A Pastor's Lament (Used Car Salesman Version)

I often find myself reflecting on ministry and wondering, “What the heck am I doing?

They call me a pastor. Some would say I am a “shepherd of the flock,” others “the mouthpiece of God,” “His instrument,” or “His hands and feet.”  While yet others (like the church I grew up in) would say I am a, “called, ordained, servant of the Word.” Oh, all their words have such a nice ring to them and we say them in such grandiose ways. Yet, to be honest, most of the time I feel more like a used car salesman than anything grandiose.

“Sunday….Sunday…Sunday, join me, the pastor, for one BIG...” well, you get my point. This may seem harsh and maybe even a bit tongue and cheek or cynical, but it is all too often true. I remember a friend telling me once I was simply a professional Christian —meaning I was paid to sell Christianity. That hurt, yet more and more lately, I feel like I resemble that remark.

From the seeming reality of inspired preaching equaling the amount of cash coming into the church and the number of butts in the seats, to finding myself lingering in the parking lot often with false pretenses simply enticing “would-be shoppers” to see my views on issues, it all seems rather absurd and unreal. 

It’s about as unreal as the bad comb-over, leisure suits, big stinky cigars, tinted glasses, and amazingly white teeth (that would make any dentist proud) used to make a used car salesman look the part.

    

One could say as the pastor, I have been reduced to making “the sale.” It’s my job to be everything to every customer, to manipulate them into staying and shopping a while longer. For many of us pastors, manipulation means keeping people comfortable and inspired. “Inspire me!” they ask as we sit there with our stinky cigar in their faces, questioning white-teeth-filled smiles, and wide ties trying to prove we have just what they are looking for. In reality it is just part of the advertisement lifestyle that pastors too often represent.

Sadly, the pulpit has become the “car lot” at which I live out this existence. Putting on the show with my obnoxious presence, never-ending smile, wacky facial expressions, and commercial spots for the big sale this weekend all begin to look no different than the videos, PowerPoint presentations, dramatic lighting, well-crafted soliloquies, and stage presence on Sunday…Sunday…Sunday! I begin to pretend that I am everyone’s friend and act different for each customer who walks through the church doors. They are shopping for entertainment, feelings, fixed problems and I have just what they want…or do I?

There is a sad reality in “used-car sales” of this nature. And it has me asking some personal queries:

• Where have all the real relationships gone, not the superficial pats-on-the-back to make us seem like friends?
• Does anyone really see me as a person, or am I just a character selling “church”?  
• When do I get to receive, maybe even get the opportunity to “shop” myself?  
•  Who sees me off the TV screen, when there is no smile or tinted glasses to cover my pain?

And thus, I am found alone, used – much like the cars I sell. Late at night sitting in the light of my computer screen reading the giving records of the church, realizing I am obsessed with “sales” for my own survival.

So, in a final attempt at hope, I lean back in my office chair, extinguish my cigar, and open my “black book” (the Bible) instead of my faithful blue book and begin to read.

There I find a savior who didn’t need an advertisement agency to accomplish his goals. 

• Who stands between me and my customers and offers a way better deal.  
• Who allows me to drop the false pretense and find true success.
• Who says in a still small voice that I am somebody. 
• Who says to stop trying to sell religion and let the Holy Spirit do His job.  
• Who sees past my used-car sales persona and asks me to be His friend. 

I finally realize I am worn out trying to sell this God-life. In my office, I begin to cry. I shut down my computer, shelve the blue book, take off my plaid jacket, and loosen my wide tie. On the way out, I turn off the “show room” lights and turn on the closed sign and head out the front door into the evening air. With my “black book” in my hand, I make my way back home.

Tonight is different, because tonight I am more than a used car salesman — more than a pastor. Tonight I am called —not to manipulate, pretend, act or even make a sale.  But I am called to be who God made me to be —His success!

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Disclaimer: Many will read this blog post and simply apply it solely to my own pastoral situation - maybe even write me off thinking that I have serious issues. Yet I consider this to be for all pastors who at some point find themselves struggling, alone, even feeling used. This is my "ode to pastors" and the genuine struggle that many women and men called to this "divine office" face in some shape or form. Overall, my hope in sharing this is that readers will take a moment to see from a different perspective, maybe even slip on the shoes of the pastor briefly, and understand that we are simply human, trying, and seeking grace amidst the storms of life and ministry.

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This post was originally titled "The Pulpit on the Corner" (April 11), but the Board of Christian Education of the Northwest Yearly Meeting asked that I adapt it using a different metaphor than in the original. This version appeared in the book "Faith and Meaning: Sharing Our Stories" receiving the status of honorable mention. Please follow this LINK for the original.