In the latest issue The Christian Century, there is an article My Father’s Butcher Shop that is excerpted from Eugene Peterson's new book The Pastor: A Memoir. Peterson mentions that his father worked at the butcher shop. He grew up there. Peterson always ties his father as a butcher to him as a pastor. His dad’s meat market is almost equivalent to his congregation. He said,
“That butcher shop was my introduction to the world of congregation, which in a few years would be my workplace as a pastor. The people who came into our shop were not just customers. Something else defined them. It always seemed more like a congregation than a store. My father in his priestly robe greeted each person by name and knew many of their stories. And many of them knew me, in my priest’s robe, by name. I always knew there was more going on than a commercial transaction. My father had an easy smile and was always gracious, especially with the occasional disagreeable ones: Alicia Conrad, who was always fussy about the leanness of the bacon; Gus Anderson, who made my dad trim off any excess fat from a steak before weighing it. Everyone felt welcome. He gave people dignity by the tone and manner of his greetings…
“Oddly, the one person who seemed out of place in our market was a pastor we had for a couple of years. He wasn’t a regular customer, but when an evangelist or missionary would come to town, that pastor always paid us a call. He would get my father off to the side, put his arm across his shoulders and say in the same ‘spiritual’ voice that he always used when he prayed, ‘Brother Don, the Lord has laid it on my heart that this poor servant of God hasn’t been eating all that well lately and would be greatly blessed with one of your fine steaks.’ My dad, ever generous, always gave him two. I never heard my father complain, but I could see the other meatcutters wink and exchange knowing looks, and I was embarrassed for my pastor who seemed so out of place in this holy place of work” (Feb. 22, 2011, pp. 29-30).
I find this story amusing. I find it true sometimes.
Here is Part 2:
What would the model of spiritual direction look like?
Peterson: It doesn’t have a very exact definition, but classically, it is a friendship or companionship which enables another person to recognize and respond to God in their lives in detail, not in generalities. It takes a lot of leisure. You can’t do it in a hurry. It requires extensive knowledge of your people. You do this over a number of yours, not a number of days. It has no goal in the end. It is not counseling. Counseling has a goal, but there’s no goal in spiritual direction.
It sounds so…uh…non-productive.
Peterson: There is a great story in Moby Dick. They are in the whale boat and they are chasing Moby Dick. The sailors are rowing furiously and the sea is frothing, but there is one person in the boat who is not doing anything. He is just sitting there, quiet and still. It’s the harpooner, ready to throw the harpoon. Melville has this great line: “To ensure the greatest efficiency in the dart, the harpoonists of this world must start to their feet out of idleness and not out of toil.” For a long time the harpoonist appears to be “non-productive.” But that is only so that when the right moment comes he can be productive.
So spiritual direction is a slow process that looks idle and inefficient.
Peterson: It’s subversive. I’m a subversive, really. I gather the people in worship, I pray for them, I engage them often in matters of spiritual correction, and I take them on two really strong retreats a year. I am a true subversive. We live in a culture that we think is Christian. When a congregation gathers in a church, they assume they are among friends in a basically friendly world (with the exception of pornographers, etc.).
If I, as their pastor, get up and tell them the world is not friendly and they are really idol worshippers, they think I’m crazy. This culture has twisted all of our metaphors and images and structures of understanding. But I can’t say that directly. The only way that you can approach people is indirectly, obliquely. A head-on attack doesn’t work.
Jesus was the master of indirection. The parables are subversive. His hyperboles are indirect. There is a kind of outrageous quality to them that defies common sense, but later on the understanding comes. The largest poetic piece in the Bible, Revelation, is a subversive piece. Instead of (being) a three-point lecturer, the pastor is instead a storyteller and a pray-er. Prayer and story become the primary means by which you get past people’s self-defense mechanisms.
In my book, I say it this way: “I must remember that I am a subversive. My long-term effectiveness depends on my not being recognized for who I am as a pastor. If the church member actually realized that the American way of life is doomed to destruction and that another kingdom is right now being formed in secret to take its place, he wouldn’t be pleased at all. If he knew what I was really doing and the difference it was making, he would fire me.”
True subversion requires patience. You slowly get cells of people who are believing in what you are doing, participating in it.
This sounds so…well…opposite of what most people think a successful pastor should be doing.
Peterson: Pastors should not give people what they want just because it brings in customers…which it does. The biggest enemy to the Church is the development and proliferation of programs to meet people’s needs. Everyone has a hunger for God, but our tastes (needs) are screwed up. We’ve been raised on junk food, so what we ask for is often wrong or twisted. The art of spiritual leadership is not to tell people that they can’t have what they want, but to give them something of what they’ve asked for and not let it go at that. You try to shift the dimensions of their lives slowly towards what God wants.
Pretty strong words.
Peterson: I can get stronger because I am appalled by how trivially many pastors conduct their ministries. They just do Mickey Mouse stuff all day long.
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