Daniel Rose: The Pastor Next Door

…or when things don’t go as planned.

You’ve worked hard all week on an amazing message. The illustrations are poignant and powerful. People will get teary eyed when you drop your perfect tweetable line in the conclusion. You can’t wait to preach. You know this will be one of the most life changing messages you have ever communicated.

Then it happens.

It.

Whatever “it” is.

It happens.

You have to zig instead of zag. The entire night has to be changed because your pastoral heart knows that the people need something else. They don’t need your life changing sermon. They need a different message. Maybe they don’t need a message at all, just time and space to be together. Who knows? But what is evident, is that you have to flex.

Many of us pastors create strategic plans. We have plans for three, five, ten, and fifteen years out. We know exactly how we want everything to work out in our ministry.

The strategies, we believe in them.

The principles, we own them.

The language, we can communicate it.

The passion, we exude it.

The vision, we proclaim it.

We are leaders and we know it. We are the alphas and we will lead our people to the promise land. We will change the world.

God often has other plans for us though. Or maybe it’s just that we live in a broken world and our plans, strategies, and principles are for the ideal and we don’t live in the ideal.

When you are doing life and ministry in the real world, not in the vacuum of a book or seminar, things are messy. Life is messy. People are messy. Messiness means that we have to hold things with a loose grip. There will be times we must be flexible.

Yet, in the midst of being flexible we must also seek to obey. There is an obedience of faithfulness that we have to embrace. Our calling, our vision, our passion, our principles, assuming they come from God, are good and we need to faithfully pursue them. Flexibility in ministry does not mean that we abandon what God is calling us to do in the big picture. Flexibility in the moment allows us to remain obedient in the long run.

Flex and obey, there is no other way.

Choosing Joy

Joy is a decision.

Every day you have to make a choice.

What will you choose?

Will it be anger?

Will it be frustration?

Will it be sadness?

Will it be joy?

Joy is hard to choose.

Joy demands faith.

Faith in the midst of pain is hard.

If we are honest with ourselves pain is where we live most days.

Pain seems to be the water we swim in.

Pain seems to be the air we breathe.

Pain seems to be everywhere we look.

Joy subverts pain.

Joy takes pain and flips it on its head.

Joy makes pain look alien.

Pain is.

Joy is a choice.

What will you choose?

I choose joy.

Every once in a while you come face to face with a brokenness that overwhelms you. It seems that lately this has been the case more than not. I look around and people are not being healed, they are losing jobs, they are experiencing death.

This all sucks.

I know, I know, I’m a pastor and my Mimi would be mad that I just used the “s-word.” But, you know what, it does suck.

That’s the truth of the matter.

The brokenness of this world is overwhelming at times. I am so mad and frustrated with it. I wish God would simply do what I want him to do. When I pray for him to heal someone, I want him to do that. When I ask him to save a marriage, I want him to do that. Every once in a while, I want him to supersede the secondary causes of human sin, frailty, and brokenness to make this world how I want it.

He’s sovereign and good I remind myself. But, dang it sure does not feel that way at times. Not even a little. I don’t really doubt his goodness, but there are times when I wonder if he really does have control of this ball of dust.

Intellectually, I know he does.

Intellectually, I know that everything has purpose.

Today, as I drink my coffee, it doesn’t feel like it at all.

Emails, phone calls, texts, Facebook statuses, they all point to something else.

Even now, I am thinking about all the times God has responded. All the times when it made no sense for something to happen apart from God’s miraculous intervention. That makes me smile.

A few months ago my son said, “Dad, if I need something important to happen, I am asking the church to pray. God listens to our church and does stuff.”

It doesn’t feel that way this morning. But, I know it to be true. Me and God have history. But, I have a short memory.

“When my heart was grieved and 
my spirit embittered, 
I was senseless and ignorant; 
I was a brute beast before you. 
Yet I am always with you; 
you hold me by my right hand. 
You guide me with your counsel, 
and afterward you will take me into glory. 
Whom have I in heaven but you? 
And earth has nothing I desire besides you. 
My flesh and my heart may fail, 
but God is the strength of my heart 
and my portion forever.” Psalm 73:21–26

This morning I was reading this Psalm and this section struck me. I am still in the, “I was senseless and ignorant” stage. I am working my way toward the “Whom have I in heaven but you?” stage.

