Every Good Friday I want to quit being a pastor. Seriously I do. The problem is not Holy Week. It’s me. Every year as I approach Good Friday and remember how all Jesus’ disciples abandoned him, and how Peter denied him, I remember times when I have failed as a pastor. I’ve been a full time pastor for almost 25 years. I’ve had lots of opportunities to screw up. I remember too many of them. I remember a woman with Post Partum Depression that I did not recognize and my failure to respond appropriately. I remember so many failures of omission I can hardly bear it. Broken promises. Phone calls I failed to return. Screw ups to the left of me. Screw ups to the right of me. On Good Friday I unwillingly face my failings and want to go work in tech.
I stand with Peter and the other Apostles. I know the times of God’s grace and the acute pain of my failings. I hate it. I remember the scripture “The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.” (James 5:16b) I think my prayers are not worth much. So many mistakes, missed opportunities, and lapses of judgment. I can’t quit though. I know I am still called, and place my hope in the truth that God can use my mistakes for good. Thank God for that! Thank God also that Sunday is Easter and Holy Week is short. Each year I find it harder to bear. Good Friday breaks me.