becky's thoughts on what it is to be a pastor:

three things come to mind when i hear the word pastor.

first, i remember that it was after the passionate but gutless Peter had denied Christ three times that Christ, three times over, asked Peter to be a shepherd to his people. a pastor is not a pristine member of a community. a pastor is the one blessed and called to attentively care for the community, to guide and guard, to facilitate growth, and to gladly die (metaphroically -- or i suppose literally, but hopefully not :) ) for the flock in her care.

the second thing i think of is of a time when a pastor of mine realized that he had led us in the way of cynicism. rather than being defensive or simply beginning to call us on our cynicism, he confessed and repented publically to us. this is a pastor. again, not a pristine member of the community, but one who cares enough for the community to hunbly repent when she has harmed her friends and spiritual family.

finally, i think of a night that i prayed for a member of our community. she was ill. from what i read on the internet, i knew she could die. i talked with her on the phone and could tell each breath was a struggle and i was faced with my lack of faith and complete inability to do anything. immediately, i called and text messaged everyone i knew to come over for an impromptu prayer meeting. this was simply what i had to do as someone who loved her - i didn't realize at the time that it was also the thing a pastor does.
as we prayed for her, i found myself caught up in God's presence. i was brought to a light and peaceful place where i often find myself with God. it is my favorite place to be. then i got wise to God's ploy. "You're not thinking that you'll show me how awesome this place is so that I'll be cool with you taking her here are you?" i insulently told God. I found myself ambivilently struggling to flee that light peaceful place and hide away from that God that would rob me of my friend. then i heard God's gently voice, "would you rob her of this peace and unity with me? would you rob me of her?"
for the next several minutes, i struggled. did i have faith? did i love God and my friend enough to surrender? in the end, i felt like a child desterately holding on to a toy her mother has asked her to relenquish. she pulls her fingers away from it as though they had been super glued there and the effort is almost more than she can bare. eventually, she holds her hand out with tears in her eyes and says, "mommy, if you must have it, then you can." weakly, humbly, and reluctantly i said to God, "please don't take her. please, please, please take this cup away...but, not my will but yours be done." i whispered that softly over and over, "not my will but yours, not my will but yours."
this, ultimately, is a pastor - one who loves those in her care so desperately that she would gladly die for them, but one who trusts (or struggles to trust) God so deeply that she entrusts these friends of hers to God's ultimate will.