When you “retire” as a minister, you really don’t retire at all. People still think you’re somehow obligated to respond whenever they reach out. I’m no longer on the church’s payroll, but for some reason, I’m still having coffee with friends who “need to talk,” answering questions from leaders who forgot how we handled a problem several years ago, and yes, I’m still doing funerals. So, even when you retire, you’re still “pastor” to a lot of people. It’s a little more difficult when you stay in the church you led for 32 years. Yes, I left my position in the church, but I didn’t go anywhere. My wife and I stayed in the same house and we still eat at the same restaurants. We work out in the same gym and yes, we kept most of our friends.
And we still go to Brentwood Baptist Church.
How does that work? Actually, it’s working quite well.
First, BBC has a history of former pastors being in the congregation. Bill Wilson, my predecessor and founding pastor of BBC, came back and served on staff with me as our Missions Pastor. Bill, and his wife, Creely, established a lot of relationships and ministry points that are still active in our church. Having him as a mentor and friend was an invaluable gift to me. I determined I was going to love the pastor who followed me the same way Bill loved me. That’s a tall order. I have a letter from Bill “passing the mantle” to me and it’s one of my greatest treasures. Our church has a history of former pastors and current pastors serving together and modeling our brotherhood in Christ. If pastor’s can live out the teachings of Jesus, how do we expect our congregation to?
Second, I’m still committed to the future of BBC. As someone who once was pastor here, I still love this church and I want this church to succeed. Just as I harvested the seeds planted by Bill Wilson, I want to see the harvest of the seeds I planted. Bill ran the first leg of the race. I ran the second. Now, Jay Strother is running his lap. I may have given Jay the baton, but I still want our team to win. A great church’s ministry stretches beyond the lifetime of any one pastor. I’m eager to see that future unfold and as a church member, I’m committed to that future happening.
Third, my family is here. Sure, my son and his family are members here. OK, let me be more specific. My grandchildren, Rowen and Walker, go here. Any chance to see them is worth the trip. I’d go to this church even if I had never been the pastor here. The joy of sitting on a pew with your son, his wife, their daughter and son is one of life’s small blessings. Just sitting there during a worship service means more than I can express. When people ask me about what accomplishment I’m most proud of in my ministry, I tell them I’m most proud that both of my sons and their families have found their own way in their churches. Maybe as a dad I did a few things right after all.
But that’s not the only family I have here. I have brothers and sisters I’ve done life with for the past thirty years. These are the people who walked with me during my dad’s death and my mother’s dementia and her eventual death. They helped raise my sons and befriended my wife. I’ve laughed, cried and sat quietly in hospital waiting rooms with a lot of these brothers and sisters. Once you’ve gone through one of these life events with someone, like combat, you’re bonded forever.
Lastly, I like the pastor. I met Jay when he joined our staff as the Middle School minister. I’ve watched him grow into a mature, seasoned, and deep minister of gospel. I’d like to say I had something to do with his success, but honestly, all I did was recognize what God had already placed in him. Anyway, he’s a good guy. I think I can trust him to walk with me as I walk this last part of my life.
Brentwood Baptist Church is still my church. They are still my people. I’m committed to their future. I know they are committed to mine. I know this is unusual. Most pastoral retirements don’t end this way. I know that and that’s why I’m grateful for Brentwood Baptist Church and their new young pastor, Jay Strother.
The only thing left to do here is my funeral. I hope it’s not soon, but whenever it happens, someone else will have to write about it.
