My Pastor is Cooler Than Your Pastor

I'm going to hell. That's the verdict, at least, according to Esther, one of my pastors here in Korea. She likes to say I'm going to hell. But I have a few friends who say they'll see me there, so it's ok. Pierre promised to bring wine. And also I like to think that, given how similar we are, Esther also will soon join me in hell. So you see, it all works out in the end.

She's kidding, by the way, for all you readers who can't sense the thick sarcasm oozing from the lines on your computer and dripping onto your lap. It's one of the things I love about her. Esther is on my list of people whose humor always makes me laugh. Wait, change that; I almost always laugh, regardless. She's on the list of people I find truly humorous. And if you know me, you will know how I love to laugh. This characteristic is hereditary, I believe. Both my mom and dad are eminently witty and find great enjoyment in humor, especially intelligently presented, insightful humor. I like people who make me laugh, so naturally Esther falls on that list.

In my life, I have had a number of pastors. During my formative years living in Valparaiso, we remained at the same church, having four pastors over that span of years. I also went to a Christian elementary and middle school and therefore was surrounded by a number of others in the clergy. Moving to Michigan when I was 16, we floundered for a time, not settling on a specific church. Eventually we found ourselves attending a church much larger than the one we had left behind. Good Shepherd, in Indiana, was small and fostered a quite close community of about 100 members. Calvary, in Grand Rapids, is what is known as a mega-church, defined as a church having over 2,000 worshippers every Sunday. This concept is exceptionally familiar to South Korea; eleven of the world's twelve largest mega-churches are in Seoul. Yoido Full Gospel Church is the world's very largest, consisting of 800,000 members. Calvary's attendance seems paltry compared to that, having an average of 6,000 worshippers every Sunday. That's still very large. It has planted a number of daughter churches in the Grand Rapids area, including Mars Hill Bible Church, pastored by Rob Bell and at one time the fastest growing church in America. The positive part of going to a mega-church is that you usually get a very stimulating service, with good music and riveting preaching. The downside is that you often feel like a sheep being herded in and out of a large corral. You see the pastor from a distance, but there is little difference than watching it on television.

When I came to Korea, I knew that finding an English service was of utmost importance to me. For anyone who does not know, my faith is essential to me. Regardless of how circumstances change around me, this is a very solid area of my life. I may flex and change on exactly how I view certain teachings, but I can never foresee myself apart from my identity as a Christian. Even with this, though, I do not consider myself to be "religious." It is a word that makes me shudder and gag slightly. "Religious," to me, seems a word that connotes a regimented, inflexible set of beliefs. Religion spawns fanaticism and prostrating before large brass gods or clutching talismans to ward off evil. It is a scrupulous conformity that can strip one of individuality. Those are the reactions that course through me when someone hears me identified as a Christian and replies, "Oh, I didn't know you were religious." No, please. Not in that sense.

To me, it is a faith. I may not always be able to logically explain what or why I believe. It is sometimes beyond my understanding and feels somewhat mystical or magical. Therein lies the beauty, though. While I may search for intellectual understanding, I find a certain excitement in reiterating that some things in our world simply pass beyond the ability to be grasped. I like that my faith does not allow me to study it for a time, then claim that I know everything that there is to know. It is intellectually challenging and, furthermore, is experiential. Events in my life will always affect how I cognitively interpret this vast expanse I call my faith.

Given that my faith is so important to me, my relationships with other Christians are equally so. I love to discuss what I believe, regardless of whether the person disagrees or agrees. Regardless of the other person's faith. Many of my best conversations have been with people who believe exceptionally differently from me; their thoughts and personal views are beyond stimulating. I may have some secret Italian blood in me in that way; I will passionately argue for my point, and have at times in the past been accused of being unrelenting and judgmental. But I truly enjoy hearing how the other person views this same subject. Many people simply do not enjoy this sport as I do. They prefer to avoid subjects such as politics and "religion," an aversion which is in no way wrong and is completely understandable; such topics can become uncomfortable. In my family, however, this was typical dinner table talk.

Therefore I deeply enjoy relationships with others who have this similar tendency. When I arrived in Korea, I was introduced to Soo Young Ro, also a mega-church boasting 15,000 Sabbath attendees. It offered a sizable English service, called AIM, complete with our own Pastor. Benjamin Ahn moved to the U.S. at 16; he both studied and pastored there for many years after. He married a lovely Korean-American woman named Diane and they have two beautiful children. I always enjoyed a good relationship with them, but with two children and numerous duties at AIM and the mother church, he was a very busy man.

One the last Sunday of my first year in Korea, a time when I was anticipating my Southeast Asia and India travels, then my return home, then my return for a second year in Korea, AIM invited an American female pastor to speak. She was visiting Korea with her daughter to see where her grandfather, who had long ago been a missionary here, had lived and worked. I joined the throng to shake her hand at the close of the service, then walked away for four months.

While at home, Michael told me in one of his emails that we had hired a new pastor, a woman. This excited my anticipation, as I have long wanted to be under a female pastor. "I wonder," I thought, "if it's that woman who was there on my last Sunday..." Yes, it was. I was told by many people how wonderful she is. Upon returning, I discovered exactly how true this is. Over time, however, I have come to realize that she is so much more than a good pastor and a wise woman. Oddly, almost frighteningly, she is me. Our experiences, our views, our personalities are exceptionally similar. Eventually we tired of yelling out, "Me, too!" at everything the other person says. Lately we've taken to staring hard at each other, looking for signs of cloning. "If not for the blond hair," Esther says, shaking her head.

I was over at her house for dinner the other night. In true sleep-over fashion, the menu prominently featured pizza and brownies. We had a salad to abate our guilt. Conversation ranged everywhere from our family histories to biblical hermeneutics to humor. When Kathleen, Esther's daughter, came home from teaching, we had a blast just laughing and talking. Kathleen also has a superb sense of humor; she is an excellent story teller and has a whip like humorous sarcasm. Throughout the remainder of the evening, they shared deep, spiritual wisdom with me. A great example is All Your Base Are Belong to Us off of the Engrish website. I then shared my profound insights through the hilarious Jib Jab's "This Land is Your Land" and "2-0-5" parodies.

Actually, to describe the conversation is impossible; I'm not very good at recounting discussions. However, we had so much fun that it took me about 20 minutes to get out the door. Every time we would say goodbye, we started talking and laughing about something new, lingering in the foyer.

And I realized when I was leaving the exceptionally special nature of this relationship. I am not sure how many people have friendships with their pastors like this. Considering the uniqueness of all parties, however, I would guess that no one else has relationships like this. But not counting that we're all a bit weird (in a good way), I see this as being incredibly special. I have always viewed the pastors in my life as eminent elders, far beyond understanding me as a child. Later, my pastor was someone who gave excellent sermons and stood very far away on the stage. With none of these people did I ever truly connect on the level of reaching friendship. Never did I consider actually being friends with the pastor of my own church.

With Esther, I respect her deeply for her convictions as a person and a female minister. She is exceptionally smart, exceedingly patient, and beyond generous in the fullest sense of the word. I don't say this to flatter or embarrass her. It is just that I see these qualities in her and hope to emulate them in my own life. That she is so similar in personality to me only compounds this, giving me motivation to garner her qualities.

Both Esther and Kathleen are women that I hope to resemble, ones that I hold up as examples of overcoming tragedy and hardship while retaining humility, grace, and joy. They are the most excellent of women. But moreover, they are my friends.