Every week I meet three local pastors for breakfast.  We come from different traditions and different backgrounds.  I am the only Baptist in the group, so I try to convince the others of their theological errors (just kidding).

This group means a lot to me.  It is a safe place to share the frustrations and joys of serving a local church.  Like a great many things in life, you can’t really appreciate a person’s struggles unless you have been there.  When I talk over eggs and bacon about a sermon that feels flat, I get nods of understanding.  These guys have been in the trenches; they understand.

We talk about how frustrating it is when people try to get us to advance their cause instead of preaching the good news.  There are so many compelling causes out there, but Jesus gave his church a mission.  It is hard to say “no” to the good so we can “yes” to Jesus’ way.

We try to figure out the best way to make good things happen in the name of Jesus.  Sermons do not write themselves.  It takes study and prayer.  Helping leaders in our church see what we see can be draining.  Sometimes we think we have communicated so clearly, only to find out we have been misunderstood. 

We share concerns about our souls.  As a pastor, you get to see the best in people.  You see people show up early to rock the babies, sing the songs, and teach the scripture.  Most do it with a heart dedicated to Jesus.  You get to baptize people, a marker of life change.  You get to see marriages that were tittering on the brink of divorce be healed.  This is the soul-filling side of ministry.

But there is another side to being a pastor.  You might not understand this, but ministry takes a toll on your soul.  Most pastors I know at some point have heard people say ugly things about their spouses or their children.  That’s hard to take.  There is a toll when you walk beside a family at the graveside.  There is a toll working with families to keep them intact.  There is a toll when the late-night phone call comes, and a person says they do not know if they want to live or die.

For me, I am grateful that once a week, I get to meet with friends who understand what it is like to stand in the fire.  I imagine every leader who experiences pressure wants to be with a group of people who understand what it is like to do their job.

Being guys, we have to give each other a hard time.  In a spirit of love, they keep me humble.  More than once, they have challenged my self-righteous anger.  They look at me while I am making some obscure theological point and then say, “Does that matter, really?”  These guys pray for me, and I pray for them. 

Our meetings grow my worldview.  They have seen things, read things, and experienced things I haven’t.  I realize my Baptist world can be pretty narrow.  Though I have been a pastor longer than anyone else in the group, these guys have experienced church from angles I never thought about. 

Everyone needs this kind of safe place, a space to be real, to be with people who understand, who listen, and who encourage.  When church is at its best, it is this kind of place of grace.  These weekly breakfast meetings feel like church to me.  We may not agree on everything, but we love Jesus, and we love each other.

I wonder what would happen if church was really like this.  Wouldn’t you want to be part of a church that was a safe place, where you were not judged, where people listened before they judged, where you could be real, where you could be challenged?  Isn’t that what Jesus wants his church to be?

At this week’s breakfast, my friends decided they would begin giving me a word each week that I had to put in this column.  I told them I loved them, but not quite that much.  Nevertheless, they laid down the gauntlet.  “Use the word,” my friends said.

Because I love them, because they give me a safe place, because they understand, I’ve decided to use the word in this week’s column. 

Asparagus.  Satisfied, guys?