Even so, God can handle me saying, “This sucks.”

Two young black men were riding home from football practice in my car. The four of us were laughing, cutting up, and making fun of each other. We came up on multiple police cars and officers investigating something. These two young men immediately folded their hands in their lap, became quiet, stared straight ahead, and were silent.

After we passed the officers there was a moment and then the teasing, laughing, and cutting up began again.

My brother and many of my closest friends are police officers. I love police officers. I am grateful for them and the service they provide. We could not live the lives we do without them.

But, in that moment it, there was fear, a raw fear that sucked the air out of my car. This fear demanded two young men to immediately become silent upon seeing officers even while being in the car of a white man.

We can love and respect and support our police officers and still recognize that there is something beyond broken in our culture. This fear was real.

But we need to make changes. Those of us who are white need to learn. We need to listen. We must not marginalize people’s experiences.

As a pastor, I have to lead in the pursuit of justice. I’m still learning what that means. I know that it won’t be done on social media. It will be done in relationships, relationships that I pursue. I will be able to lead only as I change.

All I know, is that there are good young men, honorable young men, hard working young men, who live their lives in fear. They know a fear that my son will never know.

*Originally Published: September 21, 2016

Originally published at danielmrose.com.

When I was on staff with a large college ministry we spent a lot of talking about how to help college guys become men. We did men’s retreats every year. There was a very specific model that we thought these men had to fit in; tough, rugged, and macho.

We also spent a lot of time trying to teach college girls to be women. This focused a lot on their outward appearance teaching them to dress modestly so they didn’t cause the “men” to “stumble.”

Summer mission trips had female dress codes. No bikinis. No tankinis. No “cheek leak” in your one piece. No spaghetti straps. No “shorts that were too short.” No. No. No. No.

I’m now the father of a teenage son and a teenage daughter. My perspective has radically changed as my wife and I are trying to raise a good man and a good woman.

As I look back at that time with college students I need to ask these women forgiveness. I shamed you. I didn’t mean to, but I did. I put a burden on you that was not yours to bear. As I spoke at retreats and in small groups, I made it seem like you were responsible for the holiness of the men around you. You are not. How you dress does not determine the way a guy looks at you, he does. He is the one who chooses to objectify and drool over you. I’m sorry, deeply sorry for creating an environment where you experienced shame and guilt. I’m sorry that we communicated to you that men are animals and can’t learn to control their urges. I’m sorry that we made you feel like some sort of a temptress simply because you are a woman. I was wrong. I see that now. Please forgive me.

We are subtly and (at times) overtly teaching boys that men are not to be held responsible for their urges. We have created this environment that says, boys and men are animals. They can’t control themselves. “Boys will be boys.” I’m so disgusted by this. I am not an animal. My son is not an animal. He can make choices and decisions not to be lewd, disgusting, and lecherous. The girls at his school are not responsible for what goes through his mind or the minds of his friends. We work hard to teach him that to be a man is to honor and respect women. Can he and his friends appreciate beauty in a woman without being a lust crazed maniac? Yes. Boys can learn to control themselves.

There is a culture of rape in our society. This is born out of the perspective that women are somehow responsible for what men do. It’s wrong. Boys and men are responsible for themselves and their actions.

We tell girls and women to be comfortable with their bodies out of one side of our mouth. Then out of the other we say don’t be too comfortable. If you dress that way you’re slutty. If you wear that boys may think you want them to have sex with you. If something bad happens to you, “you brought it on yourself.”

I want my daughter to know that she is not simply her body. I want to her to know that she can wear a sundress or leggings and is not a distraction to some animalistic male. She needs to know that if a guy objectifies it’s not her fault, it’s his, regardless of what she was wearing.

We need to raise the level of expectations for our sons. I want my son to be a man. This means that he takes responsibility for himself. It means that he owns his thoughts and actions. It means that he doesn’t shift blame to anyone.

Let’s teach them to be men.

Originally published at danielmrose.com.

You know that time when you watch a television show and it shakes you up a bit? Sometimes works of fiction do that to me (A Brave New World rocked my world). Sometimes it’s reading history. Other times it is talking with a new friend. In this particular moment, it was a television show.

