Why the “World’s Worst Pastor?”

Last week’s blog certainly drew way more attention than I ever expected. Let me thank you all for taking time to read, comment, like, share, and respond to the ramblings of (arguably) the “World’s Worst Pastor.”

While many people liked the blog, the title apparently bothered a few folks, and it gives me another post. Why call it the “World’s Worst Pastor” blog?

For starters, it’s already worked. People, especially those who don’t know me or don’t necessarily share my faith tradition, get an enormous kick out of the name.

Hey, my friend Jamie Wright made a great cottage industry writing as “The Very Worst Missionary,” so I just thought I’d add Pastor to the mix. And for the record, I asked Jamie’s permission before hijacking her shtick.

Am I the World’s Worst Pastor? That might depend on who you ask, but probably not. Do I think I am a bad pastor? On some days yeah, I certainly do. But most of the time, I think I’m a pretty good pastor. And I have worked extremely hard at being a good pastor.

In all seriousness, some people—maybe a LOT of people–would disagree with my assessment of my own pastoral abilities. Some folks just see “pastor” through a specific set of lenses, and I do not (and likely never will) fit into their view.

Do you remember your school days and your first taste of standardized tests? Back in 2nd grade, we had to “bubble in” the scan-tron sheets filled with circles or ovals. The teachers threatened us with a near-death experience if we did not have 17 No. 2 pencils on hand, or if we DARED to fail to make perfect bubbles for our answers.

Failing to fill in the complete bubble or daring to go outside the bubble lines would result in our answer being marked WRONG!

I will never forget our Room Mom coming to my desk, saying in a soft yet kind yet ominous tone, “Make your circles good.” I was so diligently trying to stay inside the lines that I did not make a complete bubble. Then I was corrected for making my bubbles too big and going outside the lines. Then I was finally corrected for taking too long to fill in my perfect bubbles and not finishing the test.

And that’s what makes me, in some circles, the World’s Worst Pastor. I am sick of wearing myself out trying make the perfect bubble.

It’s time for a faith that colors outside the lines and bursts a few bubbles along the way.

Churches and Christians that are spending so much time trying to make their perfect bubble that they are failing to finish the test. We are so wrapped up in the church calendars, the events we do “every year,” and making sure that Mr. Smith or Mrs. Jones don’t get upset that we cannot even consider following in the footsteps of Jesus Christ.

Following Christ is a messy business. Christ tried to start working in the church (i.e. Synagogue) but they kicked him out. They did this because He wasn’t concerned about how the church bulletin looked. He wasn’t worried that a song was too contemporary or traditional. It did not bother Him that someone sat in the wrong seat or that something didn’t happen “every year.”

Jesus sought ministry that was dirty and messy and chaotic. It was walking along filthy roads, hanging out with a group of 12 guys—smelly fishermen, murderers, tax collectors, and traitors–who probably would not even speak to each other if Jesus had not called them. And Jesus did this because He had zero interest in creating any kind of perfect bubble.

The mantra of the “World’s Worst Pastor” fits because I usually do not meet many of those typical, traditional images that people have of a pastor. I am certainly not the least bit interested in trying to color in their perfect bubble image.

Here is one example. People have regularly complained to me that I care too much about serving others, feeding the poor, overcoming racial barriers, etc. One former church member even said to me, “All we hear about is feeding the hungry and helping the homeless, and we just get tired of that every Sunday!” She proceeded to say that was all well and good, but she had never heard a pastor who talked so much about that “stuff.”

What she failed to realize is that I took this as a compliment.

If Jesus does anything in His life on earth, He teaches us that serving others is not just a part of the Gospel. It IS the Gospel. If preaching too much about these things makes me one of the World’s Worst Pastors, I am more than fine with it. I hope love for others always comes before perfecting our bubbles.

In dealing with people, my first move is not to call people out because they use a few four-letter words or have a few beers or smoke cigarettes. Nor is it to judge their clothing, question their sexuality, investigate their past, or ask them, “Are you a Christian?” In fact, I try not to ask that question. Ever.

(Even worse, I must confess that I like beer. And sometimes a whiskey. And an occasional cigar—all of which really boost my Worst Pastor rating).

What I try to do is get to know who they are and what they’re about, and I attempt to give them a genuine look at who I am. It’s not always pretty, on either side. But it is real and genuine, eye-opening and life-giving. And I think that is exactly what Jesus tried to do, while calling us to follow the example.

Jesus’ coloring abilities fall far afield of our preconceived lines. But perfect in our eyes was never His goal. Perfect bubbles for pastors are our creation—a defense against the messy, dirty, gut-wrenching life that Jesus calls us to live.

Please keep in mind that I am not saying, in any way, that my definition of Pastor is perfectly in line with Jesus. It’s quite the opposite. Yes, I am sometimes even the worst at being the Worst! I’m simply trying to learn to pursue Christ more fully in my life and work, rather than some notion of pastoral perfection.

No, I am weary from trying to make the perfect bubble. I am interested in those who fall short, or far outside the lines. This is where Jesus was, and is, and where I hope to learn to be. That’s why some people might call me the “World’s Worst Pastor.”

All things considered, that title might not be so bad

The Closing of a Food Pantry

The views expressed in this blog are those of the author and do not in any way reflect the official policy or position of anyone my institution, its affiliates, partners, departments, donors or alumni. They are mine, and mine alone. Disagree? Feel free to contact me! (ONLY me)

My parents raised my sister and me with some pretty clear and definitive values.

You don’t drink. You don’t use tobacco. You use manners. Maintain a well-defined list of what is and is not appropriate for public conversation.

