Disclaimer:
The following essay is an imaginary, one-way conversation between a pastor and the church about to hire him. Many churches don't know what they want in a pastor, and many ministers don't know who they are or who they are called to be.
This was my way of expressing my thoughts and feelings about the strange relationships between churches and their pastors.
It is NOT meant to be a question that I am asking of you who read Real Live Preacher. Asking what you expect of me would be very innappropriate for me as a writer.
I was surprised at some of the responses when I initially posted this, so I added this disclaimer.
rlp
An Open Letter From a Pastor to His New Congregation
Before we begin this relationship, tell me the truth.
What do you want from me?
Do you want me timid and wearing little spectacles, droning from a dusty prayer book while people nod in the pews? Do you want a gentle eunuch, tamed and kept by the church gentry? Do you want to pull my chain and watch the pretty Jesus words come out?
Perhaps you want a mime. Maybe you want a preacher in stripes and suspenders with white gloves and nothing much to say. A guy with a perpetual smile, twisting balloon bunnies and handing out theological la-dee-das to the smiling crowds. Is that what you want?
What if I threw a bible at you? Would you like that? What if I glared down at you from the pulpit and hurled a huge King James into the shrieking crowd? You want me to hurt you? You want me to tell you that you’ve been a bad doggie?
How about parlor tricks? A little slight-of-hand and a candle behind the sheet. Is that what you’re looking for? An empty wheelchair rolling down the aisle and a palm pressed against a forehead while I lean in close and whisper, “Lie down now, my child, for the cameras are rolling.”
What if I walked into your church and fully half the congregants mouthed, "Oh shit?" What if I was wild and wooly, unshaven and with a scary look in my eyes? What if I had a bible in one hand and a beer in the other? What if my breath stank of grasshoppers and my chin dripped honey? What if children ran to their parents and said they saw the preacher behind the church, cussing and eating dirt?
Do you want a crazy man in your pulpit?
And what if I was all of these things and none of these things? What if I was deeply wounded and did not know why? What if I had taken the red pill and found out that the church is nothing but a rabbit hole that runs very deep? Would you follow me out the church doors and into the cathedral of the world?
What if all I could do was limp after the Gentle Shepherd along a very narrow and dangerous way? Would you follow me down that path? If I stopped and waited for you to walk beside me, would you?
And what if I tilted my head toward you until our foreheads touched and whispered the big secret?
There is no such thing in all the world as a preacher.
If I said that, would you laugh and walk with me arm-in-arm, all the way to the Promised Land?
rlp
9:43:53 AM 
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