arrested for uttering slanderous statements

There was one activity that Bonhoeffer would enjoy in Barcelona, but could never enjoy in Berlin. That was the arte taurina (bull fighting). Though an aesthete and an intellectual, Bonhoeffer was neither effete nor squeamish. His brother Klaus arrived for a visit on Easter Saturday, and on Easter afternoon—Bonhoeffer preached that morning—they were “dragged” by a German teacher, presumably Thumm, to the “great Easter corrida.” He

On Sept. 26, 2012, an American pastor named Saeed Abedini who was visiting family and fellow Christians in Tehran was dragged out of the private home he was staying in and hauled away to jail by Iranian Revolutionary Guards. Friday marked the second anniversary of his imprisonment, and for the last two years he has been beaten, abused and subjected to solitary confinement for weeks on end in Iran’s most notoriously dangerous prisons for the crime of professing his Christian faith. Pastor

Perhaps you grew up in a legalistic spiritual environment as I did. With legalism, Christianity is all about conforming to a code of conduct that has been added to the precepts and principles of the Bible and then judging people on the degree to which they conform to the extrabiblical code. “I’m a good Christian because I don’t do the ‘filthy five’ (or the ‘dirty dozen’).” That kind of legalistic focus produces external conformity, like in the military, but not the kind of true life change we are looking for. Actually, I believe there’s more disobedience to God in the legalistic Christian subculture than anywhere else, because so often there has been no real heart change. Instead, sinful patterns that God wants to change are forced under the surface—a sort of conspiracy of silence. Legalistic Christians are hiding the real truth of who they are from everyone around them. The result? Biblical fellowship is hindered and true life change becomes very difficult. Legalism is a stifling environment where lasting heart change is impossible. Over the Christmas holidays, my family and I visited a church caught in legalism. I didn’t want to go, but I had no choice and so I went. The problem was I forgot about the dress code. I was sort of “dress casual,” if you know what I mean. Then we got in the building. Oops! Every single male from three years of age to ninety-nine had a suit on, and those ties sure looked tight. Now to their credit, they were friendly, but even the handshake itself was kind of compassionate. “Oh, poor brother. We hope you’ll soon be within the reach of the gospel.” You know, that feeling you get when people are judging you because you’re not quite like they are. Anyway, I snuggled up my coat, brought my kids in, and sat down. Being familiar with this approach, I was doing really well until they started a baptismal service where the pastor walked right into the baptistery with his suit on, coat and all. I just wanted to stand up and go, “What are you thinking! It’s not about rules! Jesus died so we could have a genuine intimacy with Him, not just look the part, or what you think looks the part. Won’t you ever learn that rules by themselves don’t change us? They just force our sinful natures under the surface and help us hide behind externals and pretend we’re closer to God than we really are.” Of course, God is not for or against suits. Dressing up for church when motivated by reverence and not religion can be good. Similarly, dressing down can be

Pastor Larry Reichardt of South Coast Fellowship in Ventura, California, emphasizes the importance of connecting with kids where they are, instead of trying to attract them to church first: “We share Christ with kids on the streets and then we visit the kids’ families at home and pray for them. We start small groups in their area in English or Spanish and minister to their needs. We also do physical things in the neighborhood to demonstrate we care, sharing the love of God where they are and how they are. Eventually, we ask them to church.

The story is told of a man named John who had once been faithful to attend his church regularly, but had grown lackadaisical recently. The Pastor knew that he hadn’t seen the gentleman in a while, so he went for a visit. 

John greeted the Pastor and welcomed him in, directing him to the chair beside the fireplace. The pastor didn’t mention anything about his concern about not having seen him in awhile, instead he simply said, “So, what’s up with you these days? How are you doing?” As John started responding, the pastor listened. After John had finished talking. The pastor casually grabbed the fireplace tongs, picked up a hot coal from the fire, and set it away from the fire, out on the hearth. Both men then watched the coal. While the fire roared on, the coal that had been red hot began to lose its heat. It gradually lost its red color, and then cooled off so that it became cool to the touch. The Pastor picked up the coal, and handed it to John for a moment . . . neither man said a word. Then the Pastor reached out and took the coal back from John, and returned it to the roaring fire . . . and in just a few short moments, the coal once again glowed red hot, as the pile of flaming coals caused it to heat up again. The pastor then got to his feet, put his hat on, and shook John’s hand. At that point, John looked at the pastor and said, “You know, I think you might start seeing a bit more of me in church again.