You treat people with dignity and respect, regardless of race or creed or socioeconomic status–and even if people around you do not treat others in this manner.

You go to church on Sunday morning. And Wednesday night. And Sunday night (and no matter how hard I fought to stay home and finish the late afternoon NFL game, we went anyway). And you go EVERY night on revival weeks or any other special church occasion.

But of all the things that my parents passed along to us that really “stuck”, the value of serving others is at the top of the list. It was engrained into us, most significantly in my father’s work with the Eastside Baptist Center in Greenville, SC.

This value first took root in 1976-77, when Rev. T. Spencer LeGrand Sr. took over as pastor of East Park Baptist Church. Along with some supporting church members, he began to distribute food to the needy in the downtown community.

Pretty soon after these humble beginnings, the trickle of textile mill closings became a flood. By 1987, the needs had become far too much for one pastor and one church. Edwards Road Baptist and the Greenville Baptist Association stepped up to create a coalition, headed by my father, which now forms the Eastside Baptist Center.

The work of the Center is truly an ecumenical enterprise, involving Baptist, Methodist, Catholic, and Episcopal churches of all types and stripes, as well as interested individuals who just want to serve. That’s no small feat in this region of the South, where we are not always known for our spirit of ecumenical cooperation. It has continued to make its home at East Park—until now.

On May 31, the Center will close its doors for the final time. As East Park moves to merge with a sister congregation, Eastside Center is losing its home. My father, at 81 years old, does not have the desire to move to a new location (although I think he still has the energy).

Many people are stunned when I tell them that my father at “that age” still leads such a ministry. Many also say, “How sad!” when I tell them that this portion of his ministry is coming to a close. I will certainly miss hearing him say over the phone, “Well, I need to get to bed so I can get and go get food in the morning!”

There is much despair these days about the end of ministries, or churches, or church buildings. The inevitable, initial reaction by Christians when one of these institutions comes to an end is, “How sad!”

But I do not see this as sad. In the words of a 90s pop song, “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.” While my father’s work in this realm ends, his legacy of serving is still at the beginning.

It is a flawed assumption that statistical data is the primary measure of the success of a religious organization. The assumption goes like this: “Bad” ministries or churches die and fade away. The good ones last longer. They grow larger. They produce big numbers to show for their efforts—either in money, facilities, branches, well-known ministers, people, etc.

To many, the “Numbers Game” is the only one in town; and no matter how often we say it isn’t that important, we act as if it is ALL-important. That’s why we mistakenly assume that the ending of a ministry is “Sad”.

While numbers should be ONE measure of a church’s work, they cannot be THE measure.

In a day and age when most churches are actually closing at a somewhat alarming rate, I put forth that we assess the legacy of a ministry rather than its numerical “success”. This is a very relevant time for us to understand that a powerful legacy can long outlive an institution, in both years and in effectiveness.

No one is cheering the closing of churches or the ending of ministries. But the fact is that things change. Communities change. Culture changes. People change. Sometimes the need once met by that church or ministry changes, and its purpose draws to a close.

We also have to be faithful enough to believe that the end of one ministry can lead to the beginning of something new. If ministries understand the vitality of legacy, then there will be workers prepared to pour themselves into something else that is equally vital.

I doubt that those involved at Eastside Center will suddenly stop doing ministry because it is closed. My dad certainly won’t stop. He’ll keep working at his church, Pelham Road Baptist (one of the major supporters of the Center). Or he’ll add to his Meals on Wheels route. Or maybe work in some other food ministry. Maybe he’ll even share his experience with others who share his passion to feed the hungry.

When he started the food ministry at East Park, there were fewer opportunities to follow that passion. Not many food pantries existed in the Greenville area. Of all the things about my father that make me proud, the fact that the city has plenty of ministries to meet emergency needs ranks near the top. These pantries work with organizations that provide many other services to the community.

I believe my father and East Park were both major sparks for the ministries of compassionate service that exist in the city. This compassion is growing well beyond food pantries, towards more in-depth ministries that strive to address the deeper issues of poverty.

And if I may add a personal note: His example is what led me to do what I do, in helping students understand the meaning of service and the essential battle for social justice. All of his children and grandchildren are involved in some type of service to others. This is not to mention the hundreds of volunteers and donors and fellow churches and ordained ministers that benefit from his example.

There are the thousands upon thousands of people who had enough to eat because of the Center’s work. But it was never about that. It was about answering a powerful call to be the hands and feet of Christ to those who were taking the hardest hits that life could dish out. It was about doing justice and loving mercy and walking humbly, on a path that God had opened for him.

Honestly, I don’t think that my father ever had the choice to not do this. The call on his heart is just too powerful. He serves because this is who he is—and he imparts that into the people that he encounters. This is what it means to leave a legacy.

Yeah, sure, I’m expressing some personal pride here in what my father has done. Yet, I believe that the principles still apply. It is not about striving to make sure that a ministry or a church or a religious institution continues to exist. It is about passing on the compassion and purpose and desire to serve that brought such organizations into existence in the first place.

Yes, I am extremely proud of my father has done to this point in his life. But I am much more excited to see what good can come from those who choose to learn from his legacy of serving, a legacy that he continues to build.

That’s not something that goes away when a building falls or an organization dissolves. That is a legacy for eternity.

As we consider what good we are doing for Christ and one another, let us consider the legacy that we are instilling into the lives of others. Facilitating and spreading the spiritual call of a ministry is a much more critical focus than simply trying to maintain its physical existence.