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Moreover he must have a good report of them which are without;
lest he fall into reproach and the snare of the devil.
-1 Timothy 3:7


“Pastoral Plights”
by Ronald J. Gordon (a preachers kid) © 1983

If pastors could really express themselves, it might sound like this....
 
Six years with one church by average a fact,
Before the pastor is ordered to scat.
Come listen and note, our plight set to rhyme.
From all that I've heard, I think it's high time.

Hospital visits require many miles,
But worth every inch to make someone smile.
As pastor these trips of mercy I take,
To bring joy and peace, where hearts may soon break.

Church board and Council, reports in a pile,
They make the church run in spite of their style.
Killing most issues, all night they would talk.
I think only I am watching the clock.

In jail a message of hope I impart
To wayward young men, who need a restart.
But some would protest, "More years they should serve!"
Lord, please do not grant what we all deserve.

Counsel a couple, one marriage to save.
It's not so easy the way they behave.
"He's never at home!"  "Her cooking's a shame!"
"I'm not the guilty, the other's to blame!"
Children, it's Jesus that you really need.
Without his love first, you'll hardly succeed.

The nursing home call to bless dear old folks.
A nod or a laugh, I earnestly coax.
Lives here are ending - society's dross.
Rich years of wisdom being needlessly lost.

Late Saturday night with sermon proceed.
Where is my sleep that I desperately need?
Dear Lord may I have a parish on fire,
Their singing would shake and rattle the spire!

Sunday morning worship at half past ten,
In my three-piece suit, the pulpit ascend.
Gracefully stating the way of the Cross.
Narrow is to heaven, and wide is to loss.
I'd rather preach brimstone to wake up a few.
Than watch the whole bunch crave worldly taboo.

A lonely walk down Benediction Aisle,
Was the message really worth all the while?
I poured out my heart, and yet they restrain.
Eternal repose is not just a game!

Good-byes and hand shakes, "Got dinner to tend."
Hardly in church till they want out again.
Someone arrestingly holds me to speak,
"Boy what a job, working one day a week!"