I could not have published what you’re about to read when I was a pastor.
Over 36 years in church ministry, there were things I did that I hated doing … and things I loved doing.
If I hated an activity, it took me a while to start and finish it … and I’d count the minutes until it was done.
If I loved an activity, I’d clear my calendar, focus like a laser beam … and pay no attention to the clock.
My guess is that the longer a pastor is in ministry, the more things there are that he can’t stand doing.
When I was a kid, the great Bible teacher Wilbur J. Smith came to our church to preach. My parents invited him over for dinner, but he declined, stating that he no longer accepted invitations for meals.
He loved preaching … and hated dinners.
I can relate!
Here are five things I hated doing as a pastor:
First, I hated editing church publications.
It’s my belief that everything that a church publishes for public consumption has to be perfect.
Just one misspelled word or a phrase with garbled syntax can lessen a church’s image in the eyes of some people.
Many years ago, the church I served as pastor spent $5000 on a full color brochure that we gave to our guests.
I was on the marketing team that designed the brochure and had reviewed it repeatedly for errors.
A prominent evangelical leader was so impressed with the brochure that he wanted to include it in a book he was writing.
I was thrilled … until I noticed that the word “activities” was spelled “activites” instead!
And that sunk our chance to have the brochure included in anybody’s book.
After that misstep, I was doubly conscious of only putting out perfect publications.
So every week, I reviewed the bulletin/program.
And every month, I proofread the church newsletter.
As a perfectionist, I’m a good proofreader. I edited and proofread my book Church Coup and have discovered only two errors in the 289 pages of the paperback version.
I don’t mind proofreading my own writing, but I hate proofreading other people’s writing. (One staff member had dyslexia and couldn’t write a decent sentence. I had to rewrite everything he gave me, which ticked him off.)
Why didn’t I farm things out?
Because publications have to be read both for grammar and for content … and I could do both quicker than anyone else.
But after years of proofreading, I dreaded it more and more.
Second, I hated performing weddings.
I created four criteria for marrying a couple: they both had to be Christians; they had to attend our church while undergoing counseling; they had to agree to four to six counseling sessions with me; and they had to agree not to sleep together until their wedding day.
After reading those conditions, the majority of couples found someone else.
But if a couple met my conditions, I’d marry them even if I thought they were a mismatch.
The worst wedding I ever did involved a couple I can’t adequately describe.
They wanted to get married on a beach in Northern California.
I dressed up in my suit one summer day and drove 90 minutes to this small parking lot … then had to walk about a half mile over sand to the site of their wedding.
The guests sat on driftwood … all 15 of them. The groom dressed like Sir Lancelot, and the bride dressed like Maid Marion.
I kept asking myself, “What am I doing here?”
After the ceremony, I waited a solid hour for my honorarium of $100, which didn’t come close to paying for my humiliation.
Another time, I married a couple at the chapel at The Presidio in San Francisco. Before leaving home, my wife agreed to be in charge of my clothes.
When we arrived at The Presidio for the wedding, my wife had left my suit coat at home.
I had to borrow one from the chauffeur!
But those stories don’t reflect why I didn’t like weddings.
If the wedding was held inside our church, then I was in charge, and my anxiety lessened considerably.
But if the wedding was held away from church … and most were … then others were in charge … and my anxiety could go through the roof.
More times than not, I represented the spiritual part of things … and the rest of the festivities seemed to contradict the spiritual.
In addition, a wedding usually involved a rehearsal and dinner the day before, with the wedding itself the following day … which meant I’d invest anywhere from ten hours to more than a day … and sometimes, I’d never see the couple again.
The last wedding I did involved 32 hours on my part … and the couple stiffed me on the honorarium.
Just another reason why I came to hate most weddings.
Third, I hated the logistics of getting to a hospital.
Rather, I hated driving to hospitals and finding a parking place.
Once I found a patient’s room, I loved talking with them, and reading God’s Word, and praying with them.
But getting to the hospital was often another matter.
During my last ministry, the area hospitals I visited lacked reserved parking for clergy.
Whenever I had to go to Kaiser Hospital in Oakland, for example, I’d have to fight through all the signals and traffic, search ten or fifteen minutes for a parking space near the hospital, walk at least a quarter mile, ascend crammed elevators, and hunt for a patient’s room.