Yet on Christmas Day 1958 Pope John stepped forth from the Vatican and became the first pope since 1870 to make pastoral visits in his own diocese of Rome. He visited two hospitals followed on the next day by a visit to a prison. There, he told the hardened but now weeping inmates that he was their brother, and he embraced a murderer.

Living by grace inspires a growing consciousness that I am what I am in the sight of Jesus and nothing more. It is His approval that counts. Making our home in Jesus, as He makes His in us, leads to creative listening: Has it crossed your mind that I am proud you accepted the gift of faith I offered you? Proud that you freely chose Me, after I had chosen you, as your friend and Lord? Proud that, with all your warts and wrinkles, you haven’t given up? Proud that you believe in Me enough to try again and again? Are you aware how I appreciate you for wanting Me? I want you to know how grateful I am when you pause to smile and comfort a child who has lost her way. I am grateful for the hours you devote to learning more about Me; for the word of encouragement you passed on to your burnt-out pastor; for your visit to the shut-in; for your tears for the retarded. What you did to them, you did to Me. Alas, I am sad when you do not believe that I have totally forgiven you or you feel uncomfortable approaching Me.

Rarely, I discovered, does a minister have the opportunity to get as close to his congregation as can a chaplain to men at war. Seemingly unimportant problems, which in normal life would never even come to the clergyman’s attention, can seriously affect the soldiers’ morale. For men whose every living moment is a preparation for battle, a preparation perhaps for death, the chaplain can become a link to family and home. But the chaplain cannot become that important link to family and home by moving among the men with folded hands and bowed head quoting Scriptures at the drop of a hat. He must share with the men their day-today experiences and enter into them fully. Before he can gain the soldiers’ confidence in him as a chaplain, he must gain their confidence and respect in him as a man. Visiting the men in their quarters below deck became one of my regular duties. Down below in the hold of the ship was my ‘pastorate,’ and almost daily I spent as much time there as possible.

The question, therefore, which each of us has to answer to his own conscience is, Has it been the purpose of my ministry and the desire of my heart to save the lost and guide the saved? Is this my aim in every sermon I preach and in every visit I make? Is it under the influence of this feeling that I continually live and walk and speak? Do I pray and toil and fast and weep for this? Do I spend and am I spent for this, counting it, next to the salvation of my own soul, my greatest joy to be the instrument of saving others?

Mercy! mercy!” he vociferated; “that is what makes my situation so dreadful! I have despised mercy! I have scoffed at God! I have refused Christ! If God was only just, I could bear it. But now the thought of his abused mercy is worst of all! There is no mercy for me any longer! for years I have refused Christ! My day has gone by! I am lost! I am lost!” “You think wrong,” said I, “God has not limited his invitations. Christ says, ‘Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden.’” “My day has gone by!” said he. “No; it has not,” I replied, in a voice as firm as his own: “behold now is the accepted time—now is the day of salvation.

Several years ago I visited a church in a nearby city. The pastor was known as a godly man and a prayer warrior. As we spoke about life in general, he said, “We’re not supposed to enjoy life, are we?” To him it was a rhetorical question; unfortunately most Christians hold this same view. They believe in Christ; He is their savior. They love Him with all their heart. Their future home is in heaven, they attend church each Sunday and most mid- week services. They endeavor to raise their children in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. They witness to friends and family, yet to them, life is something to endure. They are like the small orphan boy adopted by a well-to-do family from a poor orphanage. The child reveled in the luxury of his own room. Sleeping in such a wonderful bed was a dream come true. He awoke the next morning to the sun streaming in his open window. The songs of birds welcomed him to a beautiful summer day. As he came down to breakfast, he saw a place was set for him at the large table in the dining room. Fine china and silverware gleamed in the light of the expensive chandelier. At his plate set a large glass of milk filled to the brim. At the orphanage each child would drink from the glass only so far, then pass it on. This continued until the glass was empty. The glass was then refilled and passed to the next child. With big eyes the little child looked at his new mother. “Please, ma’am, how deeply may I drink?” With tears in her eyes, his mother said “Drink it all son, it’s all for you.” I believe God has given us the cup of life filled to the brim and overflowing. God says, “Drink it all, my child, it’s all for you.” Many Christians believe life is drudgery. Therefore they miss the real pleasures God has intended for His children. His word promises us abundant life. Albert Einstein said, “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” We can choose to view everything as a miracle from God. Will there be sorrows? Of course. Will we suffer difficult setbacks? Undoubtedly. Are there enemies of Christians and the Lord? Surely. Does this mean God has changed His mind or abandoned us? No. In this book we will discuss ways of enjoying living on God’s blessings. You can indeed “live life to the fullest.