We were watching Madam Secretary and one of the plot lines revolved around the middle daughter, Ali, and the youngest child, Jason, going to a school dance. Ali was wearing a slightly provocative dress and attended with a senator’s son. Jason overheard her date in the bathroom talking about how he was going to “get some.” Jason didn’t do anything.

That evening Jason and Ali were talking and Jason learned that Ali had to fight her date off so she didn’t get raped. She challenged her brother for not doing something or saying something when he heard the boys talking. Ali said something like, “There will always be boys like that until boys like you stand up to them and stop them.”

It got me thinking about all the women in my life. I had strong independent grandmothers. My Mom raised three boys on her own. My wife is amazing beyond my ability to describe. My daughter is a force in this world. Beyond them, there are so many others too.

Recently, I read through the Twitter #ThingsOnlyChristianWomenHear and my heart broke. Then I got angry. Then I realized how I’m complicit to everything that those women hear. I am complicit because I haven’t spoken up. It’s similar to how I am complicit in racism when I don’t speak up for my black friends.

A few weeks ago at Doubt on Tap I was gut punched because one of our attendees held a mirror to my face. In the moment, I ignored it and simply argued it away in my own head. Someone had made a crack about hurting a woman to “keep her in line.” The room groaned disapprovingly but nobody said anything. The attendee called us on it. She was right. In that moment every man in that room became complicit in violence against women.

Originally, this post was going to be much more theological. It was going to be about where I’m at theologically on the issue of women in church leadership. I think that will need to come at some point. However, in light of some of the recent things happening within the Christian sub-culture and our broader culture, I realized that the first thing that needed to be said is this: I will stand with you. I will speak up. I will not let side comments just slide by.

Men, we have, by and large, created a culture of putting women in a second class. It has been intentional. As a friend of mine has said about other issues, “It is the determined default.” We like power. Our societal and cultural systems were put in place by white, male, landowners. It is what it is. The question now becomes, what will we do about it? What will we teach our sons? What will we teach our daughters? What will we model for our sons and daughters?

As a pastor, one who has some sort of public authority, I am coming to an understanding that one of my most important roles is that of one who will stand in the gap. We are told that pastors are “under-shepherds” and that we are to feed the flock. Shepherds do more than that. They protect the flock from the predators too. A shepherd must be willing to protect the flock or they are not much of a shepherd. Women, for far too long in the Western church, have been marginalized, ignored, or fed to the wolves.

Not on my watch. I stand with you.

Originally published at danielmrose.com.

If the first step into the mission of God is showing up, then the second is to begin paying attention to the people around you. What are they passionate about? What are their hopes? What are their fears? What are the areas in their community that are broken? What are people worrying about? Who are the people that are trying to fix the brokenness of the world? Who are the people who know these people?

These people are called, “persons of peace.” In every mission setting we need to find a person of peace.

“From Troas we put out to sea and sailed straight for Samothrace, and the next day we went on to Neapolis. From there we traveled to Philippi, a Roman colony and the leading city of that district of Macedonia. And we stayed there several days. On the Sabbath we went outside the city gate to the river, where we expected to find a place of prayer. We sat down and began to speak to the women who had gathered there. One of those listening was a woman from the city of Thyatira named Lydia, a dealer in purple cloth. She was a worshiper of God. The Lord opened her heart to respond to Paul’s message. When she and the members of her household were baptized, she invited us to her home. “If you consider me a believer in the Lord,” she said, “come and stay at my house.” And she persuaded us.” (Acts 16:11–15, NIV)

Paul and Luke (at least Luke, we don’t have an exhaustive list), show up at the river. They were going to pray but there were a number of women there. So they begin talking with the women and a woman named Lydia comes to faith (and so her whole household is baptized). Paul and his companions stay on with her.

They have found a person of peace.

Lydia was a saleswoman. She would have been known and connected in her town. As a saleswoman she would have access to marketplace and other places in the community that an outsider like Paul would not have had access to. Lydia was able to connect Paul with others.

Who are the Lydias in your community? Who can help connect you with others?

I remember when we launched Doubt on Tap, Mike and Tom were persons of peace for us. We had met them at our local coffee shop and invited them to join us at Doubt on Tap. They in turn began inviting everyone in their sphere of influence. They provided Doubt on Tap with amazing momentum.

A person of peace of mission critical.

After you show up, find a person of peace.

Originally published at danielmrose.com.

