In The Interim

An old friend of mine from college (Jeff C) just let me know via Facebook status that he's starting a stint as Interim Pastor, on top of his "day job" as a drug-rehab counselor. I've no doubt he'll serve well, and that both he and his church will be blessed by the exchange. (One of Jeff's favorite quotes is from Mary Cosby: ""A meeting of persons is an exchange of gifts." It's a good line.) But the thing that struck me about Jeff's announcement was the odd power of the adjective attached to his title: "Interim". Quite obviously, it means he will hold the position only temporarily, as opposed to those of us who serve in "permanent", "eternal", or "everlasting" ministries. An interim pastor is just the guy or gal who serves as pastor "in the interim", or in between the last guy or gal (who either got fired or "called away") and the next guy or gal (for whom the search has already begun, unless the search committee is procrastinating, which they almost always never do). I've never been an Interim Pastor. Either that, or that's what I've always been, and just didn't know it.

Technically, I guess, all the pastors between the first pastor and the last pastor are interim pastors. Both my brother and my friend Chuck were "first pastors", in churches they helped start. I watched them both ride the roller coaster of joys and anxieties that come with the birth and early growing pains of a new congregation. I don't believe I've known any "last pastors", though I've got a strong suspicion that I may soon become one. I do not know how many more years Big Spring-Bloomfield Presbyterian Church will be in existence, but I've known for some time that I will (most probably) be their pastor on their last day, whenever that may come. I can't see into the future, and we don't know yet what Trinity Baptist Church will do when the Presbyterians close their doors, but I've already been Trinity's pastor for more than half of their history, and I just might be their pastor through the rest of it.

These are thoughts I don't know what to do with. No seminary student imagines a "till death do we part" relationship with a church, certainly not with the first (and second) churches he or she might pastor. But I'm no longer a rookie; I've had a lot of time to think about this. Only the very young and the very foolish fail to come to terms with their own mortality, but rarely do we apply such timeless truth-telling to the institutions we form and support. Churches are not immortal; at least not the ones that have buildings, bank accounts, and board members. Businesses -- like Texas Instruments, Lehman Brothers, Saturn Motors, and someday mine -- likewise suffer the fate of limited life spans, despite our common desire for eternal employment security. We don't usually hold funerals for institutions; we don't have a pattern of mourning or a habit of grieving their loss. As in the last episode of Cheers, we simply turn out the lights, lock the door, and walk away.

Surely there is no reason that I should ever fear also becoming the last pastor of Bloomfield Christian Church. (That would be too much for one man to take.) About half the congregation is younger than me, so I have no fear of outliving all of you. I have every reason to believe that after my departure -- by death, dismissal, or "divine redirection" -- the church shall come together, find another pastor, and continue to worship and serve together for many years to come. Of course it will. Because you care deeply about this church, it's ministry and it's mission. At least, I think you do. I mean, you don't always act like it, but you would act different, if you really needed too. For now, you can go on acting like the church will always be there, whenever you feel like popping in to hear a sermon or some beautiful music, or just to catch up with friends. Someone will always be there to get the temperature in the sanctuary just right (or close to right), to print the worship bulletins, to prepare communion, to take up the offering, to pay the bills, to lead the prayers, to keep the nursery, to teach the children. The church will always have plenty of people to do all those things. Won't we?

Not always. Not forever. Only as long as you care; only as long as your heart is in it. After that, it's time to turn out the lights.

Forgive the melancholy, but I find this truly and deeply important. I do NOT want to be the last pastor of Bloomfield Christian Church. I want to be an Interim Pastor, the guy between the last guy and the next guy. I want to be a part of a congregation that is invested in its own future, focused on its own mission. Clearly I have not been a visionary leader; perhaps you have not wanted me -- or allowed me -- to be one. But I will be honest with you. When I look around me, I do not see the passion, the energy, the commitment to each other and to the mission of the church that I believe is needed, not in sufficient measure to last another generation.

If you see it differently, please say so. I would welcome a brighter, more hopeful perspective.

In the meantime, I will continue to serve you, to the best of my ability, for as long as you and God allow.

-- Brother Tom