When the present pandemic began to take hold, a passage from the writings of Martin Luther went the rounds on the internet, with Luther’s usual combination of down-to-earth wisdom and practical piety. Luther faced several plagues in Wittenberg and elsewhere in the 1520s and 1530s, and in his letters to church and civic leaders he insisted that preachers and pastors should remain at their posts: as good shepherds, they should be prepared to lay down their lives for their sheep. Likewise civic and family leaders should only flee from a plague if they had made proper provision for the safety of those left behind. He offers advice which sounds as relevant today as it was five hundred years ago. Plagues, he says, may perhaps be messengers from God; but the right approach should be practical as well as faithful. This, he says, is how one should think to oneself: With God’s permission the enemy has sent poison and deadly dung among us, and so I will pray to God that he may be gracious and preserve us. Then I will fumigate to purify the air, give and take medicine, and avoid places and persons where I am not needed in order that I may not abuse myself and that through me others may not be infected and inflamed with the result that I become the cause of their death through my negligence. If God wishes to take me, he will be able to find me. At least I have done what he gave me to do and am responsible neither for my own death nor for the death of others. But if my neighbour needs me, I shall avoid neither person nor place but feel free to visit and help him. Luther: Letters of Spiritual Counsel, ed. T. G. Tappert (London: SCM Press, 1955), 242, from a letter of 1527.

Having heard so many stories similar to Mrs. Thomas’s, several years ago I decided to study the needs for ministry in the nursing homes of my region. With the help of a local pastor, we interviewed the administrators, activities directors, and residents of twenty-seven nursing homes. We could have stopped after the first interview. We learned almost nothing new in the remaining twenty-six nursing homes. As soon as we began asking our questions, we found almost instant anger against pastors and local churches. Everywhere we went we heard that, with almost no exception, within a few weeks of admission, no representatives from local churches visited their patients. Were it not for the families’ visits, their patients would have been totally abandoned. Few families truly abandon their loved ones who have entered a nursing home or assisted living facility.

For many reasons, the church at large has been absent in speaking about the struggle with Alzheimer’s disease. The psychological components of Alzheimer’s can frighten pastors and the general church body. After all, how can you minister to a person who doesn’t remember who you are, who doesn’t appear to understand what you’re saying? It hardly seems worth the time when they won’t even remember your visit. Many pastors feel ill-equipped to address the needs of people with dementia.

In 1888 when the English artist Edward Clifford visited the island, he wrote: “I had gone to Molokai expecting to find it scarcely less dreadful than hell itself, and the cheerful people, the lovely landscapes, and comparatively painless life were all surprises. These poor people seemed singularly happy.” When Clifford asked the lepers how they could be so happy, they replied that they were doing fine, thanks, and “We like our pastor. He builds our houses himself, he gives us tea, biscuits, sugar and clothes. He takes good care of us and doesn’t let us want for anything.”47 This was only a year before Damien died. Damien remained active until the end, trying to build houses and care for his friends, and carving dolls for the children. He wrote to the bishop, who had asked him to come to Honolulu: “I cannot come for leprosy has attacked me. There are signs of it on my left cheek and ear, and my eyebrows are beginning to fall. I shall soon be quite disfigured. I have no doubt whatever about the nature of my illness, but I am calm and resigned and very happy in the midst of my people. I daily repeat from my heart, ‘Thy will be done.’”48 The bishop eventually persuaded him to be treated at the hospital in Honolulu. He was met by nuns, who were horrified to see that his face was now truly distorted and misshapen. Within two weeks, he was on a ship back to Molokai. On that voyage, the captain approached and asked if he could have a glass of wine with Damien. (He clearly hadn’t heard about the walking stick.) Damien explained that would be unwise, because he was a leper, and common wisdom dictated you shouldn’t drink with lepers. The ship captain replied that he understood, and he still wanted to, because he thought Damien was the bravest man he’d ever met.49

Effective closure to conversations affirms the other person and keeps the relationship open so that it can be resumed later. Pastor Cortez could have used any one of the following closings: —“I really enjoyed talking with you.” —“I would enjoy having you visit the church where I pastor some Sunday. Good-bye now.” —“I hope you enjoy the game.” —“It’s been nice talking with you. I hope you like living here.