Do you like to learn? I pretend to like to learn. Learning requires me to change. It demands that I do something different from what I used to do. Learning requires me to change my mind, actions, and possibly even beliefs. So, I pretend to like learning. I listen intently and nod my head at appropriate times.

Every once in a while go next level with a well-timed, “Hmmm…”

I’m a master at being a fake learner. Particularly when I know that I know something or that I know that I know more than the other person.

You’re probably a better person than me. Actually, I am confident that you are because if there is something that I know it my own thoughts. Inside me is a darkness that if you knew about it would disgust you. You are probably not like that.

Being a fake learner is really hard when you’re a Christian. To be a Christian is a call to being a learner from the Master. We come to Jesus with nothing and he fills us and changes us through his Spirit. The problem for me is that I know that I come with something and I know that I’m right about all that I know.

When I stare into the face of Jesus through prayer, the Scriptures, and the Church, I’m undone. I realize my emptiness. Begrudgingly I come face to face with my ignorance. The things I was so sure of become mists that I try to grip.

To be a learner demands at least that much. It depends that I repent. The lowest common denominator of being a learner is to repent of my self-indulgent pride.

O my Savior, Help me. I am slow to learn, so prone to forget, so weak to climb;I am in the foothills when I should be on the heights;I am painted by my graceless heart, my prayerless days,my poverty of love,my sloth in the heavenly race,my sullied conscience, my wasted hours,

my unspent opporunities.

I am blind while light shines around me:take the scales from my eyes,

grind to dust the evil heart of unbelief.

Make it my chiefest joy to study thee, meditate on thee,gaze on thee, sit like Mary at they feet, lean like John on they breast,appeal like to they love,

count like Paul all things dung.

Give me increase and progress in graceso that there may bemore decision in my character,more vigour in my purposes, more elevation in my life, more fervor in my devotion,

more constancy in my zeal.

As I have a position in the world, 
keep me from making the world my position;

May I never seek in the creature
what can only be found in the Creator;

Let not faith cease from seeking thee
until it vanishes into sight.

Ride forth in my, thou King of kingsand Lord of lords, that I may live victoriously, and in victory may attain my end.

(From The Valley of Vision, 334–335)

Originally published at danielmrose.com.

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Every Wednesday I post what passage of Scripture I am thinking and meditating on. This week, it is the story of Jonah. One verse in particular has me stuck,

But Jonah set out to flee to Tarshish from the presence of the Lord. He went down to Joppa and found a ship going to to Tarshish; so he paid his fare and went on board, to go with them to Tarshish, away from the presence of the Lord. (Jonah 1:3)

I am so very much like Jonah.

Every week it seems that there is a new preacher, televangelist, or “numerologist” proclaiming that the end is here. If you walk around many cities or college campuses you will find someone screaming that, “The End is Nigh!”

It seems like everyone is looking for “the end of the world.”

Like we will miss it or something.

Christianity teaches that the end of things will be a noisy, noisy day. We won’t miss it. It’s a day that will come. We just don’t know when. It will be on us like a “thief in the night.” But it won’t be quiet. You absolutely will not miss it. I promise.

So what do we know about the end? We know that Jesus will come back, bodily and personally. We know that when he does he will judge the living and the dead. We also know that he will reconcile the world and make all things new.

Check out this bit from Revelation 21,

Then I saw “a new heaven and a new earth,” for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” Revelation 21:1–5

There was “no longer any sea” means that all the chaos of the world was gone. Everything was set to rights and order.

How amazing will it be to hear, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”

This calls us back to Jesus being called, “Emanuel” or “God with us.”

The promise of the culmination of time for the Christian is not “escape.” It is the opposite, it is eternal presence.

Eternal presence.

If eternity is about “presence” then how does that shape who we are and what we do now?

Simple.

It means that we are to be present. We must open spaces for one another and others in our lives. To be present in the lives of those around us is what it means to pray, “Your kingdom come.” When we are present in the lives of one another and others, we are bringing the kingdom to bear right here, right now.

I am watching my social media feed fill with a singular hashtag, #MeToo. Friends, dear friends, are sharing it. Women in my congregation have been sexually abused or sexually harassed. I didn’t know. They had never shared that with me. Nor would I expect them too.

Yet, there it is, #MeToo.

I am shaking in sadness, anger, rage, and frustration.

