our missions pastor has been mislabeled. he is not the pastor to all our missionaries or even a pastor to all the people who need missionaries. instead his jobs seems to be very little about pastoral care and very much about advocating.
he stands on Sunday mornings to remind our congregation of our commitment to pray for, to spiritually support, the missionaries we financially back.
he places ads and puts up flyers and organizes fairs to increase our awareness of the needs of this world. in a hundred different ways throughout the year he communicates to our congregation “we need you. whoever you are and whatever you have, you are essential to this cause.”
he takes unskilled but willing hearts and with very little training sends them to very uncomfortable places to proclaim the good news to broken hearts. to bring about justice in an unfair world. and they come back with testimonies of supernatural grace and provision and joy. “i had nothing to offer,” they tell us, eyes glistening. ”but God was so good. so big.”
over and over he turns our selfish eyes towards missions. ”here are our missionaries,” he says. “and here is the world. the job is far too vast for me alone. it is a job for all of us.”
and so i wonder how different my job as a jr high pastor would be if my role was less pastor and more advocate. perhaps the best thing — best for both my students and the adults in the congregation — would be if i stopped feeling like i had to pastor all of the students on my roster. instead of spending my days teaching and programming and high-fiving maybe i should be out advocating for them.
i could stand before the congregation each sunday. “remember 11 years ago?” i would ask. ”when these smelly boys were cute infants and you promised to be a community around them to raise them in love and knowledge of god? it is time.”
i could have the face of our ministry on every flyer and bulletin and email our church puts out. you bake cookies? we need you. you’re housebound but willing to pray? we need you. you have a backyard a small group could meet in? we need you. you can burp the abc’s? we definitely need you.
there is unjustice in a middle school cafeteria. and there are definitely broken hearts. it is a wildly uncomfortable place, even for those who are supposed to belong. but we don’t need a team of seminary trained cool-kids to love students. just willing hearts ready to dispense love and grace. ”i had nothing to offer,” they would tell us later, eyes glistening. ”but God was so good. so big.”
truth be told, my job must be one of advocate because it is a job far too big for just me. it is a job for all of us.
