On a Westbound Plane

I found this when I was digging through my hard drive, trying to delete as much as I could in order to free up what is now very valuable space. I wrote this on my way home from my trip to Washington D.C. surrounded by sleeping people, some with mouths hanging wide open. If I had M&M's I would have been too occupied to have written this, alas I was without the treats.

I am extremely tired right now, but wanted to write about this last week before I start work again. I worked today for a bit, and am somewhat not looking forward to the week ahead. There are so many things to figure out, so many issues that have to be resolved, and so many meetings I have to attend and look good for. I wonder what percentage of people never once dread going to work. Because most of the time I look forward to my job. I mean, it beats a lot of things, and some of you may be saying, "What the hell is this guy complaining about?" I've got an office, I get to preach, teach, encourage, be encouraged, talk about Jesus, and on top of it get paid really well for a single guy. I wouldn't say I'm complaining as much as I am dreaming. Dreaming about other possibilities of where I could be and what I could be doing. Because for as awesome and dreamy as my job is, it often feels like I am accomplishing nothing.

There's not much to say about this, but when I worked for Otto's Sausage Kitchen and Meat Market. I made sausage, I sold sausage, and I would cook sausage, and at the end of the day, it was just sausage. Most of the work I do is ambiguous. And even when I complete something I can look at and explain, it's only temporary.

Like sermons. Sermons are incredibly strange. I prepare about 3-6 hours for every 45-minute long sermon. Sometimes it's a lot longer, it really depends what I'm teaching and for how long, but nevertheless, it takes a butt-load of time.*

But then, after completing a manuscript and notes to go with it, as well as some oral preparation (all things I can look at and show people), I deliver it to any number of people.

And then its over.

I mean, some of them are recorded, but most of the time they're gone after that. Hours and hours of preparation and you can only hope that the hearers of the Word react, respond, and are changed in some way. Because I'm not a celebrity preacher. I'm a shepherd. Local and with a small flock. So with no audience outside of those in my spiritual family, these works simply evaporate in 30-45 minutes and only pages of notes on a manuscript are left.

I've heard this analogy: that a teacher is like a pitcher and his students are batters. They chose whether to swing, bunt, watch it go by, or simply never step up to the plate. But this analogy is weak, because I never feel what the pitcher feels: that split second pang of nervousness as he waits to see what the batter will do. I am blind to the batter. I have no idea whether he's taking his best swing at a fastball or if he's picking his butt in the dugout. For as much as I talk to the people who listen to me, I can't get to everyone. Besides, some people don't even want to talk, they just want to sit and listen. And some act engaged and will speak to you and give you the answers you want to hear, but there's some type of dishonesty in their tone. Most of the time, I can't see an inch of the batter.

Bad analogy.

I keep doing it though, and while I'm writing this, I find myself procrastinating the completion of a sermon for our men's retreat.

Back to work.


*A butt-load is just a rough estimate of time consisting of how much load a butt can take.