Why is it that many of our pastor, the people we respect and admire most lead lonely lives?

And why do many lay leaders feel frustrated in their attempts to build a friendship with their pastor?

On the one hand, there is a tendency in every congregation to canonize the pastor in a way that Catholics wisely reserve for those long dead. We don’t often argue politics, complain about the schools, ask him (or her) to help fix our fence, or tell him our favorite jokes out of a misguided notion that these things (and our interest in them) are somehow beneath him.

On the other hand, in many congregations the pastor is also the designated target of criticism. If the sermon is too long or the hymns are too new, if the denomination is too liberal or there is not enough parking, the pastor takes the heat.
What’s a friend?

We all recognize that our pastors need people who will accept them and enjoy them as they are, without either awe or arrogance—in short, friends. And most of us would like to be friends with our pastor.

But what exactly does it mean to be a friend?

In a wonderful work entitled The Four Loves, C. S. Lewis writes, “Friendship arises out of mere companionship when two or more of the companions discover that they have in common some insight or interest or even taste which the others do not share and which, till that moment, each believed to be his own unique treasure (or burden).”

If Lewis is right, there is really nothing we can do to become close friends. We will either share a common interest and common vision of the world, or we won’t.

We can, however, choose to be friends to our pastors.

During the past seven years I have enjoyed becoming good friends with my pastor. Our relationship has developed solely through the church; as a result, I find myself relating differently with him than I might with other people. Over this time, I have developed, unconsciously, some “rules” for being a friend to my pastor.

Rule 1: Preserve confidentiality

I make it a practice not to share with others things the pastor has shared with me. Unless we are willing to preserve our pastors’ privately expressed opinions, we cannot be their good friends. Why? A friend is first of all someone with whom you can talk. If our pastors cannot be assured that we will keep confidences, they will not feel safe talking to us.

Preserving confidence is part of what Dietrich Bonhoeffer means, in his classic work Life Together, when he talks about “the ministry of preserving another person’s reputation.” If you have enjoyed a private conversation with your pastor on a given subject, you may know more than he wants to make public. That information simply cannot be used in conversations with others.

Clearly, there is a component of sacrifice in this. I have a hard time not sharing with others the things I discuss with my pastor. Most of the time, such knowledge is of minor, everyday things, no different than the things we talk about with anyone. But within the church, as with any group, inside information (no matter how trivial) is exciting. It presents the opportunity to build one’s self up in the eyes of others. Such building comes, however, at the expense of eroding friendship. The only way I have found to resist this temptation is to steel myself to not talk about even the existence of many conversations.

Rule 2: Avoid public confrontation

As far as I am able, I never criticize my pastor in front of other people. The pastor’s ability to function depends largely on the respect he commands in the congregation. Anything I do to lessen that respect diminishes his effectiveness. Consequently, I try to avoid arguing with him publicly.

This is something I have not always done well. At an officers’ retreat several years ago, our pastor was leading a discussion of the church’s master plan. I thought the plan was incomprehensible and of little utility, and I said so, in essence, through a couple of rather pointed questions.

What a jerk! Afterward I felt I had abused our friendship. Furthermore, nothing positive came of my comments. The master plan remains to this day, the entire discussion is long forgotten, and the direction of the church was unaffected by my opinions.

By publicly criticizing my friend and pastor or at least the work he was doing I broke my own rule: My remarks were public and not private. If I had said nothing, the discussion simply would have ended sooner and we could have spent time on a more useful topic.

That blunder renewed my commitment to present ideas and concerns privately, particularly if I think my pastor is headed down a wrong path. In private, he has a greater opportunity to change his mind without appearing to buckle under pressure.

If I am not able to communicate my concern face to face (the preferred method), then I write a letter. Letter writing is a good discipline. We sometimes realize the brutality of our remarks as we reread them, and then we have opportunity to rethink the things we say.

Paul begins and ends his most critical letters with assurances of God’s love and his love for the people. Our pastors need the same assurance of our love whenever we offer advice.

Rule 3: Never just complain

Rather than just complain, I attempt to propose a solution. To complain without proposing a solution (and without being willing to be part of that solution) is merely to turn my irritation into the pastor’s burden. It is unfair.

We also ought to wait a while before being critical. Allowing time between our initial irritation and our comments can be merciful.

I also try to judge the spiritual issues involved. A Sunday school teacher leading the class down heretical paths is unjustifiable; running out of coffee between services is inconvenient. Since one is a spiritual issue of great consequence, and the other is not, they ought to be handled differently. Many minor items can be ignored.

