Thursday, July 1, 1982: my first day as a new pastor. I was twenty-nine years old, with a wife of three years and an infant boy of three months. It was a huge step of faith. Patti and I had sold our home home in Houston, quit our jobs – I as an oil and gas lease broker and Patti as an ob/gyn nurse practitioner – and moved into a small parsonage next to Grace Bible Church, my new pastorate.
It was pure culture shock from the get go. Up to that point, I had lived in Los Angeles, Dallas and Houston. Suddenly, my wife and I had been plopped down by God in a town in the middle of nowhere that was one fifth the size of the university I had attended. Hitchcock, Texas, elevation 4 feet, isn’t deep in the heart of Texas. It’s more like a capillary on the edge of Texas; so close to the gulf that it gets swamped every time a hurricane blows through.
I’ll never forget the first time I saw the church. It had been painted white. But over the years, green mold, nurtured by the oppressive humidity southeast Texas is famous for, covered it. Inside the eighty year old sanctuary, white walls sported little orange spots where rust from the iron nails used to build the church had seeped through the drywall. The nursery, of special interest to my wife and I, obviously hadn’t had a baby in it in years. Instead, one or more church members with hoarding tendencies had stuffed it with junk, including old mattresses where a rat had made a comfortable home…and then died. An old chicken coop sat out back. The former pastor sold eggs to supplement his income, I was told. Perhaps the same people who stuffed the old mattresses into the nursery had been at work in the chicken coop because by the time I arrived, it too had been filled with junk.
Ah, the memories.
I cut my teeth on that church. I’m sure there are still people walking around to this day bearing the scars. I had no pastoral experience before I took to the pulpit on Sunday, July 4. I don’t remember what I preached on. I’m sure no one else does either. I’m guessing it was something patriotic. I just know that I was thankful for the opportunity to be a pastor,their pastor. Over the eighty years the church had been in existence, the average pastorate had been eighteen months. I was determined to take the ministry more seriously than that. And I did. My ministry at Grace Bible Church spanned six and a half years. To this day, when I dream about being in the pastorate, I dream about GBC.
Thinking back, there is one thing I wish I knew then that I know now: how to minister to the elderly people in the church. I was so young. I know it was hard for the older saints in the congregation to take me seriously. I especially remember Alice Hamm, my very first member to become a widow. She was devastated at losing her husband and I felt so clueless how to minister to her.
So, young pastor, here’s my suggestion: when you take your first church, focus on meeting the needs of the elderly and needy in your congregation first. Of course, my recommendation here is that you form teams of men for them. But whatever you choose to do, by meeting the needs of this very needy group of people in your congregation, you will win their respect and approval. And when you do, you will also win the right to bring change to the church. In fact, the older generation in your church will cheer you on. Unlike myself, they may even approve of you cleaning out the nursery and tearing down the chicken coop.
This post first appeared in NewCommandment.org.
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Learn how to form teams of men for every widow, single mom
and fatherless child in your church at NewCommandment.org.
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