I grew up a “son of the manse”, to use the old school expression. My Dad will have been in the pastorate 12 years this week, and I can honestly say that it has had its great, as well as not so great, moments.

It’s been generally public, and familial, expectation that I would enter the pastorate as well. Makes sense – “His Dad is a pastor, so he will be one as well.”When I adopted Reformed theology, I soon after made the choice that I wanted to enter the pastorate as a Reformed Baptist minister. Lately, however I’ve decided to can that dream, and here’s why.

It takes much more to be a preacher than just having the ability to teach. It requires the ability to actually talk to people – something I’ve never had. It requires the ability to listen – something I’ve never had. It requires the ability to be reliable – not particularly possible when I literally live on an emotional rollercoaster, sometimes up, sometimes now. It requires the ability to be patient – I’m woefully impatient.

Now I can hear folks already, “You’re only 19, you’re still maturing.” Maybe, but I can trace everyone of my failings from my childhood and they haven’t changed, bar one – my temper. A pessimistic outlook, I grant, but I don’t want to risk shepherding a flock, only to hurt them down the line. God’s people deserve better than that.

Do I still want to serve the Lord in some capacity? Yes. I just won’t risk the pastorate.

No related posts.

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.