Once I got there, I was in my element.
But getting there could be maddening, and the entire round trip could take two hours.
In addition, most medical emergencies happened either on Thursdays (when I studied at home) or on Fridays (my day off) … and that time was precious.
And as pastors know, one emergency situation can throw your entire week’s schedule off kilter.
I loved being a pastor to people in the hospital.
I just wish I’d had a chauffeur.
Fourth, I hated board meetings.
Early in my ministry, board meetings made me anxious.
I never knew who was going to surprise me with criticism or a dumb suggestion or information about someone I didn’t care to know.
In my middle years, I loved board meetings, because that’s where I received approval for the agenda items that God had given me.
When I knew the board members personally, and I knew they stood behind me no matter what, I enjoyed attending them and found them productive.
But when I didn’t know the board members well, and they collapsed on me when I needed them most, those meetings became chores … and bores.
I once heard Bill Hybels say that the elders in his church held their meetings in homes. They’d have dinner together, let him give a report, and then sometimes dismiss him and carry on without him.
You can do that if you trust the board. You can’t if you don’t.
My last few months in ministry, I didn’t trust the board, and had to endure meetings long into the night … and wished I was home instead.
Finally, I hated staff confrontations.
I once spent several hours with a nationally-known church consultant.
He asked me some questions about my staff at the time, and then queried:
“Jim, are you a highly responsible person?”
I replied, “Yes.”
He continued, “Do you only have to be told to do something once?”
I replied, “Yes.”
He concluded, “But Jim, not everyone is like you.”
He was right.
I couldn’t understand staff members that came in late … left early … didn’t show up for events … left their offices a mess … were always disorganized … and never got their work done.
I couldn’t live with myself if I acted like that.
I was never a “helicopter pastor.” If we hired someone, I expected them to do the job without constant reminders or warnings.
But if they weren’t doing the job, I had to intercept entropy and confront them … and I hate confrontation.
This is why I always liked Steve McGarrett on the original Hawaii Five-O TV show. McGarrett had no problem confronting anybody, whether it was a two-bit thief, a local gangster, or an international agent like Wo Fat.
Chuck Swindoll once said that half the time he confronted someone, it worked out well, and half the time it didn’t.
Most of my confrontations seemed to fall in the latter category.
If I had to confront you about something, things had gotten really bad.
I always did it … I just hated doing it.
Pastors are all different.
Some hate administrative work … others hate social events.
Some hate preparing their sermon … others hate making small talk.
As time goes by, pastors are often able to rewrite their job descriptions so they’re doing what they love and avoiding what they hate.
If they can negotiate such changes, they can last many years in ministry.
If they can’t make such changes, they may burn out prematurely.
Because burnout isn’t about doing too much work … it’s about doing work that’s unpleasant and unproductive.
In one of my doctoral courses at Fuller, our professor told us that pastors should spend at least 70% of their time doing things they love and 30% doing things they don’t.
But if you’re spending 30% of your time doing what you love, and 70% doing what you hate, that’s a recipe for failure.
The problem many pastors have is that (a) we either view ourselves as indispensable, meaning we have to do everything and be everywhere, or (b) we believe that people expect us to do everything and be everywhere.
Both are common … but are recipes for disaster.
If you’re a pastor, which areas of ministry do you despise doing the most?
If you’re not a pastor, which areas of ministry do you think he dislikes the most?
Restoring Kingdom Builders 
Memorable Encounters With Baseball Greats
Posted in Personal Stories, Please Comment!, Uncategorized, tagged baseball autograph stories, baseball Hall of Fame players on February 24, 2017| 6 Comments »
With spring training games starting in both Arizona and Florida this week, I thought I’d devote my next two articles to baseball.
When I was six years old, I began collecting baseball cards as a hobby.
Seven years later … in 1967 … I began collecting autographs of baseball players … eventually on many of those very same baseball cards … and continued off and on for the next 33 years.
Getting autographs was much simpler back then:
*We went to the hotels where the players stayed before the games, and most were great about signing when they came out for a taxi or the team bus.
