Monday Morning Pastor-back

The wind sweeps the snow off the flat roof like the waves of the sea crashing upon the shore. What was once a beautiful layer of light, finely shaped flakes of snow, once dashed upon the sidewalk below takes on the consistency of concrete. Packed. Stacked. And drifted. It’s amazing how something so gorgeous can become so much toil, labor, sweat and back-pain inducing work.

The wing of our church building runs east-west. This means, in Minnesota, at least, during the winter, that any snow which may fall (and trust me, we’ve had an above average amount this winter so far) upon the flat roof will blow off quickly to the sidewalk below. And get packed in in a drift about two feet deep, two-three feet wide, about fifteen feet long. I don’t mind the shoveling when it’s all light and fluffy. It’s the rock-hard drift, especially on Sunday morning that’s a real drag.

My weekend of ministry issues was like that: beautiful matters and events planned out, loving people of God involved, no dread of what was to come in my soul. Then the winds blew, the loveliness is swept away and much is left packed hard in front of me.

When the sidewalk gets caked in, I roll up my sleeves (figuratively, of course; it’s freezing out there!), grab the shovel, grit my teeth and get after it. Grunts and groans, and scoop after scoop later, the task is done.

Of course, the spiritual equivalent in pastoral ministry means something similar: long moments (or hours) of heavy lifting to clear the path. Removing the pride or selfishness, confessing the foolishness or harsh word, letting the freezing winds of self-pity and doubt blow on by while warming myself by the Word and prayer.

I don’t normally succumb to that blue funk of Monday morning that many pastors struggle with. Not normally. But through much of yesterday, the battle raged. Fight the fight for faith? Or give in to sinful despair? Scratch for glimpses of joy? (Yes, you do have to scratch and claw and dig for joy sometimes; it doesn’t just fall off trees like my grandmother would have said.) Or allow the clouds and gloom of frustration settle in and linger for…who knows how long?

So, here’s to the preacher actually applying his message to himself: get after it with some desperately dependent prayer. After all, didn’t we read Psalm 4 out loud together? Didn’t it mean anything?

Time to get shoveling’!