Working on search for pastor brings joys and sorrows

Serving on a search committee for a new pastor can be both a rewarding and nerve-wracking experience. I know because I've done it, and survived.

I served for almost nine months on a pastor selection committee at First Baptist Church in Cape Girardeau.

Anyone who's ever served on a search committee (or known someone who has) understands the task can be a daunting one, regardless of the ministry position needing to be filled. Yet, it was a time of terrific spiritual growth for me and for many in our congregation.

I replaced another committee member, so my time served was a little shorter than the eight other members. But I don't think I put any less effort into the job.

There were times we laughed together and times we cried. Along the way there were great joys and tremendous sorrows.

This was no easy task, and I took that responsibility to heart. Members of my church had asked me to do one of the most important jobs I could. And I didn't want them to be disappointed with my work.

So I attended all the meetings -- and there were plenty. I think the first eight months of 2001 will never be fully remembered, except to say I was spending a vast amount of time sitting around a conference table at the church.

But during those months, our committee grew together in faith and understanding of the Holy Spirit. Our work was guided by another hand, and learning to rely on God when all our resources were exhausted was part of the challenge -- and the great reward.

Personal awakening

In all the years I've spent in worship services and Bible studies, nothing really can prepare you for the work you'll do on a pastor search committee. It's a spiritual awakening like none other.

God doesn't always work in the ways you'd expect, but in the ways best suited to your needs -- that's the lesson I learned from my pastor search committee experience. And it's a lesson I need to be reminded of daily.

My experience was perhaps different than most because the church chose to enter an intentional interim period, which meant that the pastor who lead the congregation was specially trained in helping us through the transition.

And Charlie B., as he was known, was a good coach. He helped us learn to laugh again after losing our pastor of 20 years. He got excited about our work, which made us even more thrilled to be involved. And he was a great encouragement when things got rough.

As time passed, the church began to get anxious about finding the right minister, and the committee tried to keep them well-informed. We held town-hall meetings on Sunday nights, asked for their opinions and really tried to listen to what was said. We wanted everyone to feel involved in the process -- a new pastor wasn't just coming to serve the nine members of the committee but to lead our entire congregation.

By early spring, we had compiled packets about our church and community to send to each candidate. We conducted phone interviews, reviewed taped sermons and checked references. Again, the process wasn't easy. We asked tough questions and answered some even tougher ones about our congregation.

But this wasn't just our decision to make: each candidate had to feel God's hand guiding them in the process just as much as we did.

By summer, the work seemed to get easier as we narrowed our search to just one candidate. There wasn't the benefit of a burning bush like Moses saw or the voice of God speaking aloud, but when things were right, we all knew.

We invited our candidate for a visit prior to asking him to preach. It gave everyone a chance to meet, without the pressure of a vote looming overhead. And it confirmed our belief that this was the person God had found to lead our church.

By August, our pastor and his family had moved from Virginia and were ready to work beside our congregation as we serve the community. First Baptist Church had built a bridge and we were ready to cross -- waiting and ready for what was in store for our congregation's future.

Laura Johnston is features editor for the Southeast Missourian.