As I entered a home to make a pastoral visit, the person I came to see was sitting at a window embroidering a piece of cloth held taut on an oval hoop. She said, “Pastor, while waiting for you to come I realized what’s wrong with me—I don’t have a frame. My feelings, my thoughts, my activities—everything is loose and sloppy. There is no border to my life. I never know where I am. I need a frame for my life like this one I have for my embroidery.

Often I'll have visited a state because one of their universities will have invited me to perform for their students who like to hear about woodworking, and this has been a great way to discern where it is that "my people" reside. Even in places with more openly "conservative" politics (which is a polite term for discriminatory culture, as in "We would prefer you take your rainbow ass elsewhere as we are conserving a Christian white enthno-state hereabouts"), the open-minded thinkers and the nonconformists and the lovers of decency come out for a laugh and a think at content like my song about Brett Kavanaugh entitled "I Like Beer.

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I don’t know about you, but there have been plenty of times when I have driven home from a hospital visit wondering why they let me be the pastor.

If your feeding on the Word of God is only happening when the pastor preaches, then you will suffer from malnourishment. When people become so focused on teaching lessons rather than teaching students, churches can become places where lessons are delivered, but no real change comes about. When members are taught how to budget and manage their money wisely they are more capable of supporting the church’s ministries. When individuals take on leadership roles, they need to be accountable, not only to God, but also to others at the church. The success or failure of your ministry depends on this. So many people would have a better opinion of Christians if they felt that the believers did not have a “holier than thou” attitude. Attract unbelievers; be honest and open. If you have experienced tough problems, and you know that God made a way for you, don’t keep this good news to yourself. Share your testimony; it just might change someone’s life. People like to know that others care about them. You may never know how much a kind word, a discussion, a visit, a brief note, a birthday card or some much needed friendship can influence someone who is not used to thoughtful gestures. It is hard to motivate people to act if they do not see the person leading them setting the proper example. Whenever only one person is responsible for making all of the major decisions for an organization, problems can arise; this is true of churches as well.

Church leaders, especially those who serve as the “main minister” or “pastor,” have difficult jobs. In many contexts they are expected to wear the multiple hats of social coordinator, superb orator (several times a week), sensitive and insightful counselor, administrator, motivator, teacher, evangelist, mender of relationships, “marryer,” and “buryer”—all the while cultivating an exemplary personal, spiritual, and family life. The pressure to spend hours in study, hours in the community, hours in visiting prospects, hours in counseling, hours in training the staff, and hours in prayer all add up to unrealistic expectations on the part of the church. The effect can be overwhelming.

While the churchless continue to show some openness to high-touch, relational connections—pastoral home visits (27 percent), a phone call from a church (24 percent), a survey conducted with them about their interests (21 percent)—they are also increasingly resistant to other forms of outreach.

Felke realized that prescribing herbal teas, homeopathic remedies, diet and water applications was not sufficient. Inspired by the examples of Rikli and Just, he envisioned a therapeutic setting close to nature where patients could escape their accustomed environments and enjoy the benefits of light, air, sun and healthful food. Surprisingly, the residents of the small rural town of Repelen immediately warmed to their new pastor's idea. A delegation undertook the arduous and costly journey to the Hartz mountains to inspect Just's Jungborn. This visit resulted in the formation of the Repelen Jungborn Society, Ltd., with eighty-one associates, mostly members of a local homeopathic lay society. With a capital of 50,000 goldmark, quite a high sum, the group purchased sixty acres of land, which included a forested area and a dead channel of the Rhine abounding in fish. Two large light and air parks, one for women and the other for men, were created and surrounded with high wooden fences. Naked patients took light, air, water and loam baths and engaged in gymnastics twice a day. Felke himself often directed the male patients. Inside the two parks approximately 50 air huts with two or four rooms each were erected. To guarantee maximum access to fresh air they had no doors or windows, only curtains for privacy. An open wooden hall in the center of the park was used for walking during the day, for gymnastics during bad weather and for sleeping on straw mats at night. In the beginning the spa offered friction sitz baths in flat zinc tubs as the only cold water application. Felke also took up Just's earth-and-sand bath, but it was not until he introduced the loam bath in 1912 that he gained fame as the "loam pastor.

