I am a real p.k. (preacher's kid, precious kid, peculiar kid--whichever you prefer...grin), and the Cross has been a beloved symbol to me from early childhood. It represents the Lord I love, the faith I cherish, and the life I live. To my dad, called to proclaim its Gospel message, it was always a reminder of God's faithful calling on his life. My pastor dad, now with the Lord, did not take that calling lightly--I am proud of his fifty years of faithful ministry until the Lord took him home. My mom was his faithful "sidekick," and believe me, there were some "kicks in the side" along the way--but GOD brought us through! I cherish my heritage--and the devos I write are a tribute to my godly heritage and spiritual roots. They go deep--and I am grateful.
But I am also a realistic p.k.--the parsonage is not always a happy place; sometimes it's a very hard place, and the people who live there become crushed beneath the load. For along with the joy of ministry comes the hurt and pain of misunderstandings, murmurings, and sometimes, just plain ole meanness! Some pastors and their families never recover from unkind blows--others allow God to use the pain to heal others, and He does!
Into my mailbox this week came a touching, true story written by a pastor, who wishes to remain anonymous. I share it, with his permission, so you may hear the heart of a pastor who knows what hurt--and healing--are all about. Are pastors--and their families--perfect? Of course not! They have faults and make mistakes like the rest of us! But God does not leave His chosen servants, however imperfect, in a pit--He "picks them up, dusts them off, and helps them start all over again!--when they LET Him! Come to the Well, and listen to a pastor who's been in the furnace of suffering, but has allowed God to bring him forth as gold!
THE GULAG
"I recall an account of a weary Christian and his struggle in a
concentration camp. The name "Gulag" comes to mind. This believer
labored with a heavy heart and with the endless oppression. Hope was
dying as all meaningful purpose seemed to vanish away. Day after day, he
shoveled the dirt before him, never hearing a word of appreciation. At
last, he dropped wearily onto a rough old wooden bench. His life was
spent and he was ready to die. All strength to shovel was gone.
Steadying himself, he waited expectantly for the approaching guard. He'd
seen it all before. A shovel would hit the the victim's head. Blood
would color the soil as his own thin, bony frame lay lifeless in the
dirt. The end would be quick. A man drew near. He felt the presence of
someone slip onto the bench beside him. Then he watched as a gnarled
hand moved before him holding a stick. He stared as the point touched
the earth. Weakly he watched as the sign of the cross was etched into
the dirt at his feet. He braced himself, grasping reality! One went
before him who set his face like a flint toward the cross -- and He
struggled on! Then our weary brother raised himself back to his feet ...
AND HE SHOVELED!
WHEN THE DEATH OF A VISION TOUCHES HOME
We were undermined and betrayed, then forced from the leadership of our
little church. We really struggled as we waited for some kind of meaning
to be revealed. The pain of pastors going through this Gulag experience
is often exceeded by another -- the woman who loves him. The following
day was maybe the lowest time in our whole lives. My wife was to meet
the parents of 16 children. They would want to hear about a future full
of hope and promise for the school year. Steeling herself, faint and
brokenhearted, she groped and prayed for that last bit of inner strength.
She just wanted to cry! Then a wonderful thing happened. Two small
children spotted her, ran and leaped into her arms. These sweet,
innocent little ones from summer school just poured out their love! The
Lord knew what these "two little angels" would mean to my dear wife. As
their love warmed her soul, she found her glimmer of hope. She smiled
again, strengthened to face the task ahead, and the room filled with
parents.
The devil is out to kill, wound and destroy those in the ministry. He
sometimes finds willing allies within the church. Good pastors just long
for cooperation, working together with the Lord for the well-being of the
flock. A leadership suddenly removed or even released results in "the
death of a vision."
I wonder, caring friend, who is on that Gulag bench today? Who will be
the one to hold the stick and point to the cross? Who will be as those
"little angels" of love to a brokenhearted lady? Could God use you to
turn a hurting soul or a precious family from loss and destruction?
Some never survive to write about the Gulag. They remain on the bench
and wait for the shovel. Rather than radiate, they are but a shadow of
what they should be for the Lord. Their children, borrowing the offense
for their parents, tragically handle it much as, or even much worse than,
Mom and Dad. By grace, my family knows fullness today -- free from any
trace of Gulag pain. We chose to forgive, forget those things behind and
to trust the Lord to work out His plan. Looking unto Jesus, life became
delightful and full! God sustained us as we laid our burdens down at
those nail-scarred feet which were wounded at the cross!
A friend steps in when the whole world steps out!"
Do you know a hurting pastor and his family who need to see the "sign of the cross" today? Reach out with a heart of love and encouragement. A phone call, a hug, flowers, dinner--be creative! They will never forget it--and God will see them through! Now if YOU have been the culprit to offend and hurt God's servant and his family, may the Lord bring conviction and repentance to your heart, and the courage to make a long distance phone call--or a trip to the parsonage--to make it right. I've been there--and I know God will give them grace to forgive--and He will forgive you too!
Let this be a week to honor our pastors--to let them know how much we love and appreciate them; let's build them up, not tear them down--and make the heart of God--and a ministry family--glad!
A Hurting Word...
