I became a minister at the age of 19 years, 8 months, and 3 days. I was just a kid. When I began, I thought I was mature, smart, and wise. I had no idea of all that I didn’t know!
I grew up in a relatively traditional country church. The pastor always wore a jacket and tie. The choir sang each Sunday. We had a church “homecoming” service every year and 5th Sunday dinners. The pastor preached out of the King James Version and we had Sunday School picnics.
So much of what I thought it meant to be a pastor was shaped by that. I was very blessed to have Robert Sanders and Peter Martindale as examples. They played huge roles in my faith and development. But I spent much of my early years at Eden trying to be them. Rev. Sanders was a gentle giant. He said what he meant and he meant what he said. But apart from an occasional zinger, what he said was said with grace and sincerity. But he was also nearly 60 years older than I was. He was a veteran and retired school teacher who had pastored for 47 years before he retired. There was no way I could imitate Bob Sanders and be true to who I was and authentic in my faith. I simply hadn’t led the same life.
Pastor Martindale was someone who had a 20-year history with Eden. He served there for 6 months when he was first getting started in ministry. He came back every year to preach at their annual homecoming services. They trusted Peter because they knew him. Even though he was no longer their pastor, many in the church looked to him as someone they could depend on.
Authentically Adam
One of the things that I realized about 3 years into pastoring Eden Church was that I couldn’t be who I wasn’t. I wasn’t an 80-year-old with lots of wisdom and experience. I wasn’t even a 45-year-old who bridged the gap between generations. I was young, and relatively inexperienced, but I had a passion to learn and teach and love others.
As I began to spend time around people who didn’t go to church I learned that one of the biggest hangups many of them had was the idea that Christians who went to church were fake… not necessarily hypocrites, although that’s a close second. No, they felt that when you went to church, you had to pretend to have your life all together, as if it was an unspoken rule: None of us have our lives together, but for the next hour or so, we’re going to pretend we do. It’s the open secret of the religious world. We’re imperfect, but for some reason, we’re going to pretend that’s not the case.
When I began to stop pretending that I was a perfect pastor, God began to do some neat stuff. I began enjoying teaching and preaching in a way that I hadn’t before. No longer did I try to fit my sermons into a “3 points and a poem” outline that I had been accustomed to. I began to really seek what God wanted to say to people rather than what our traditions had to say. I was passionate about teaching the whole counsel of God’s Word rather than just my favorite passages or pet topics. And I found myself having a deeper concern and compassion for people who didn’t know Jesus. I found that most people are approachable. And while most people have an interest in spiritual things, they are just as intimidated as I was to bring them up.
The Ministry of Presence
I had been at Eden for about 2 months when I had my first death. Ernie was a dear, sweet man who was my Barnabas. He believed in me. And he would shower me with encouragement each time we met. I was crushed when he died. I gathered with his family the next day at their house, Bible in hand, unsure of what to do. I confessed, “Guys, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to pray or what Bible verses to read.”
I’ll never forget what one of Ernie’s granddaughters, slightly older than me, said: “Adam, you’re here and that’s what matters. That’s what Grandpa would have wanted.”
I’ve always been socially awkward. I feel incredibly uncomfortable in new settings with unfamiliar people. As much as I love people, I am most certainly an introvert. Because of this, it has been really easy for me to struggle with “pastoral care” or visitation. While I am a firm believer in the congregational care method, whereby the congregation as a whole provides this sort of ministry, there are some times that a pastor needs to show up. Sometimes it’s expected because of tradition, but sometimes you just need to be there.
I’m rarely speechless. I always have something to say. But what I learned that day with the Barringer family is a lesson I will always carry with me. Sometimes the greatest ministry you can provide people with is not found in the words you say or the sermons you preach. Sometimes, just being there, sitting with others in difficult situations, will do wonders for their spirits and for yours.
Invest in People
Shortly after I became a pastor, I dropped out of Bible college. Other than the pastor of my teenage years, I had no one really investing in me or guiding me. Again, yikes. So I sought them out. Our denomination (The United Brethren in Christ or UB) was in the middle of a major reorganization, going from a district and conference-based hierarchy to becoming based around geographical “clusters” of pastors. While in some ways this structure has still not been fully fleshed out 20 years later, it was incredibly helpful to me. I met other pastors in SE Ohio and had the opportunity to ask questions. What I quickly discovered was that many of them had the same questions: How do we do ministry in a rapidly changing environment? How do we turn around struggling churches? How do we make disciples?
One of the first people I sought out was Ron Ramsey. Ron had just been appointed our new Bishop in May of 2005 and he had a mammoth task in front of him: leading a denomination of approximately 225 churches, many of which were unhealthy, and pointing them towards a desperately needed new vision. And yet, Bishop Ramsey had time for me, the youngest pastor at one of the smallest churches in the UB.
Ron would buy and send me books on pastoral leadership and leading congregational change. We would talk about once a month on the phone. He advised me to preach through the Book of Acts. He went to bat for me. He paid for me to attend conferences and on more than one occasion paid my travel expenses to visit. He even took 3 days of his incredibly busy schedule and preached a revival for me.
When I asked Ron “why me?” when there were objectively more effective uses of his time and resources, he told me that he saw something in me. Man! When someone you admire tells you that, you feel like you could do about anything. Ron shared how he was actually born in the same region I was in, that his dad was a pastor who died when Ron was young. And it was an older pastor who inspired him and led him into the ministry. Ron said how he had seen too many pastors die on the inside long before their bodies gave up because the ministry was hard and they were alone. Ron didn’t want to see that happen to me.
I would not be where I am today if it was not for Ron Ramsey. His health has declined and we haven’t spoken in nearly 8 years and now it’s to the point that he would not know who I was. But I know that he loved me. And he inspired me to be an encouragement to others. Today, I have a passion for letting people, especially those in vocational ministry, know that they’re not alone. They have a community committed to them, and best of all, they have Jesus, who loves them and will never disappoint them.
3 Lessons
I’ve learned so much more in 20 years. But 3 things that have really stuck with me are these:
Be Authentic. God made you special. Quit insulting Him by trying to copy others. He made you the way He did for a purpose.
Be Present. Don’t be so quick to speak. Be quick to listen. One of the greatest ministries you can do is to just sit and be with someone. Only then allow the Holy Spirit to speak through you.
Invest in Others. Ron invested in me. And I’ve invested in others. Not always financially, but relationally. This is the one way to make sure your impact ripples well past your own life and into eternity.
Adam Will 