The Book That Reads Me

In the 1950s, one of the churches I was serving held a picnic at an Oregon state park. For a brief time, I found myself in conversation with another group in the same park. On learning that I was a pastor, one person in that group said, "Oh, you poor man!" As the conversation went on, it became evident that the remark was not based on a perception of my economic condition, but on some previous experience of a church's demands on a pastor's time. I did not share such a negative view of a pas...