Those of us at a certain age remember the Beatles’ hit, “When
I’m 64.” As a teen, I could not imagine
being so old. But now, 64 does not seem
old at all. Besides, what I longed for and
prepared for since my late thirties has finally come to pass.
This year, my August 4 birthday fell on a Sunday and, as
usual, I was happily engaged in the morning worship, singing in choir, and
fellowshipping with others over coffee and snacks after church. Our part-time interim pastor asked to speak
with me about a matter we had discussed over the phone the previous week. I was ready with my answer.
It was a difficult opportunity to turn down. Ray was looking for a program
director/pastoral care person. I had to
tell him that I was not a good pick for program director: creating programs, managing them, and
advertising them is something of which my nightmares are made. No, seriously, that type of work would stress
me to the max. However, pastoral care would
make my heart sing. Sadly, I turned down
the part-time paid position because of the program director part.
Ray surprised me then and asked me if I would take on the
pastoral care role. He was willing to
split the position in two! Happily, I
said yes. He offered a small salary, and
I asked when I should start. August 1,
he said.
My ministry title:
Interim Director of Pastoral Care.
I even have an office and business cards. I should also mention that I am a
Commissioned Lay Pastor in the Presbyterian Church USA. Everything sounds so official, but all I do
is what I’ve always wanted to do.
Besides preaching one Sunday a month, I visit with people: at church, over the phone, in their homes, in
the hospital. I help serve communion to
shut-ins once a month. I remain on
Session (our local church board) as an ex-officio member. And, so far, I have
assisted in one memorial and conducted one graveside service.
Since August, I’ve had the privilege of getting to know more
people in our congregation than I did before.
I’m doing what I should have been doing all along but didn’t. I guess I needed permission—the ministry
title—to step beyond my shyness.
There is much more to do:
more people to visit, a Bible study/support group on death and dying to develop,
local nonprofit agencies to learn about and possibly collaborate with, a May conference
for commissioned pastors to attend. It
is all joy that, I hope, will extend to and beyond my 65th year.