In short, we need to learn how to participate from a platform of servanthood rather than power. Let me illustrate. In my fifteen years as a global outreach pastor, I observed two types of North American ministries doing global ministry. The first ministry came together, often in North America, and prayerfully asked God for vision for (as a random example) Argentina and how they should initiate their work in Argentina. After developing their vision, they would go to Argentina to recruit Argentine Christians to join their vision. The recruitment would go something like this: "Jorge, this is our vision for Argentina. Would you join us and help us fulfill our vision-what we believe to be God's vision-for Argentina?" Often Jorge would say yes, especially if the North American mission came fully funded and offered him a decent salary. The second ministry might also develop a burden for a specific country (let's stick with Argentina), but when they went and visited Jorge, their approach was different. They would say, "Jorge, we believe that God has given us a burden for Argentina, but we're here to serve. What is your vision for Argentina? And is there anything in our experiences or resources that you could use to fulfill your vision for your country?" Both ministry approaches could have some success, but the former kept the North Americans on the platform of leadership, often dictating the strategy and funding the vision to the point that local leaders became dependent and failed to look for local, indigenous sources of support. This approach could work, especially if it was well funded. But for leaders like Jorge, it was an outsider's plan imposed on his country. After the funding was gone, these ministries often faltered.

One Sunday, the pastor gave a sermon about repentance, the Greek translation of the word being metanoia. "Metanoia means a 'change of mind,' not in the sense of a new decision, but in the sense of a whole new being," Reverend Ruhe said, roaming the altar..."Metanoia is coming to a new life. It's like stepping through a door, out of one existence and into another." I'd never heard of this metanoia. It's a tricky word, difficult to define and hard to understand unless you've felt it. But I knew it after visiting Croatia. Everything seemed different, like that day in September when you know summer is over because the afternoon light has changed.

There was this new minister who went to the cemetery sorry, cemetery and he got his PhD and his DD and he’s got assign to his first church. I’ll never forget this. When he got there the church was a little lively but he was dead and he told the people now that am your new pastor we gonna do things a little different around here. He said, no more shouting, we’re going to do things in order. And theres going to be a quietness. He said I want you to follow my lead. He said I’ve graduated from the seminary and I’ve been educated and we’re going to do things in order and we’re going to take away this noise. It took him about 6 months to get things all tone down, he thought. He never even bothered to write his sermons out because some of the people were still shouting. But after 6 months he had everything under control and everything was dead. Dead quite. I mean quite. And finally he worked on his message all week long, had it all type written out on 15 pages, double space. Had everything perfect and now he is going to demonstrate his educational powers. Ready to wax eloquent and have them know they have an educated preacher/minister. He got into his message that he was reading. And he got to page 5, there was an ooooooooooooold fashion deacon in the back and let out one of them big old weeeeeeeeeeellllllllllllll gloryyyyyyyyyyyyyyy !!!!!. that was like an atom bomb that struck. And he became frustrated and all 15 pages of notes fell on the ground and he lost his place. He was never been so humiliated in all of his life. He could not finish his sermon. The only thing he could do is stop and pray and put the benediction on. He became so aggravated at the brother at the back. He said I did not know what I said to make him shout but he said am going to visit him in the morning and am going to found out what I said. And whatever I said am going to cut it out of my mind and I’ll never say it again so he won’t shout. Monday morning he headed out and he went to this brother who was a farmer. He didn’t even bother to go to the house. He wanted to handle this man to man. The brother offered a cup of coffee but the pastor refused it. He said I came out here to talk man to man sir. Do you remember when I first came to the church I said we were going to do things differently. He said yes sir I do remember. You remember I said nobody was going to make some noice. He said yes sir I remember that. He said yesterday you embarrassed me. I only got half way through my sermon. He said I want you to be honest with me brother. What was it that I said that made you shout because whatever it is am not going to say it no more. The brother breathed and said let get one thing straight pastor, you’ve been here six months. aint nothing you ever said made me shout. Nothing at all. But when I get to thinking how deep I was in sin and Jesus brought me out and cleaned me and wrote my name the book of life. How so good He’s been to me. When I was thinking of what He done for me, I couldn’t help but shoouuuuuuuuuuuuuuut to His gloryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. I don’t just shout in church, here with my mules thinking of Jesus, I feel another shouuuuuuuuuuuuut coming up.

