My first church job was the summer of 1985. I was 19 and was hired by my home church in Eatonton to work as in intern with the youth and children’s ministry. I remember that I felt a bit guilty receiving a check from my church, and for the life of me I cannot remember what I was paid. Since then I have served churches in a variety of positions, but mostly as a pastor, and a privileged pastor at that!

 

I really cannot think of any job, any career that allows such access to a person’s life. From birth to death, as a privileged pastor I was invited into the intimate and personal spaces of others trying to make their way through the world. We are all pilgrims of one sort or another, and a pastor is allowed to walk alongside others on their way through life.

 

Privileged. As I write this article I am sitting in a waiting room as a friend in her 20s with thyroid cancer prepares for surgery.

 

Privileged. Leaning in the stairwell that leads to the baptistery holding the hand of a 12 year old with developmental disabilities. He is practicing his lines: “Jesus is Lord.” I am reminded that in the baptistery we all enter with special needs.

 

Privileged. Sitting in jail with a young man who cannot shake his addictions and now is frightened with the costly consequences. He feels ashamed and alone.

 

Privileged. Attending a birthday party for a widow who just turned 100. She will die two months later, but that day I belted out “happy birthday to you” alongside her family and friends.

 

Privileged. Cradling an infant in the neonatal ICU as I speak the rite of baptism over him. I know I am a Baptist and we traditionally do not baptize infants, but the mother is anguished and this child will soon die in her arms.

 

Privileged. A youth confides that they are confused about their identity. Afraid and hopeless, she is trusting that I will not shame her, condemn her. All she really wants is to be unconditionally loved.

 

Privileged. Standing up on Sunday mornings – sometimes facing hundreds of people and other times just a few – and sharing words of hope, love and grace to people who long for something good, even when they don’t always know it or understand it.

 

Privileged. Surrounded by her family, breaking a crust of bread and serving a few drops of grape juice from an eyedropper to a 33 year old in hospice care. The next day she takes a last, shallow breath with all of us by her side.

 

I could go on and tell you about evening committee meetings that accomplish little or the pettiness and occasional toxicity of some church members. I could tell you about the politics of staff management and the cold, hard business involved in running a large organization. But I would rather tell you about some of my privileges, because that is really what matters. Year after year I have lived this privileged life and the privileges far outnumber all the other “stuff” that goes along with serving

 

It is said that for those of us privileged we should share our privileges for the sake of others. I agree with this, but I confess as a privileged pastor I am not sure how to do this. I suppose all I can do is share my story with the hope that others might discover this privilege too and answer a call that does not always pay well (or at all), but fills the soul with grace and gratitude. Whatever other difficulties and drawbacks involved – and I assure you there are many – they really do not matter much when compared to the beautiful privileges.

 

Gratefully privileged,

 

Greg