You’ll Be Seeing Less Of Me In The Days Ahead
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(OPINION) Beginning with this column, I’m stepping back from writing every week to only writing twice a month.
This announcement will no doubt delight some of you and perhaps distress a few, but in either case, I wanted you to hear it from me, the proverbial horse’s mouth (or other horse’s parts).
I wanted to make it clear this change is by my request. No one forced me. No one even suggested it. I’m not being cut back by some evil editor. I’m cutting myself back.
As you know if you’ve stopped by here lately, I just celebrated another birthday. At 69, I don’t have the energy or mental bandwidth I used to have. I don’t want to work as hard.
Please don’t send me concerned or critical messages about this. I’m not physically decrepit or alarmingly senile (my wife and son might dispute the latter).
But I also don’t have as many opinions as I once did. What I do have to say, I feel as if I’ve already said repeatedly. I’ve been writing columns since the late 1980s and preaching sermon even longer than that.
My plan for a long time was to fully retire by age 65 from both writing and preaching. But as is often the case, the world didn’t conform to my plans. Among other things, the COVID-19 pandemic came along, and I kept staying with the column and the church alike, praying to do some small good during a difficult period.
Lately, considering my options anew, I realized I’m not ready to completely pull the plug on either of my two vocations.
It’s harder than I’d anticipated to know when to bow out and when to keep going. My wife, Liz, and I have had multiple conversations about this.
Trying to make up my mind has also given me greater empathy for my late father, as well as regret about how I handled his reluctance to step away from a pastorate we shared.
Decades ago, he and I were co-leaders of the same rural congregation I still pastor. I was 40-ish, brimming with energy and ideas. He was about the age I am today. We’d had a longstanding agreement — or I thought we did — that he would gradually shift into semi-retirement and I would become the lead pastor.
But when the time came for him to start inching toward the background, he balked. He simply couldn’t let go. At least that’s how I saw it.
We both experienced pain. He thought I was pushing him aside, which wasn’t my intention. I thought he was reneging on a good-faith, common-sensical arrangement and holding back the congregation, not to mention me. Sadly, our relationship never fully recovered.
After that, I made a vow to myself: When I get old, I’ll leave gracefully, and the sooner the better.
I’ve since learned, though, that when you get to this age, matters don’t seem as clear-cut as they used to. The world feels more complicated. Sorry, Dad.
Several years ago, I thought about quitting my columns altogether. I didn’t want my editors to have to lead me away by the arm, sadly shaking their heads.
Then, as I said, COVID-19 happened. Also a couple of publications in other parts of the country asked for permission to carry my columns, which meant an expanded audience and more pay.
I reconsidered. Maybe I’d gotten my timing wrong. Maybe God’s wasn’t through with me yet.
I mean, who knows? That’s a thing about the Almighty — he generally doesn’t give you a flashing sign beside the highway pointing to the proper exit.
I had similar thoughts about giving up the pastorate. That didn’t pan out, either. COVID-19. Plus, as far as I could tell, my parishioners wanted me to stay, in any case.
There was no 40-year-old waiting in the wings to replace me. As a small independent church, we had no denominational hierarchy to appeal to for advice or logistical support.
What I’m trying to say is, it’s been surprisingly hard to discern when to ride into the sunset and when to keep plugging. Am I still being used by the Lord or am I just unable to let go?
I believe I’d be perfectly willing to quit it all if the Spirit told me, but I also know the human heart is deceptive, and we rarely understand even own our motives.
There are no blacks and whites here, only grays — including atop my head. For every plus there’s a minus.
But for the foreseeable future I’ll be right here in this space, albeit less often than I used to be. As always, thanks for reading.
Paul Prather has been a rural Pentecostal pastor in Kentucky for more than 40 years. Also a journalist, he was The Lexington Herald-Leader’s staff religion writer in the 1990s, before leaving to devote his full time to the ministry. He now writes a regular column about faith and religion for the Herald-Leader, where this column first appeared. Prather’s written four books. You can email him at pratpd@yahoo.com.