*We didn’t have Sharpie pens until the early 1970s, so for a few years, I was always nervous that either my ballpoint pen wouldn’t be legible on a card or that it would skip.
*When I got someone’s autograph, I didn’t rush off to sell it. I kept it … expecting to hold onto it for a lifetime. If I had two of the same item, and you wanted it, I would give it to you.
*Collectors became friends and traded inside information: “This guy is really mean … that guy answers his mail … this guy is moody … that guy signs everything.”
*The longer you stayed at a hotel or a spring training practice field, the more autographs you’d get. I was usually the last to go home.
*They didn’t have baseball card shows back then where a player would be paid to sign. You either got autographs in person or through the mail.
*Autographs are all about time and place. Most players would sign if you could catch them alone or somewhere where they couldn’t be rushed.
My wife has encouraged me to write a book about my experiences. I started one a few years ago, but I wasn’t sure many people would care.
But recently, I’ve been thinking, “Maybe people would be interested if I told stories about my encounters with players like Reggie Jackson, Mickey Mantle, and Willie Mays.”
So before my memory fades, here are my experiences … and impressions … of twelve Hall of Fame baseball players from the 1960s.
Here are the first six:
First, Hank Aaron.
Several times, I’ve had a dream that I’m at an airport terminal with Hank Aaron. We’re just talking, and he’s really nice, except that I don’t have anything for him to sign.
And I wake up in a cold sweat.
That’s an autograph collector’s worst nightmare … to see someone whose autograph you want and to have nothing for them to sign.
In April 1974, Aaron broke Babe Ruth’s all-time home run record, and he became world famous.
Before that, I only saw him a couple of times, and got his autograph each time.
In the late 1970s, he became a spokesman for Magnavox, and he made a personal appearance at a large store. Some of my friends showed up expecting Aaron to sign for us, but he didn’t. (I did take a picture of Aaron with my friend Dave. As I was taking the picture, Dave said out loud, “This is my friend Hank Aaron, who won’t sign any autographs.” Aaron muttered, “You understand.”)
Then in the late 1980s, Aaron appeared at a card show in San Jose, and the promoter … who knew I was a good customer … introduced Aaron to me. (I’m sure he’s forgotten.) Each autograph was $4.50 each … a bargain for the then greatest home run hitter of them all.
The first two cards are both from 1958, making them 59 years old. I still find that amazing!
Second, Ernie Banks.
Banks had a reputation for being a super-enthusiastic ballplayer. Every time he went on the field, he’d say, “Let’s play two!”
And he seemed like a very nice guy in person. The first time I got his autograph, he signed 10 cards for me after a spring training game in Palm Springs in 1971. (The second and third cards below … signed in ballpoint … were signed on that occasion. Sharpie pens came into existence the next year, as I recall.)
But many years later, I saw Banks at a golf tournament, and he was downright mean … the worst encounter I’ve ever had with a ballplayer. (Richie Zisk of the Mariners once signed for me in spring training in Tempe, Arizona and told me, “Why don’t you go bother the other ballplayers in Florida next year?”)
I got a lot of the above autographs at a show Banks did in San Jose, and he spent most of his time joking around. He’d sign his first name … banter with the fans for a minute … and then sign his second name.
He’s revered in Chicago, but not in my household.
Third, Roberto Clemente.
Clemente played right field in the very first major league game I ever attended in May 1960 at the Los Angeles Coliseum.
Six years later, I saw him play at Dodger Stadium. He had the greatest outfield arm I’ve ever seen.
The 1967 All-Star Game was held in my hometown of Anaheim, and I got Clemente’s autograph late Sunday afternoon as he was walking toward the Grand Hotel where the National League players stayed. He looked regal in his blue suit.
Several years later, he signed a card for me after a game at Dodger Stadium.
The great thing about Clemente is that he signed all his mail. I’d write to him every year, and he’d sign and return whatever I sent him.
Clemente died in a plane crash on January 1, 1973 while taking relief supplies to Nicaragua. When I read David Maraniss’ biography of Clemente a few years ago, I stopped reading before Maraniss recounted his death. It still hurts.
Fourth, Reggie Jackson.
