By April Yamasaki

A new pastor in our city was asked to give the opening devotional at our local ministerial meeting. He had just received his first pastoral appointment, and started his remarks by describing the first time he walked into his office at the church. There was a large, impressive-looking desk with a large, impressive-looking chair. He sat at the desk and thought of his new responsibilities to lead the church. He imagined people coming to see him in his new office.

“I need to be careful to resist temptation,” he said to himself. “I need to remember that I am not God.”

I’m using quotation marks rather loosely here, because this took place a number of years ago, and I don’t remember the exact words. But I remember the new pastor’s meaning, and I remember being surprised. I immediately thought to myself, “Maybe that’s a temptation for a young, white, male pastor, but that’s not my experience in ministry.”

I had been called as the lead pastor of my church a few years earlier. I also had a large desk in my office. I also carried a lot of responsibility in my congregation. But the call to pastoral ministry had come to me suddenly and by surprise. I had not planned or prepared for it, and in many respects, I still felt as if I were feeling my way.

When a young girl died suddenly of a brain aneurysm, when a man in his prime of life was found murdered, when a former missionary died at home after a brave struggle with cancer, my first response was “God, I don’t know what to do.” Clearly I was not God.

And I wasn’t tempted to play God either. I was too unsure of myself for that. What was I as a pastor to do? In the face of these tough and tender situations, I didn’t know. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to be.

And perhaps that was the saving grace. For just as God carried and comforted each person and family through their time of great loss, God also carried me as a pastor through that time, guiding me in what to say and when to hold silence, how to listen deeply to the people and to the Spirit.

I can’t say that I practiced humility in these situations, at least not in any conscious way. I felt more uncertain than anything else. But looking back and reflecting on my experience, it seems to me as if my uncertainty was actually a blessing — a blessing for the people I cared for and for myself as a pastor. For that uncertainty meant I could not rely on myself, and instead left room for the certain work of God.

Perhaps that’s one definition of humility — knowing our limitations and turning to God, letting God be God instead of relying on ourselves. As Proverbs 22:4 says, “Humility is the fear of the Lord.”

April Yamasaki is an author, editor, and pastor. Her books include Sacred Pauses: Spiritual Practices for Personal Renewal; Four Gifts: Seeking Self-Care for Heart, Soul, Mind, and Strength; and On the Way With Jesus. For more information, visit AprilYamasaki.com and WhenYouWorkfortheChurch.com.