The call came around 2 AM. It was the police. “Rev. Dale, we have a situation and we need your help. Is Mr. Smith (not his real name) a member of your congregation?” “Yes, he is.” I replied, immediately awake. “Rev. Dale, our officers are in a stand off with Mr. Smith. He is threatening to kill himself unless he gets to talk to you. Can we send a patrol car to pick you up?” My mind was racing. “Of course.”
Nothing could prepare me for that night. None of my theology classes, memorizing Scriptures, or courses on homiletics taught me what to do when one of my parishioners was holding a rifle to his head asking to speak to me in the middle of the night.
I never got to speak with “Mr. Smith” that night. The police had pulled him over for driving erratically. That’s when he pulled out the gun and the standoff began. He asked for me, yet wouldn’t wait for me to arrive. By the time the officer showed up to take me to where he was, Mr. Smith pulled the trigger, ending his life.
The rest of the night was a blur. I drove with the police to Mr. Smith’s house. His wife, who knew that a crisis was taking place, saw me at the door with the officer, and she knew. She collapsed into my arms, weeping with a pain that came from the deepest of places. After a while, I turned to Mr. Smith’s twelve year old son, who was sitting on the stairs, watching his mother grieve.
I remember arriving home a few hours later. The police had arranged for me to meet with them in a few hours to officially identify the body. But for now, I had time to go home, shower, and try to get a grip on what had just happened. I was overwhelmed. I wept as Heather held me. “I don’t know if I can do all this.” I said, between sobs. “Yes, you can.” Was the reply of the woman who has cheered me on all through these decades of ministry.
I did make it through that dark day. Just as I’ve made it through other dark days of ministering to those under my care.
The reality of ministry isn’t something I was able to grasp when I first felt the call of God on my life. I didn’t realize just how deep the burden I would carry as a pastor. You invest into the lives of those you serve in a way that is difficult to put into words.
Some days are like the one I just described. Fortunately, they are the exception. There are far more days of joy than sorrow. Standing with young couples who declare their love for one another; holding a child as mom and dad commit to raising him or her together; watching someone realize their potential and live out the gifts God has given them. Those are all days of joy. Pastoring is full of such days. And yet, there are also the days when you watch the marriage fall apart, the child rebel against mom and dad, and the individual give up on God.
Perhaps that’s why pastoring can be listed as the happiest job in the world at the same time that pastor burnout statistics skyrocket (thanks to DashHouse for those links). The reality is, pastoring is a calling. It invades every aspect of your life. You simply cannot “check out” at the end of the day. The calling never takes a day off, never has a holiday.
For me, there’s nothing like it. I love what I do. Even on the dark days when the phone rings at 2 AM.
