What my worst pastoral blunders taught me

Nearly 50 years of local church leadership means there have been quite a few gaffs in my journey as a minister. Sometimes it seems that I’ve bumbled from one embarrassing incident to another. If angels truly are watching over us, my vocational choice to serve in pastoral ministry has likely prompted many celestial chuckles.

I’ve learned, for example, that it’s never a good idea to guess at a relationship. Visiting Sue, a congregant, in hospital, I greeted the lady standing beside her bed: “Hello, I’m Jeff. Nice to meet you. You must be Sue’s mother?” The icy glare instantly told me that I’d got the wrong end of that proverbial stick. “No, I’m not. I’m her sister, thank you very much.” Not good.

And those in ministerial training should also be taught never to assume that a woman is actually pregnant. If you ask a blossoming lady when the baby is due, you can expect serious grief if she’s not indeed expecting. I know, because I’ve done just that.

But surely one of my most excruciating episodes occurred when a man approached me after a service in which I’d preached. Introducing himself and then requesting prayer, he shared his sad experience: “Nobody ever notices me, Jeff. I go to parties and no one speaks to me. I find it hard to make friends. Often, people don’t even remember my name.”

I froze, as a wave of horror washed over me. He’d begun our conversation by telling me his name. And now, about to pray for him, I couldn’t remember it. I could hardly preface my heartfelt prayer for the man no one remembered with a brainless confession: “I’m sorry, what was your name again?” 

I continued the conversation, praying that he would repeat his name, but he did not. In the end, I prayed for “this dear man” and “my dear brother who is so precious to You, Lord”, and vowed to work harder and pay better attention when meeting new people.

These days, when speaking to a person for the first time, I quickly repeat their name back to them in conversation, and then silently repeat it again numerous times in my mind. Or I mentally tag a new acquaintance with a famous person who shares the same name. Most of the time, it seems to work.

We all have a deep need to be seen. The first time we ride a bike without falling off, or successfully use a potty (not at the same time), when we score a goal or win that race, the need to be noticed is primal in us all.

Wonderfully, Jesus saw people. A weeping widow from Nain passes by, and we read that Jesus saw her, and “his heart went out to her” (see Luke 7:11-17). And Jesus knew the connection that comes from using a person’s name. Grieving Mary discovered that on resurrection day (John 20:16); outcast Zacchaeus (think Danny DeVito stuck up a tree) came scrambling down because Jesus saw him, and called him by name (Luke 19:5).

I derive some encouragement from the fact that I am not alone in my struggle with names. A friend of mine is an author and, at the end of an event, was signing books at a table. Suddenly a lady that he knew quite well stepped forward and asked him to sign her book. But in that moment of pressure, her name escaped him. Thinking he had a clever solution, he purred: “Remind me, please. How do you spell your name again?”

“Ooh, it’s quite easy, really,” she replied. “It’s P-A-M.”

Awkward.