In the past week or two, Pope Francis made the news for a couple of things he said in a personal interview. He said that the Roman Catholic Church has been too focused on “small-minded rules,” and then used words of grace when he spoke of people who are gay and lesbian. However, one of the things that made the biggest news was that he said, “I am a sinner.” Now, everybody knows the Pope is a sinner since everybody knows the Pope is a human being. The reason it was such big news was that it was so nice to hear it from someone in his position. He said, “I am a sinner,” because he was being humble. He was pulling back the curtain just a little and saying (in essence), “Behind all this pomp and circumstance I am a human being just like the rest of you.” As the worldwide leader of an embattled church body, it appears that Pope Francis is trying to cultivate what leadership expert Patrick Lencioni calls “vulnerability-based trust.” As far as what I can tell from my Catholic friends and family members, it seems to be working. So far it is even working for a Presbyterian like me who generally doesn’t pay all that much to what the Pope has to say (although I like this one so far). Sincerity and vulnerability can very often build bridges over troubled waters.
As I read the Pope’s comments this week, I was reminded of Brene Brown, who is a sociologist at the University of Houston and the world’s most renowned “vulnerability expert.” She is also a great speaker that you should look up on YouTube. She says, “Vulnerability is our most accurate measurement of courage.” You see, if you are invincible you do not need courage. It is when you know that you are vulnerable yet you march forward anyway that courage is needed. In my Protestant opinion, the Pope is showing courage through being honest about himself, and watching the Pope do so has made me feel that it might be okay for me to do the same.
After reading that interview, it got me thinking about some things I have wanted to say for all seven years I have served churches as a pastor, things I have been told by seminary professors and fellow pastors that a pastor should never say. I have been told, “Never ever tell your congregation what you’re really thinking. You have to keep that boundary there between pastor and congregation.” Yet, I am a person that absolutely has to be straight forward and authentic. Otherwise I feel like a charlatan. So although I’ve always been told not to do it, I’m going to follow the Pope’s lead and give a little peek behind the curtain. Because I love this congregation so much, I want to be honest with you about who I really am. Don’t worry; I’m not an escaped convict or a Russian spy. To me, vulnerability and authenticity are integral to having real relationships with other people. That’s what I want to have with you all.
Here it goes:
I want everyone to know that while I am a pastor, a pastor is not who I am. Sounds very Zen Buddhist doesn’t it, like “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” What I mean by that is that my vocation is that of a pastor but I personally do not like to be defined by that vocation. I have never really had the same relationship with the role of pastor that many of my colleagues seem to have. I don’t like being called Rev. Miller, especially when I am not working at the church. I know that I have to be listed that way in official church records, and if I’m in a robe or sitting in my leather chair and someone feels the need to call me Rev. Miller I guess that’s okay. But if someone sees me at Wendy’s and feels that need then I feel uncomfortable. The word “reverend” implies either that I am to be revered, which I most certainly am not (check out Matthew 23 about this), or that I am more reverent than others, which I most certainly am not. Because church-life is everyday-life for me, I am probably less reverent about a lot of things than everyone else is because they are more common place to me. Someday, many eons from now when I finally run out of my business cards, my next ones probably won’t say “Rev. Everett Miller.”
To tell you the truth, I don’t even like to be called Pastor Everett by other adults. I know that you have been trained for decades to use “Reverend” and “Pastor” as a title of respect, but I am different (not better or worse) than a lot of pastors. I do recognize, however, that it makes sense for the children of the church to have some way to address me as one of their elders. Perhaps more than even the use of Reverend or Pastor, I get an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach whenever someone—almost always a fellow pastor—uses the word “clergy” to refer to us pastors. To me, the word “clergy” has connotations of a privileged class of people, which is what clergy used to be. Clergy used to be the only people in town who were educated and could read. So whenever I hear a pastor speaking of the “clergy” getting together it makes me think this group of people might think they’re still the only ones in town who know how to read. In addition, the word “clergy” is nowhere in the Bible (and Jesus had tough words for the leaders of the people who relished being identified as leaders of the people), and it is nowhere in the Book of Confessions or the Book of Order.
Although I know people are just trying to be respectful, I prefer just to be introduced as Everett. If what I do for a living is pertinent to the introduction then you can follow that up with, “He is the pastor of First Presbyterian Church.” And please, if you and I are friends, don’t introduce me to someone as your pastor. Introduce me as your friend. It hurts to share a friendship with someone and then to be relegated to my office in the church when I’m being introduced by that friend. I am a pastor, but a pastor is not who I am. I am Everett Lee Miller II. My parents and siblings still call me by my childhood nickname, Buddy. I am a husband, a father, and a friend. I smell funny sometimes; I screw up sometimes; I doubt sometimes. I like reading, writing, hiking, baseball, college football, and zombie movies.