Reggie came up to the Kansas City A’s in 1967. The A’s stayed at the Jolly Roger Motor Inn across from Disneyland, and you could walk right up to a player’s room outside and knock on the door. (Joe DiMaggio was a coach on that team!)
The next year, the team moved to the Grand Hotel in Anaheim … where all the other teams stayed … and Reggie eventually became a big star. He hit 3 home runs and drove in 10 runs in one game in the summer of 1969.
A kid from my neighborhood named Gordy once introduced Reggie to a woman inside the hotel, and suddenly, Reggie and Gordy became friends.
Whenever the A’s came to Anaheim, Reggie and Gordy were inseparable. Friends told me they even appeared on a post-game show from Anaheim Stadium together.
I once went to Gordy’s house and saw his large Reggie poster on the wall. Reggie devoted a lot of space telling Gordy what a good friend he was.
But when Reggie went to the Yankees, he became a tough autograph. I once saw him lecture a crowd after a Yankees-Angels game of at least 100 people, explaining why he didn’t want to sign for them.
Reggie wrote his full name for many years, but after he hit three home runs (on three consecutive pitches) in the 1977 World Series against the Dodgers (broke my heart), he started writing just “Reggie” or “Reggie J” … sometimes sideways or upside down.
In 1987, when Reggie’s career was winding down, my son Ryan and I visited the A’s at Scottsdale Community College for spring training workouts. Because there was a camera on Reggie, he signed two cards … on the practice field!
One of my best friends growing up became a policeman in Anaheim. He told me that after a game, a car turned the wrong way out of the stadium, and when my friend stopped the driver, it was Reggie, who asked my friend, “Don’t you know who I am?” My friend gave him the ticket anyway.
Wish I had been there!
Fifth, Al Kaline.
Kaline was the star right fielder for the Detroit Tigers and became a batting champion at age 20. He was always a classy guy.
While some autograph collectors were normal people, a few had their peculiarities, including a kid named Gary. (Gary once drove Yankees’ outfielder Bobby Murcer from the hotel in Anaheim to a game show in Hollywood and I feared for Murcer’s life.)
Anyway, in August 1968, as the Tigers were heading for the American League pennant (they beat the Cardinals in the World Series), Gary brought his cassette recorder to the Grand Hotel and asked Kaline if he could interview him. They went to the parking lot where Gary asked Kaline some softball questions and Kaline … classy guy that he is … answered them all.
Twelve years later, Kaline made an appearance before the 1980 All-Star Game in Los Angeles, and I had my picture taken with him at the Biltmore Hotel.
Ten years later, Kaline appeared at a massive card convention at the Moscone Center in San Francisco, and after he signed some items for me, he shook my hand.
Few players … past or present … treat collectors like people.
Kaline always did.
Sixth, Harmon Killebrew.
The second time I went to the Grand Hotel for autographs at age 13, I walked into the lobby and saw Bob Allison, Harmon Killebrew, and Jim Perry of the Minnesota Twins sitting on a couch. They all signed, but Killebrew was especially pleasant.
Killebrew was nicknamed “The Killer.” He was a great home run hitter and was the Most Valuable Player in the American League in 1969.
The Mall of America in Bloomington, Minnesota, is built on the site of the original ballpark of the Minnesota Twins. There is a sign on the wall … high above a flume ride … to mark where Killebrew once hit a baseball.
But he was also one of the nicest ballplayers for autographs. If he had time, he would sign whatever you gave him.
I once asked him to sign a 1956 Topps card. (It was his second card.) He told me, “Are you sure you want me to sign that? It’s worth some money.” But I didn’t collect cards for their monetary value … I collected them so players would sign them … which he did happily.
When I was collecting, Killebrew was one of the two nicest players in the American League.
When Killebrew died, his memorial service was held at the church I was attending in Peoria, Arizona, and the public was invited. The Minnesota Twins were in town to play the Arizona Diamondbacks, so that Friday morning, many of the Twins players attended.
They showed a video of Killebrew … who had been retired for about 35 years when the video was taken … signing autographs for a crowd of fans at Target Field in Minneapolis.
And he had a long name.
Next week, I’ll share more memories/impressions from players like Sandy Koufax, Mickey Mantle and Willie Mays.
And the Mantle and Mays stories are the best.
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