My eyes are welling with tears as I think about my friends being treated this way. The lump in my throat is growing as #MeToo pops up next to more and more of my friends.

Then it hits me, my God, my daughter.

What would I do if I saw the #MeToo next to her name? How can I protect her from this terror? Is there some way to keep her from this evil? Has it already happened? Would she know she can tell me? Would my precious daughter trust me enough to share this with me?

What about my son? Have I raised him to know that he is not to be a predator? Does he know that he is not an animal and that women owe him nothing? Will he know to treat women with honor, respect, and kindness? In other words, will he treat them as people, not as objects to be used and discarded?

Do men experience sexual abuse? Yes. Do men experience sexual harassment? Yes. The rate at which we do is so much less than that of women though.

One in three.

1 in 3.

One in three women are sexually abused. Let that sink in. 1 in 3. I can not wrap my mind around this reality. When my daughter has friends over, 1 in 3. When I am with women in my congregation, 1 in 3.

As I look at my son, I know that I must speak into his life. Over and over again, I have to remind him what being a man is all about. Being a man is to control himself. Being a man is to see women as human beings, created in God’s image. Being a man is to protect those around you. Being a man is to stop other men from doing this to women. Being a man is to raise the next generation of men to never do this.

Men, we have to change.

Women, it is not your fault.

To those of you courageously saying, #MeToo, I believe you. It was not your fault.

“God is sovereign so we don’t need to tell anyone about Jesus.”

“I’m not called to be a missionary.”

“I’m not gifted in evangelism.”

It seems that there are more reasons not to talk to people about Jesus than there are reasons to do it. Everyone is looking for an excuse. Some folks are more theologically astute and make arguments trying to leverage doctrine. It turns out that all of us are invited into God’s mission.

So why are we always trying to get out of it?

I think there are two major reasons. The first is that we are afraid. We fear being rejected. We fear being asked a question for which we don’t have an answer. There is the fear of conflict. Many of us think that if we talk to someone about Jesus it will turn into a fight. Our fears are probably unending.

The second is more insidious. We simply don’t care about people enough to invite them into the kingdom. Even worse, there are people with whom we don’t want to spend eternity. Those people shouldn’t get the chance to be reconciled with God. We have so much anger and hatred in our hearts that we refuse to invite those people to know Jesus.

Each of us has to deal with our sin sick hearts. We have to ask the question, “Why don’t I proclaim the excellencies of Jesus?” Do we fit in the fear category or hate category? Ultimately it is one of the two. We can sugar coat our reasons in some way. The reality is we are either afraid or we lack love, or both.

Which is it?

To be on mission with God means that you have step out in faith courageously. It means that you have to love by faith, even those people.

Will you?

When it comes to being on mission we often miss it because we are so busy. We have little to no time to simply be with people. There is no opportunity to listen, pray, or to just look around. Every day we rush to the next place, to the next appointment, to the next meeting, or the next event. How can we possibly be on mission if there is not time or space to simply, “be”?

I am often struck by looking at Jesus’ life and seeing that he was a master of the “margin.” Many stories in the Gospels start with, “As Jesus was walking…” There was a pace of life that Jesus practiced where he had margin to converse and to be present with the people around him.

You are reading this thinking, “Yes, yes, yes, but that was the first century. There were no cars, obviously he was walking. There were no travel sports. There were no school events. People didn’t have to commute to work. The list could go on and on. How can you possibly draw any parallel to Jesus’ pace of life and ours? WE ARE BUSY!”

I hear you. I feel the crippling weight of busy-ness too. My family sits down for dinner together one or two nights a week, if we’re lucky. It feels as though we are in perpetual motion. My wife and I joke and make light of the situation by occasionally introducing ourselves to one another, “Hello, I’m your husband, and you are?”

Sad? Yes. Normal? Yes.

The modern life is life at break-neck speed.

Here is the dirty little secret though: there is nobody to blame but ourselves. We choose what we get involved with. We choose what our kids will participate in. We choose where we will spend out time. We choose.

To truly be on mission we must learn to master the margins. Step one is making sure to have some margin. This can be hard. It means saying “no” to good things. For example, last year I volunteered in our local school’s concession stand for sporting events. I loved doing it. I enjoyed the camaraderie with the other volunteers. I felt useful. This year, I took a second, part time job at another church. I just added twenty hours into my schedule, minimum. Something had to give so that I could have some margin in my life to be present with people. Therefore, I said “no” to volunteering with the concessions team again.

