From a Grateful Pastor

As my first ever sabbatical comes to its conclusion this week, there have been a number of different responses and reflections on these eight weeks away from pastoral responsibilities. Guilt—most people are not afforded the opportunity to take a sabbatical in their careers; maybe I shouldn’t have? Fear—maybe the church is actually better off without me, and I really am not needed back. Shame—are these weeks really just revealing that I’m lazy or weak to soldier on in the work? Those thoughts readily flee in the face of the gospel that gives way to gratitude. I am deeply grateful for the rest these eight weeks have facilitated. Thank you, Westview, for granting me this time away. I am most eager and desirous to return to the field, setting my hand to the plow, laboring among and for you strengthened and sustained by God’s grace.

In early June, I was readily able to disconnect from responsibilities and get away to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula with my wife. We returned and regrouped to set off on our family’s “western expedition”—a two-and-a-half week family trip exploring the wonder of three remarkable national parks: Grand Tetons, Yellowstone, and Glacier. Many hours in the van were spent immersed in the vengeance and humbling of The Count of Monte Cristo (not The Brothers Karamazov as originally planned). And when we returned in early July, I shifted focus to read more for professional development and write out our efforts and plans to raise our children in the discipline and instruction of the Lord (cf. Ephesians 6:4). 

Back in March, I wrote about “The Why and What of My Sabbatical.” I highlighted three specific reasons why I thought this sabbatical would be good and wise for me:

1. I am not necessary.
2. I need wonder.
3. I am needed at home.

So, rather than merely share things that were done and accomplished or provide vague, spiritual-sounding generalities, let me share a story of how each of those reasons for the sabbatical were addressed.

I shared previously how there is a potent lie pastors like me can submit to: the health and vitality of the church is dependent on me. But I am not necessary, and I don’t need to be needed. I got to embody that truth as our family joined in public worship most Sundays this summer at Grace Bible Church in Monticello. This fellow-Pillar-Network church is probably the most similar to Westview. And it was a tremendous grace to me to join in worship without feeling the pressure of being “on.”

These weeks of the sabbatical were the first stretch of almost fifteen years where I wasn’t responsible in some form to lead, shepherd, or feel like I am watched. I could just join in the means of grace of singing, sitting under the preached Word, and partaking of the Table. It was a refreshing reminder of how sweet and simple the weekly gathering of God’s people is. I am not necessary for Christ to build his Church, but it is a wonderful privilege that I can participate in it, whether as a pastor or parishioner.

The family trip out west was an intentional choice. It’s not just that we love the national parks (well, most of them). It’s that mountains were made for communion, for worship. You can trace the appearance of mountains through the Bible and find that is where God most consistently meets his people and reveals himself. Mountains are for worship-filled wonder, and that’s what I need to sustain and motivate the work of God entrusted to me.

Of all the mountains, vistas, and scenic overlooks we took in over the course of about 3,500 miles, the most awe-inspiring was to stand at the Hidden Lake overlook at the top of Glacier National Park. “It’s only 1.5 miles,” they said. The hike there was a steep incline just about the whole way … in the snow. Our bare arms were warmed by the sun as our feet struggled to find stability in the melting, shifting alpine snowpack. This labor no doubt contributed to the reward of finally standing at the overlook.

The brilliant sun and azure sky extended well beyond the snow-crested peaks that encircled this pristine lake. Even while standing on the wooden observation deck, my brain struggled to compute how what my eyes were taking in was real. I knew that if it weren’t for the recent grizzly activity that closed the trail down to the lake, I could go and touch it all. Yet standing there, it was overwhelming. It was, truly, wonder-full. And this was just one lake in one square mile of one mountain range that was crafted by the finger of God. And if this singular overlook is this awe-inducing, how majestic is its Maker!

There is a lot of flexibility in the schedule of a pastor. And there are benefits and drawbacks of that. With my kids in school, pastoral responsibilities that take me away for many mornings and evenings accumulate a felt absence. That is why one focus of the sabbatical has been to carve out one-on-one time with each of my kids. As I shared with them that they would each get to plan their own afternoon out with dad, their faces lit up. Some constraints were needed after a few wild ideas were floated. I ended up playing cribbage at a coffee shop, biking to a French bakery, cooking lunch over a fire, and paddleboarding on a local lake. Each outing with its memories and conversation was a meaningful investment. It’s one we plan to go on prioritizing throughout these formative years our children are in.

And that investment in my kids, that wonder in our God, that weekly reception of the reminder of my insignificance—for all of it, I thank you, Church. Thank you for granting me this time away. I am grateful to have fellow pastors, willing deacons, and eager volunteers step up and see to my responsibilities. I am grateful for these many evidences of God’s grace that abound in and through you. So, from this grateful pastor, thank you.