Real-life heroes

It’s not often that we get to be in the presence of heroes, but that is just what I get to do today.

A few of definitions of “hero” are, “an illustrious warrior; a man admired for his achievements and noble qualities; one that shows great courage.”

Although many wouldn’t see it the way I do, I will be joining with about 100 such men. Our church has the privilege of hosting the Southeast Province Clergy Lenten Retreat this year, and deacons, priests, and bishops from across the Southern states will be coming together for prayer, worship, and the sharing of lives.

What sets these men apart from many of the other pastors and preachers that I have known is that nearly all of them are bi-vocational and they do what they do at great personal cost.

A “bi-vocational pastor” is one who has a full-time job that supports his family so that he can be free to minister at night and on the weekends to what, in most cases, is a small flock.

A bi-vocational pastor has a different mindset. If, for example, such a man is employed as a butcher or an insurance adjuster, he doesn’t see himself as a butcher or as an insurance adjuster. He sees himself as a deacon or as a priest or as a pastor who is able to pay the mortgage and feed his family by being a butcher or an insurance adjuster.

I was a bi-vocational pastor for a several years and it is not an easy life. In addition to the 40 hours a week on the job and the 5-10 hours spent in going to and from the job, the bi-vocational pastor still visits the hospitals, counsels individuals and couples, runs the children and youth programs, prepares sermons and lesson plans, attends committee meetings, leads boards meetings, is expected at denominational events, serves on denominational committees, preaches on Sundays, teaches during the week, and marries people, baptizes their children, and conducts funeral services.

It is a hard, grueling life that eats significantly into family and personal time. In addition to all that, the minister is still expected to pray daily, study the scripture, and further educate himself, perhaps by attending continuing education or seminary courses.

The interesting thing about the men that are gathering this week is that many, if not most, were, at the time of entry into our denomination, not bi-vocational. Many of them spent long years of service in a previous denomination and were full-time ministers with great salaries and full churches.

Why did these men leave where they were? Well, the reasons are myriad, but the most common reason is that they sensed “a call.” Like many of the soldiers and marines who have left comfortable homes to go fight in Afghanistan and Iraq, these men left churches where they were respected and successful to start over — to be part of “something new and significant.”

The most common characteristic of these men is that they have white hair. At a time when they could have been resting on their achievements and looking forward to a pension, they, instead, chose to plant a church, probably for the first time in their lives.

For the most part, they are seminary-educated and excellent preachers and pastors. One such pastor became a nursing home chaplain to support his new church. Another taught eighth grade until his church grew to the point where it could support him.

Still another went to work for Starbucks, and another is a drug and alcohol counselor. One is a physician, another is a nurse, another is a paramedic. One priest is a vice-president of a company, another an attorney, another an engineer.

One minister works in maintenance, another with computers, another is an accountant. A few are retired and have started over, from scratch, believing that their best days are ahead.

Such men are “illustrious warriors, are noble, are full of courage.” They are heroes.

Other men are younger, just starting out. Not only are these young deacons and priests working a job and doing the difficult work of helping to plant a new congregation, but they are also probably going to college at night or taking seminary courses on the weekends.

And, in our denomination, at present, there is no pension, no insurance, no promise of large salaries, no large churches to eye with a greedy heart from a distance. There is just the promise of spending one’s life in difficult, unheralded service with the hope of growing bold and growing old with the new congregation one hammers out of nothing. They, too, are heroes.

These men may never be on the covers of religious magazines, they may never have a national ministry or be exposed to the masses.

But in places like Canton, Covington, Thomaston, Manchester, Hogansville, Peachtree City, Fayetteville, Selma, Wilmington, St. Augustine, Sarasota, Bessemer, Sharpsburg, Fairhope, Shelby, Little River, Beaufort, and dozens of other towns and hamlets throughout the South, quiet heroes are going about the business of spending their lives in service and prayer.

Someday, hopefully, their churches will grow and they will be able to leave their jobs and be full-time in their ministry, but if not, they will continue to faithfully serve nonetheless.

Such men truly are heroes and I get to be with them today.