Today, while mowing my grass, I couldn't help but think about how grateful I am to be able to complete a task. Pastoral ministry does often have such a grace as to complete a task and check it off your list. You hear it said all the time, “People are not projects,” and despite the long-standing notion, “I would love ministry if it weren’t for the people,” pastoral ministry is all about the people.

 

October is Pastor Appreciation Month, and I have been seeing posts on my church network social media highlighting the hard work pastors put in day and night, week after week, and encouraging people to thank their pastor. I absolutely love the idea, considering many in pastoral ministry don't make it past ten years—on average, a man throws in the towel after three to five years. This is personal for me, as I am coming off a very difficult season and have wrestled with God about His calling me into the pastorate. There have been many long nights of deep prayer and conversation with my wife where we question what we are doing. 

 

Ministry is hard.

That is the bottom line.

 

In a given week, pastors average ten to eighteen hours of sermon prep; and this is only if he doesn't have hospital visits, funerals, or weddings to oversee. This is on top of the bi-vocational pastor, like me, putting in forty hours a week—and sometimes more. Add a wife he should lead and shepherd, kids he is raising and actively involved with, on top of church functions and obligations. The pastor must be a master of time management, lest he fail to complete the tasks at hand to the best of his ability. I feel the weight of this almost weekly. I feel guilty when my job as Headmaster of a classical Christian school demands my time outside the normal workday and pulls my attention away from my family, or even from the church I am actively planting. 

 

Even in running a school, tasks are rarely completed. Most of the things on my to-do list get brushed off as I fill in for a teacher, crawl in elevator shafts to drain water, climb on old roofs to repair them so our students don't end up in leaking classrooms, and cover the door and phones while my office staff handles lunch. Add a list of questions and concerns for the week that I need to address, and my planning goes out the window. Often, I say the same disciplinary things: don’t run in the hallways, don’t put your hands on another student, pick your head up and pay attention. All the other ridiculous things you’d never imagine you needed to say but, for some reason, have to say. Often, I question why I have to repeat myself so much, and why the direction needs so much reinforcement. Ministry is hard, and the work of ministry is caring for people. They aren’t projects, but image bearers of God, needing correction and encouragement—which is why I am all the more thankful for a yard that needs mowing.

 

This may seem silly; oftentimes, the yard is the least of our concerns. But starting a project and finishing it feels deeply rewarding. Years ago, I got very invested in woodworking. A similar mentality came to mind: starting to build a table, benches, a merchant cart, from start to finish, was deeply rewarding. Solving problems in the moment and finishing a project I made with my hands brought me great joy and a sense of accomplishment. Mankind was created to work—not to simply punch a clock from nine to five, sitting at a computer all day—manual labor, using one's hands. Adam was created to keep and tend to the Garden, the holy cosmic temple of the King of Kings (Gen. 2:15). Even better, Adam was given a helper fit to complete the task at hand (Gen. 2:18). There is something intrinsic in humanity that wants to see the labor of our hands produce something of accomplishment. Perhaps this is partly why the push for participation trophies has gotten so out of hand (that is a topic for another day).

 

Bottom line, pastors, struggling with the mundane nature of ministry; dealing with the thousandth conversation and counseling session with that parishioner; pleading with that lost man or woman to know Jesus; finishing your labor of sermon prep and delivering a sermon, only to start the process over again on Monday—cut your grass. Find an outlet: woodworking, leatherworking, building massive LEGO sets with your kid; something to finish with your own hands. Once you have, share in the same experience I share with my wife each time I cut the grass. I call her over to our dining room window and, with enthusiasm, I tell her to check out the yard; and together we chuckle and say,

 

"That’s a nice yard."