As I said, I have never really grown into the role of pastor the way I thought I would. Don’t get me wrong; I enjoy my work as a pastor. I enjoy getting to be a part of your lives. However, like I said earlier, unlike a lot of pastors I do not like being defined by my role in the church. Also, as a pastor I used to think that I had to try to please everyone in the congregation. What I have figured out over these past seven years, in three very different congregations, is that pleasing everyone is impossible. If I say something progressive I get the Evangelical folks mad at me. If I say something Evangelical I get the progressive folks mad at me. If I say something that won’t offend either group then I’m very often not saying much of import. So I decided fairly recently that I am done with trying to please everyone in our congregation or any congregation for that matter. I’m just going to be myself and tell the truth (as I see it) in as loving a manner as possible. If at any point the congregation grows too uncomfortable with that then it will be the congregation’s prerogative to deal with that in the way that will best benefit this church’s ministry. Over our years together, there is a pretty good chance that I am going to see things differently than a lot of folks. This may be because of my age or season in life, because of my own life experiences, because of the life experiences of my close friends and family members, because of my background in literature and creative writing, or because of the way I was educated and trained in seminary. I will say things you don’t like, but I am always open to setting up a time to have a loving dialogue with you about those things which may have upset you.
Something else I have always wanted to admit to a congregation is that there is a pretty good chance I will not be a pastor forever. That isn’t because I don’t enjoy being a pastor; I greatly enjoy being a pastor. It is because there are so many things in life I would like to do. When I was in the midst of the ordination process, I remember people saying, “If there is anything else in this world you could do, then you shouldn’t become a pastor. That’s how you know you’re called to be a pastor, when that’s the only thing that will fulfill you.” Over time I came to reject that statement, to see that it is incredibly binding, and to see that it shows a lack of trust in God. If you are truly in relationship with God, then whatever you do can be fulfilling. Honestly, I can think of a lot of other things I would enjoy doing. More than anything I would love to be a professional fiction writer. I’d love to be a travel writer. I’d love to teach religion or English at the college level. Even though it doesn’t pay much I’d even enjoy working at Barnes & Noble or a coffee shop. I could be happy as a National Park ranger. Does that mean I shouldn’t be a pastor? Whoever said that God’s call on a person to a particular ministry is forever? People change direction all the time.
After a conversation not too long ago about this same topic, a friend of mine wrote me these words: “God has created you - not a pastor. You may discover the gifts with which God has endowed you may be used as a pastor; regardless, God wants you to be you and continue to bless us with the joyous gift you are. God does not want you to ‘cram, stuff yourself’ into any human ‘box,’” including the box of being a pastor. Again, don’t get me wrong; I love being a pastor and more specifically I love being your pastor. But although I am a pastor, a pastor is not who I am.
I have a great dream or goal that I want to achieve in my life. It is not becoming a pastor of a large church or becoming an executive presbyter. Actually, it isn’t even church work. It is a dream that I have set aside two times in my life already. This dream is to earn a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing. The first time I put that dream on the shelf was to stick around town long enough to see if my relationship with the girl I was dating was serious—after twelve years of marriage and two kids I’m starting to think it might be serious! The second time I put that dream on the shelf was after I had taken two courses toward the degree (at night while still working fulltime as a pastor) when I decided it was more important for me to move to some place I’d never heard of called Washington Court House, Ohio to pastor a church that it seems God has meant for me to pastor during this shared season of our lives. I pray that somehow God will open a door (I’m even willing to crawl through a window or squeeze through the doggy door) for me to achieve that dream, and I don’t want to wait until retirement to do that. If there is a way for me to figure out how to be a pastor and an MFA student at the same time someday in the future then I’ll probably choose that option, but this is a dream that won’t go away. I believe I am being called to that just as much as I was called to be a pastor. To change up a quote from Chariots of Fire a little, when I write “I feel God’s pleasure.”
There’s your peek behind the curtain. You may have wished I would have kept the curtains drawn. My seminary professors and colleagues in the pastorate will think I’m crazy if they read this post. “You broke the code!” they will say. “Code Schmode!” I respond. As the commentator on the radio said today about Reds manager Dusty Baker, “He’s different than any other manager in the major leagues. He’s going to do things his own way even if everyone else tells him he’s doing it wrong.” That’s kind of the way I am. If I’m going to live in Christian fellowship with you as a church family, if I expect you all to be honest with me, and if I truly respect you all, then I have to tell the truth; I have to be vulnerable. I don’t know any other way. I can only be who I am. I’ll promise to love you and serve you as you are, and my hope is that you are open to doing the same for me.
I am thankful each and every day that you allow me to serve as your pastor, and I pray for many more.
Grace and Peace,
Everett
