Finishing Well

I like the story about the guy who was going to try and quit smoking. “I’m going to a hypnotist to help me,” he told a friend. 

“Do you think it will help?” the friend asked.

“Sure,” the man answered, “it worked last time.”

Starting well is one thing. Staying with it and finishing well is quite another. 

But sometimes it’s hard to know if you’ve finished well. 

I officially started my career as a pastor 37 years ago and finished, or at least retired, a couple of months ago. Being a pastor is not a 9 to 5 job, though there were times when I wished for that, especially when I would get called out in the wee hours of the morning, or late into the night, or when an evening committee meeting would  drag on and on, and all I wanted to do was go home and watch, “Everybody Loves Raymond.” 

There is tremendous joy in ministering to others and seeing them grow spiritually, but with it comes a burden: the care of souls.   Preaching God’s grace is paramount, whether people approve of it or not. But the saying is true:  people don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care. After fearlessly preaching God’s grace, The Apostle Paul listed the physical and emotional challenges ( thankfully few of which I have experienced) that accompanied it, concluding: “Besides everything else, I face daily the pressure of my concern for all the churches” (2 Corinthians 11:28).

Ahh, yes, the “the daily pressure.” It goes with the territory of pastoring. The word “pressure” can also be translated as “anxiety.” 

Pastoring is a bit like parenting in that you are never quite sure when you’re done with it. And like parenting, there comes a point when it’s time to transition to another phase of life. Then, though you are still a parent, your role changes. 

It’s something like that with the pastor’s flock. For me, it happened soon after I announced my retirement date. People transitioned. With that comes the reality of no longer being consulted, and a part of me craved being consulted. Not being consulted means not being The One whose opinion is necessary. Its emotional cousin is the feeling of irrelevance: being there but not being there, at least not being there as the relationship once was. The apparent neglect can ding the ego, which is good, for this can reveal how stealthily pride has invaded the borders on the map of one’s spiritual geography.  

And that awareness can open the soul to fresh waters of grace.

I recently learned that one of my parishioners was in the hospital with a health situation that, at his age, could be life-threatening. One of the church’s leaders texted me, “Thought you might want to know.”

And so I visited the hospital where he was, as his former pastor and as a friend. 

We enjoyed a good visit, chatted for a bit, and then I prayed for him and left.

As I stepped into the hallway to leave, I couldn’t help but overhear him shouting (he’s a tad hard of hearing) to his daughter across the hospital room, “He was always so good to me.”

I mentally paused, taking note. What he said wasn’t a bad epithet for a pastor. My care, my “anxiety,” and the “pressure” I felt for his well-being had somehow mattered to him across the years. He was affirming me as his former pastor, and his unawareness that I was privy to the conversation made his words all the more meaningful, like a startling splash of God’s grace on my face. 

My church had given us a heartfelt and endearing “goodbye” on our last Sunday, honoring me with a beautiful plaque captioned with “A Good and Faithful Servant” and a reception where people brought cards with loving words of appreciation. 

But sometimes, in the stillness of the night or early on a foggy Sunday morning, I would yet wonder, “Did I finish well?” 

Walking out of the hospital room, I realized I didn’t need to be consulted to know I’d finished well.

I just needed to listen.