Pastor...Get Ready For Little To No Invitations

There’s something about pastoral ministry that nobody really puts in the job description.

You probably won’t get invited out much.

I say that somewhat tongue-in-cheek, but after more than two decades of pastoral ministry, I’ve watched it play out over and over again. And if you’re a pastor who doesn’t drink, you might as well get comfortable with being the person who does most of the inviting.

There was a time in my life when I had some very close friends. But as it goes in life—and perhaps even more so in ministry—friends come and go.

Pastoral friendships can be complicated because you never really stop being the pastor.

You can laugh. You can joke. You can sit around a campfire. You can talk about cars, sports, family, music, or whatever else. But somewhere in the background is the reality that you’re still the pastor.

And sometimes your convictions enter the room before you do.

My wife and I have experienced this firsthand. We’ve had friends we spent a lot of time with. We enjoyed being together, had plenty of laughs, and genuinely considered them close friends.

But then alcohol started becoming a bigger part of the get-togethers.

Nobody necessarily had to tell us we weren’t welcome anymore. There wasn’t some dramatic falling-out. There wasn’t an argument about drinking or a theological showdown.

The invitations just slowly disappeared.

First there were fewer.

Then there were hardly any.

Eventually, there were none.

I’ve seen the same thing at the campground where our family has a seasonal camper. We know a lot of people there. We talk with people. We laugh with people. We enjoy being around people, and I think most of them enjoy being around us.

But then you notice the spontaneous gatherings happening around the campground.

A few campers get together.

Chairs come out.

Drinks come out.

People start gathering.

And the pastor’s campsite apparently falls outside the invitation radius.

Again, I’m not angry about it. I understand some of it. People may assume, *“Pastor Bob probably wouldn’t want to come.”* Maybe they think they can’t relax if the pastor is sitting there. Maybe they’re worried I’m going to turn a campfire into a Wednesday night Bible study.

For the record, I actually love social gatherings.

There was a time when my wife and I entertained people at our home quite a bit. We invited people over. We cooked. We hosted. We enjoyed having a house full of people.

But eventually we noticed something.

We were doing almost all the inviting.

When you repeatedly invite people into your life but rarely get invited into theirs, eventually you begin to draw back. Not necessarily because you’re bitter, but because friendship is supposed to have at least some degree of reciprocity.

Then something happened this past Sunday.

A family from our church invited us to lunch.

We jumped on it.

And you know what?

It was so nice.

There wasn’t anything extravagant about it. It was simply being invited.

Someone saying, in effect, “We’d like to spend some time with you.”

Unless you’ve lived on the pastoral side of ministry for a while, you may not understand how meaningful something that simple can be.

Pastors spend their lives inviting.

We invite people to church.

We invite people to Bible studies.

We invite people to events.

We invite people into our homes.

We invite people to lunch.

We invite people to coffee.

We invite people into conversations.

And much of the time, that invitation doesn’t come back the other direction.

I think part of it is because people forget that pastors want friends too.

Not church friends because we’re the pastor.

Not people who want to talk about a church problem.

Not someone who wants to ask a theological question over lunch.

Just friends.

People who say, “Hey, we’re getting together. Want to come?”

And yes, sometimes our convictions complicate that.

I made certain decisions about how I was going to live a long time ago. I don’t drink. I have convictions that I’m not going to abandon simply so I can fit into a social circle. And being a pastor means there are lines I believe I need to hold—not because I think I’m better than anyone else, but because I need to be faithful to what I believe God has called me to be.

Sometimes holding those lines costs you invitations.

Sometimes it even costs friendships.

That’s one of the quieter sacrifices of ministry.

It isn’t persecution. It isn't something I’m asking anyone to feel sorry for me about. There are far greater difficulties people face every day.

It’s simply one of those realities of pastoral life that doesn't get talked about very often.

So, if you’re thinking about becoming a pastor, here’s one more thing nobody may have mentioned in Bible college:

You probably won’t get invited out very much.

You’ll probably do most of the inviting.

You may watch friendships change because of the position you hold or the convictions you keep.

You may occasionally find yourself wondering why everybody seems to enjoy talking with you, but nobody thinks to invite you when they get together.

But when someone does invite you?

Go.

Enjoy the meal.

Sit around the campfire.

Laugh until your stomach hurts.

Talk about something other than church.

And cherish those people.

Because one of the greatest gifts someone can give a pastor isn't another opportunity to preach, another ministry assignment, or even another word of appreciation.

Sometimes it’s simply:

“Hey, we’re getting together. We’d love for you and your wife to come.”

You might be surprised how much that means.