The value of these rules proved themselves when my pastor and I were on a nominating committee seeking an associate pastor for our church. We had been working for months and were tiring of the process.

One evening, in a private conversation after the meeting, the pastor said to me, “I think we’ve done enough. Let’s just call Joe”—then our leading candidate.

I disagreed, saying, “No, I don’t think so. We need to wait and continue to look for an older and more experienced person.” Then I mentioned a name on a new résumé.

My pastor knew the man but did not know he had applied for the job. His response was, “Oh! We have to talk to him!” As all good stories end, that man is now the associate pastor at our church.

The point here is that rather than simply complain, I proposed another option, and I was willing to work on that. And when I spoke out, it was privately and on an issue of spiritual significance. I do not have to roll over and play dead simply because I try not to just complain. And the result is usually that I may have greater influence than otherwise. More important, out of work done together in that spirit, friendship has arisen.

Rule 4: Don’t seek to be “best friends”

This leads me to the hardest rule of all: to realize I simply cannot be my pastor’s best friend.

Frequently, being “best friends” is just one more thing we want from our pastors. That desire becomes another burden for them. Ironically, to be friends to our pastors the first thing we must do is give up our desire for that very thing.

Why? The pastor’s time and life are not his own. Rather, he has to have time for all who look to him for encouragement and guidance.

So if we are going to be real friends to our pastors, we have to be more concerned about loving and serving them than the benefits that might flow to us. We demonstrate love by supporting them while holding the relationship lightly and not demanding too much from it. We need to be willing to accommodate our schedules to theirs.

If we honor confidences, and are considerate, encouraging, faithful in prayer, and desirous of our pastors’ success, then at least we will be good friends to them. If we also share a common vision for the church and can be good companions, then we may end up being close friends as well. In so doing, both their lives and ours will be richer.

Robert P. Fry, Jr., is an attorney in Irvine, California, and a member of Irvine Presbyterian Church.

Everything is so weary and tiresome! No matter how much we see, we are never satisfied. No matter how much we hear, we are not conten.
Ecclesiastes 1:8

“A word of kindness and a loaded revolver will get you a lot more than a word of kindess alone.” Thus thinks the cynic.

The cynic flatters himself or herself a hard-eyed realist, a down-to-earth, unfazed, practical person of experience—especially in comparison with “the idiots who maintain some kind of fool hope or optimism.” The cynic has been there, done that, and been disappointed. Won’t do that again—no way! Won’t feel that way again—not on your life! Won’t be tricked into hope—too street-smart for that. The cynic has learned that when the person with experience meets the person with money, the one with experience usually ends up with the money, and the one with money ends up with experience.

The cynic pretty much knows it all—if “knowing it all” were confined to this side of the sun. “Under the sun,” all is vanity we’re told. “Under the sun,” all things are wearisome, faded, dull, meaningless, unfulfilling. This side of the eternal, cynicism definitely has its place, as the cynical preacher of Ecclesiastes knew all too well. Wine, women, and song; power, authority, and accomplishments; wisdom, learning, and knowledge—all mean so very little if we are only to die and fade into forgotten nothingness. What good is anthing—from magnificent accomplishment to wretched excess—if it is only to be lost as a desiccated memory upon death?

Christian leaders, possessed of a wealth of experience and knowledge, can fall prey to cynical moods. We know a lot; we’ve heard it all; we’ve seen the good, the bad, and the ugly in people. Over time such knowledge and experience can corrode the soul, and a view that lofts no higher than the horizon is bound to float cynicism.

But not so a view that rises to the Creator, who is beyond the sun! Place God in the picture, and cynicism sinks into absurdity. Look beyond the sun into the providential heart of God, and cynicism becomes as out of place as gills in a desert.

The cynic has adapted to the apparent reality of godlessness. In a God-filled universe, however, cynicism is maladaptive behavior. Hope responds better to the realities of providence. Faith and courage spring from the awakening sensation of God’s prevenient grace that greets us in the morning, having already bettered the day. Peace and an open, tender heart characterize the person who has been received, recategorized, and released to a noble task and a secure future.

Not cynicism! However trendy, however convenient, however natural it might seem to be a cynic, that wretched path has been overgrown by the lavish foliage of the Savior’s love.

—James D. Berkley

Reflection

In what ways am I drawn toward the maladaptive behavior of cynicism in God’s hope-filled kingdom, and how can I lessen that attraction?

Prayer

God of hope, Giver of a good and perfect future, quench the cynic within me!

“History is an account, mostly false, of events, mostly unimportant, which are brought about by rulers, mostly knaves, and soldiers, mostly fools.”
—Ambrose Bierce, nineteenth-century author