I am not so daft as to be unaware of how people think of me. I understand my unconventionalness draws attention. The latest example came while sitting with a couple of long-time church members.
Somewhere around the one-hour mark, a set of eyes set upon me, looked me up and down, and exhaled the comment, “You know, you don’t look like a minister.”
Maybe it’s the beard?
Could be the long hair?
Likely it’s the shiny and slick Doc Martins. What the congregant called “military boots.”
Take your pick.
This is who I am and what I ask folks to deal with when they first meet me. I suppose it’s a lot to take in. Upon further review, most say the interior fits the exterior.
I’ve been described as playful. Humorous. Jovial. Easy-going. Easy to talk to. Laid back. Approachable.
A clergy friend described me as a “minister of disruption.” I kick myself for not taking the time to put that on a business card.
A former boss once said of me, “You can say anything to Justin; he can take it.”
I’m still sorting out if that was a compliment or a slight. However, those closest to me know I have a penchant for becoming a contrarian at the drop of a hat, leaving all of what I shared above teetering on a cliff. Still, for the most part, those initial observations are correct.
I do fancy myself as a mellow, go with the flow, light-hearted fella. A morning cup of coffee with me will likely lead to a series of questions about my present company’s breakfast preferences, where I sound more like a waiter than a pastor.
What do you take, toast or biscuit? Bagel? What type of cream cheese? Gravy? Red eye or milk? Over-easy or scrambled eggs?
Give me a story as to why you eat what you eat. What was on your grandmother’s table as a child?
Tell me, tell me, I implore! I genuinely want to know.
An afternoon visit might see me discuss the frivolous or the fanatic. If you’re talking Red Sox baseball in New England or College Basketball in North Carolina, it’s the same thing.
I’ve lost hours jawing about gardening. Wasted the day swapping ghost stories. Murdered time discussing the significance of mayonnaise.
Those who’ve been with me can testify to these truths. This is how I choose to move through the world.
I pass with a quip and an excuse-me smile. Able to take a joke and be the joke. I seldom take myself too seriously.
Seldom. That one word in italicized letters lets you know that this isn’t always the case.
A more serious me comes out when needed. A level of passion soars like a raging bonfire around everything related to family. The subject of my spouse and children will lead you to the core of who I am.
Invoke their names, and you step on the holy grounds of my soul. My love for them is the most serious part of me, a part most folks rarely encounter. Unless they run into me on Sunday mornings when the world refuses to let me stay the carefree pastor everyone expects.
Behind a pulpit, I am resolute. Even after a decade in congregational ministry, my stomach remains the home of butterflies.
In the amount of time that’s too much for a high church homily and too little for a Pentecostal revival, I stand before a gathering of people and lay out what I sense God is trying to call their attention to.
Sometimes these efforts hit home. A rare “amen” escapes the lips of the faithful.
Other mornings, I count several heavy heads nodding off. On the way out of the sanctuary, they hit me with a slew of sayings.
“Fine sermon, preacher. Never heard it put quite like that before.” My favorite is, “I think I’m going to need to pray on that.”
Some let their faces do the talking, saying what their words don’t: “When did Dr. Jekyll transform into Mr. Hyde? Why the change? When did your guffaw shift to gravitas?”
My answer is because I listened this week to the surge of new callers flooding our church’s food pantry phone line. Many are seeking help because their SNAP benefits have been reduced. I can hear the exhaustion in their voices.
Because I watched a man named Kenneth Leland Morgan stroll into an Athens bar wearing a full-on Nazi uniform and think nothing of it.
Because stories are coming in from Charlotte, North Carolina that align with what has happened in Portland and Chicago. People are being snatched off the street and detained without due process by individuals covered in masks and backed by the federal government. The presence of ICE is preventing people from going to work and sending their children to school.
How can a minister see such things happening and not talk about it?
Many will say, “Preacher, you’re poking your nose into politics and that doesn’t have any place in the pulpit.” But what is the church to do when unjust laws and policies affect people? When human rights are stripped away from those made in the image of God?
It would seem for some, sitting in pews is the only time they truly wish to practice separation of church and state, and I’m sympathetic to that request. I know the world is a lot.
I’m aware we live in a time where, no matter which media choice you choose to subscribe to, it’s nothing but conflict after conflict. Pain and suffering stacked on more pain and more suffering.
Another mass shooting.
Another political stalemate between parties that declare to strive for the betterment of all but seem to focus only on some.
Another court case where the privilege wins again.
Another scandal, another overstep ripping the fabric of our perceived democracy.
Another story of a country that supposedly offers sanctuary, turning away those who came to collect on the claim, “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”
With 24/7 news networks rooted in this kind of coverage, I can see why one would want a break from it for an hour on Sunday morning. And yet, how can those claiming to be part of Christ’s church turn our eyes and close our ears to this?
Keep such news that impacts God’s people out of the church? How can we? How can we keep silent?
How can I do that and call myself a minister? I cannot.
In fact, it might just be when I act like one the most. If being a pastor means anything at all anymore, it means refusing to stay quiet when God’s people are hurting.
- About the Author
- Latest Posts
Justin Cox received his theological education from Campbell University, Wake Forest University School of Divinity, and McAfee School of Theology where he earned his Doctor of Ministry. He is an ordained minister holding standing in the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship and American Baptist Churches USA. When not spending time with his spouse and daughters, he can be found writing and baking late into the night. His thoughts and reflections are his own.
