The Pastor | Eugene H. Peterson
How reading Peterson reflected my recent pastoral reflection
My friend Corbin White gave me Eugene Peterson’s Memoir The Pastor the day I moved into our first home. We had recently bought our home and he came over with several of our friends and family to help us move.
I started the book in late December and finished in late January.
It was surprising to learn how much Eugene’s story included aspects of our own (Corbin and I). Our Pentecostal roots… our love for literature… our academic background… our emerging pastoral experience…
I wrote earlier this week on one aspect of my first few years in ministry.
Here I will explore a new aspect this pastoral journey. There are many academic or theological words that this reflection could utilize, but in effort to truly embody this reflection I simply embrace the term pastoral…
The post listed above may function as a preface to a much larger, more widespread evolution in my vocational life. Prior to reading Peterson’s memoir, the combination of my own pastoral experience, research and personal observation, conversation and hearing of other pastoral stories, and the actual experience of a local church environment had led me to an intense introspection of my pastoral identity.
I did not want to become a leader, a manager, an executive practically divorced from the pastoral nature which focused exclusively on helping others find a constant, committed, and transformative connection to Jesus.
The past year, I have been filled with question after question—wading through reflections with few tangible responses.
This was slightly frustrating.
Midway through Peterson’s memoir, the revelation of my own personal pastoral exploration was mirrored in the wisdom of Peterson.
Most of us (at least at a popular level) know Peterson from the Message. Admittedly, I have not been a fan of the Message—at times I may have been a dissenter. Obviously, that reveals my own immaturity as a young thinker. Thankfully, Eugene did resent or give up on me, a young pastor.
