I entered pastoral ministry naively. I wanted to teach children about Christ’s love while helping parents create a home where faith could flourish. Yes, I was told that pastoral ministry includes suffering, but that was for others! My calling was different!
Twenty-plus years of ministry have left scars—some more beautiful than others. Some suffering is easier to understand —I brought it on myself. My arrogance (covered in humility, of course), impatience (masked as zeal), and bravado (intense fear) created beds in which I had no choice but to lie. Ministry is dangerous because our mistakes can hurt people (for which I grieve), including the minister (I pray to grow).
Other forms of ministry suffering are more difficult to understand—they don’t readily make sense: a blizzard that kills neighbors and destroys your church building, betrayals that kill your confidence, and accusations arising from unmet (and unvoiced) expectations. This kind of suffering erodes the pastor’s resilience.
Dave Harvey’s recent book, The Clay Pot Conspiracy, is a gift of divine providence in my life. It comes at a time when I am beginning the second half of my ministry life, and I desperately want to learn from the first half. Theologically, I understand the doctrine of union with Christ. But Dave draws our attention to the true knowledge of God that engulfs our entire being. He points out how heartache deepens our understanding of the Gospel: “God designed ministry to deepen our confidence in him. He will work to make the man like the gospel. We suffer, we die, we are resurrected” (Harvey 47).
The Clay Pot Conspiracy strikes the right balance of authenticity and practical thinking. Dave’s willingness to share his pilgrimage through suffering forms a vision that I wish I had when I entered ministry. Dave is well-acquainted with the sorrows of life and faithful ministry. But his gospel sobriety envisions a path where sufferers avoid navel-gazing, imagining themselves as victims or victors. He offers a way to understand our weakness, combined with Christ’s power, in a way that magnifies the resurrection in daily life.
I have wept a lot over the past five years. Ministry suffering, coupled with life’s disappointments, can be overwhelming. At times, my weakness made me angry—after all, “I’m too far along in my journey for this kind of weakness”—but that is exactly the conspiracy. The beatitudes don’t just happen. “Blessed are those who mourn” doesn’t happen without loss. “Blessed are the poor in spirit” doesn’t happen through power. “Blessed are the meek” doesn’t happen with might. What I hadn’t realized is that clay pots become more brittle with age.
Thank you to Dave for making it clear that some conspiracy theories are worth entertaining.