We didn’t believe when we first heard because you know how church folk can gossip. Like the time we all thought First John, our head usher, was messing around on his wife because Betty, the pastor’s secretary, caught him cozying up at brunch with another woman. A young, fashionable woman at that, one who switched her hips when she walked even though she had no business switching anything in front of a man married forty years. You could forgive a man for stepping out on his wife once, but to romance that young woman over buttered croissants at a sidewalk café? Now, that was a whole other thing. But before we could correct First John, he showed up at Upper Room Chapel that Sunday with his wife and the young, hip-switching woman—a great-niece visiting from Fort Worth—and that was that. When we first heard, we thought it might be that type of secret, although, we have to admit, it had felt different. Tasted different too. All good secrets have a taste before you tell them, and if we’d taken a moment to swish this one around our mouths, we might have

We didn’t believe when we first heard because you know how church folk can gossip. Like the time we all thought First John, our head usher, was messing around on his wife because Betty, the pastor’s secretary, caught him cozying up at brunch with another woman. A young, fashionable woman at that, one who switched her hips when she walked even though she had no business switching anything in front of a man married forty years. You could forgive a man for stepping out on his wife once, but to romance that young woman over buttered croissants at a sidewalk café? Now, that was a whole other thing. But before we could correct First John, he showed up at Upper Room Chapel that Sunday with his wife and the young, hip-switching woman—a great-niece visiting from Fort Worth—and that was that. When we first heard, we thought it might be that type of secret, although, we have to admit, it had felt different. Tasted different too. All good secrets have a taste before you tell them, and if we’d taken a moment to swish this one around our mouths, we might have noticed the sourness of an unripe secret, plucked too soon, stolen and passed around before its season. But we didn’t. We shared this sour secret, a secret that began the spring Nadia Turner got knocked up by the pastor’s son and went to the abortion clinic downtown to take care of it. She was seventeen then. She lived with her father, a Marine, and without her mother, who had killed herself six months earlier. Since then, the girl had earned a wild reputation—she was young and scared and trying to hide her scared in her prettiness. And she was pretty, beautiful even, with amber skin, silky long hair, and eyes swirled brown and gray and gold. Like most girls, she’d already learned that pretty exposes you and pretty hides you and like most girls, she hadn’t yet learned how to navigate the difference. So we heard all about her sojourns across the border to dance clubs in Tijuana, the water bottle she carried around Oceanside High filled with vodka, the Saturdays she spent on base playing pool with Marines, nights that ended with her heels pressed against some man’s foggy window. Just tales, maybe, except for one we now know is true: she spent her senior year of high school rolling around in bed with Luke Sheppard and come springtime, his baby was growing inside her. — LUKE SHEPPARD WAITED TABLES at Fat Charlie’s Seafood Shack, a restaurant off the pier known for its fresh food, live music, and family-friendly atmosphere. At least that’s what the ad in the San Diego Union-Tribune said, if you were fool enough to believe it. If you’d been around Oceanside long enough, you’d know that the promised fresh food was day-old fish and chips stewing under heat lamps, and the live music, when delivered, usually consisted of ragtag teenagers in ripped jeans with safety pins poking through their lips.

The late Anglican pastor John Stott argued that he could never believe in God were it not for the cross. As he put it, in a world of such horrors—burned children and battered women and concentration camps and genocides—how could one believe in a God who was agnostic of all of that? Stott wrote that he had visited temples in Asia in which he stood before the statues of a placid, remote-looking Buddha, with arms crossed, eyes closed, softly smiling. His imagination was forced to turn away and to turn instead “to that lonely, twisted, tortured figure on the cross, nails through hands and feet, back lacerated, limbs wrenched, brow bleeding from thorn-pricks, mouth dry and intolerably thirsty, plunged in God-forsaken darkness. That is the God for me!

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The Culture of Ministry Burnout To make matters worse, many pastors are struggling themselves. They labor under the pressure to preach every week, lead staff, manage finances, oversee counseling, attend events, visit the sick, answer emails, and maintain their own spiritual life—all while being “on” 24/7. It’s no wonder that burnout, depression, and even suicidal ideation are rising among clergy.

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