What do you need to say “no” to so that you can have margin?

Step two is that our margins need to spent with people and not just taking naps and chilling on our couch. It’s healthy and good to take a break and recharge. We need Sabbath rest. However, that rest ought to compel us to action and engagement. There will be times that we must step out into our margin times even when we are a bit tired. We will have to trust that the Holy Spirit will provide us the energy and power we need to do so.

What do you need to “yes” to so that you are engaging in the margin?

Margin is necessary. Jesus was a master of the margin. We too can make decisions about margin. Mission takes place in the margin. Choose to create margin and then step into it.

Over the last month my Facebook habits have changed dramatically. As a result of my changes I have noticed that I am sleeping better, I am more relaxed, and I am more present with those around me.

Here is what I have done:

1. I post primarily family stuff.

2. I intentionally do not post about politics as I would prefer the in person conversation.

3. The only religion stuff I post is my own writing (because I’m a pastor and all).

4. I no longer post about sports (unless it is my own kids).

5. I try to avoid commenting on political, religious, and sports posts (this weekend I made the poor decision to comment on a sports post).

6. If I do comment and the conversation goes sideways (which it almost always does) I turn off notifications for that post.

7. I unfollow people who are consistently filling my timeline with negativity.

8. I turned off Facebook notifications on my phone. I only look at FB when I choose. Not when the little number demands me to look.

If you’re looking for a little FB peace and happiness, this might help.

There’s nothing worse as a pastor when you’re having a lousy day (or few days) and you have a “weak” moment publicly. You know, one of those moments where you feel the flesh waking up. Your face heats up, your pulse quickens, your fists clench, and you know what is about to happen. You know you’re about say something you will later regret. Your mind is screaming, “NO! Stop! Run!” Your flesh is screaming out, “I will destroy. Right here, right now, I will destroy.”

In that moment, your either resist or you give in.

That moment is born out of your weakness. Your weak flesh. Your own sin nature. Your own brokenness.

But wait, you’re a pastor. You’re super human. You’re just like Jesus. You sir, you ma’am, are a bastion of grace, mercy, love, kindness, gentleness, and patience.

It turns out that you’re a person. A broken, vulnerable, weak, person. Sometimes your tanks are empty. There are days, sometimes days and days, where you are so keenly aware of the broken world around you that you have no patience. You are at a loss for kindness. Your gentleness and compassion are gone. Your faith wains and loving by faith is hard to come by.

I had that moment last night. It had “been a week” and it was only Tuesday. At a ministry event, my tank emptied. There was nothing left in it. I couldn’t put on the face any longer. I couldn’t “play the man.” I nearly engaged in destruction. My words almost became weapons that could cause irreparable harm. I could almost audibly hear the Holy Spirit say, “Go. Run. Get out!” As the roar of the lion of sin grew louder and louder and louder, there was nothing left. I could give in or walk away. There was no fighting it this time. By God’s grace, I walked away. I am quite certain there was still damage done, but it is nothing that can’t be repaired and redeemed.

Last night as I lay in bed my heart continued to race. My mind turned over the night’s events again and again and again. “You’re so weak. What is your problem? You coward. You’re so fake.” The images rolled through my mind all night.

When I woke up this morning I opened up my text messages and there was the last conversation that I had engaged in last night. The text said, “Strong.”

As I drove this morning to my office, I pondered that word, “strong.” It struck me that strength is often found in weakness. The weak thing would have been to give in to my empty flesh to use my words as weapons, to destroy. My friend, with one word, “strong,” reminded me that walking away was the strong thing to do.

Us pastors are not super human. We’re going to have bad days. There will be times when we lose it. It will happen. Our flesh, our old self, will rise up. The question is what will we do when it happens? Will we give in? Will we flee it? Can we fight it? There is no shame if we can’t fight it, to flee it.

I am continuing to learn that true strength is found as we embrace our brokenness and weakness. When we stop trying to pretend that we are perfect, then we can experience grace and mercy.

We are not perfect. I’m not perfect. That’s OK. There was one who was perfect and is perfect. In our imperfection we grab hold of his cloak and hang on for the ride. Jesus doesn’t expect perfection, just faith.

Originally published at danielmrose.com.