When I was interviewing with my current congregation, the search committee asked me a wonderful question: If you were able to write a note to your newly ordained self, what would you say? I came across my answer today and decided to share it.
A note to my newly ordained self
First, congratulations. You worked hard to get here. There were people who opposed your ordination on principle, but you believed in your call and you stayed the course in order to open the door for others. You should feel really good about that. Now don’t forget the lessons this process taught you:
- Rely on the strength of those around you.
- Believe in the power of music to get you through.
- Remember that the conflict was caused by clergy and the solution found by a layperson.
- Don’t take it personally.
That last one—that’s a big one. If you do your job well, someone will always be upset with you. Nine times out of ten, it’s not about you. That doesn’t mean you didn’t screw up. You probably did. But angry, wounded people will try to blame you. Listen to their complaints and if they have merit, take responsibility. If they don’t, learn to let it go. Learn now. It gets harder.
You know that problem they handed you the day you started at your first church? I hope you learned from that experience the importance of face-to-face conflict resolution. Also learn that you can’t fix in a day what took years to mess up. Be patient. With others and with yourself.
Lots of what you learned in seminary will serve you well in the church. Lots won’t. Few of your parishioners will care about your eschatology. Many will care about your authenticity. Be real. Be you. It’s not a bad thing to be. And remember that your greatest lessons will come from unexpected sources.
And that self-care stuff that experienced clergy talk about: they mean that. But you’re not going to understand until you’ve faced it, so I won’t waste my breath. Just try to remember one thing: you’re not Wonder Woman. Or, come to think of it, Jesus.
Since you’re not Jesus, you will not be able to raise people from the dead. And you will want to. You will sit and hold hands with the dying and will want desperately to keep them here . . . and not just for their loved ones’ sake, but for your own. You will lead funerals with your heart in your throat, which makes it hard to speak. But the good news is, any words you speak will come through love.
You will make mistakes; make them with love. Your judgment will not be perfect; err on the side of love. And when you find yourself stuck or frustrated or overwhelmed, remember that the way out is the way through and the way through is the way of love.
And finally, always remember the lessons you learned fishing with your dad:
- If the fish aren’t biting, try something else.
- The flashy lure may catch their eye, but it’s not enough to get them in the boat.
- Creatures that feel trapped will try anything to get free, and you can get hurt in the process.
- Sky and water are good for the soul.
Oh, and one more thing. Be grateful. If you are trustworthy, you will get to be called pastor.