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OrlandoSentinel.com
Your postman may be a pastor Mark I. Pinsky - Sentinel Staff Writer September 2, 2007 By tradition, when the Apostle Paul hit the Roman roads and the Mediterranean Sea lanes to preach the Gospel, he didn't give up his day job. According to the Gospel of Luke, the evangelist was either a tent maker or a shoemaker -- depending on the Greek translation. Thousands of modern ministers, such as Mark Wold and Jose Torres, are taking a similar path. Three or four days a week, Wold sorts and delivers the mail on a suburban route in Polk County, tooling up and down streets, reaching out the car window in fluid motions to stuff envelopes and magazines into curbside boxes. On Sundays, it's a different routine. Wold exchanges his weekday shorts, T-shirt and running shoes for a traditional Lutheran clerical collar and a black gown and heads for Peace Lutheran Church in Kissimmee, where he serves as assistant pastor. "As a letter carrier, I bring people their bills," said Wold, 46, of Haines City. "Sometimes they have to sign for a letter they don't want to receive. But on Sunday morning I get to bring them good news that they have a savior." Economics and demographics are fueling a resurgence in pastors like Wold, usually referred to as "bivocational" -- or simply "bivos." Part-time ministers Experts say mainline Protestant denominations such as Lutherans and Presbyterians have an increasingly difficult time supporting full-time pastors as their congregations shrink, especially in rural areas. Estimates say as many as 30 percent of these churches now depend on part-time ministers. For Southern Baptists, the nation's largest Protestant denomination, the number is closer to 50 percent, according to their bivocational ministerial association. Start-up churches in urban areas, which serve ethnic and immigrant congregations, also account for the growth in bivos, said Tom Kinchen, president of the Baptist College of Florida, in Graceville. And retiring baby boomers are providing a pool of new pastors. For the first three centuries of North American history, bivocational pastors were the norm. And the tradition is not confined to Protestant Christianity. In the middle of the past century, the Roman Catholic Church in Europe had a popular movement called "worker-priests." Societal changes may play a part in the growth of bivocational pastors. The trend may benefit from the growing number of two-career couples, said Melissa Wiginton of the Atlanta-based Fund for Theological Education, who was an attorney before attending seminary. "As one spouse becomes successful in their career, it's going to free up the other spouse to serve churches," she said. "When you look at where the empty pulpits are, they're in small churches that often can't afford to pay a full-time pastor." Kinchen, the Panhandle college president, who is also vice president of the Southern Baptist Bivocational Ministers' Association, acknowledged that the working arrangement can often evolve into two full-time jobs. He prefers the term "entrepreneurial minister." Economics play a large part in the resurgence of bivocational pastors. A 2006 study by the Southern Baptist Convention found that the annual cost of supporting a bivocational pastor was $17,385, compared with nearly $60,000 in pay and benefits for a full-time minister. Part of the solution to the growing need for bivocational ministers may come from retiring baby boomers, Kinchen said, who can serve as assistant or associate pastors at growing, suburban churches like Wold's. "Second careers are a wonderful opportunity," he said, especially for Southern Baptist congregations, which do not require their pastors to be seminary-trained. Busy schedule Jose Torres knows that driving a school bus in Orlando is not the same thing as making tents in the Middle East, but there are similarities. "Paul proved that you can work and do ministry at the same time," says Torres, 48, a native of Puerto Rico and a lay minister at Maranata Presbyterian Church in east Orlando. "The only difference is that Paul was an evangelist and preacher. When you are a pastor, the congregation demands more of your time. It grows like a family, and they expect to see you more often." Until July, Torres spent his weekday mornings for eight years driving a school bus, whose passengers included disabled children and those with behavioral problems. "The church was too small to support me," he said of the middle- and working-class, Spanish-speaking congregation. "I don't want to be a burden for the church." Earlier this year, the Central Florida Presbytery voted to provide a grant that would enable Torres to devote full time to the congregation of about 125 members. He calls it a dream come true. "I feel happy; I feel that I am doing God's will, and I feel that I can help not only spiritually," said Torres, who has been studying for the ministry. "Now I can help the community as well." His denomination thinks its money has been well-spent. "Jose Torres and the other leaders of Maranata have a real vision for reaching out to share the gospel with Hispanic neighbors," said Paige McRight, executive director of the presbytery. A graduate of Bethany Lutheran College in Minnesota, Wold served from 2000-02 as the full-time pastor of Resurrection Lutheran Church in Winter Haven. A traumatic breakup of his marriage caused him to leave that pulpit, but not the ministry. "I started looking for something to do to support my two kids," he said. First he served as a modern circuit-riding minister to Lutheran churches from Clermont to Vero Beach. But with two children from his first marriage, and a third from his second marriage, he took a variety of jobs, including delivering pizza, before joining the post office in Polk County as a route-delivery substitute. Wold said he still feels the pull of full-time ministry, "but I have to support my family. That's one of the reasons I'm bivocational now." Information from The Associated Press was used in this report. Mark I. Pinsky can be reached at mpinsky@orlandosentinel.com or 407-420-5589. Copyright © 2007, Orlando Sentinel |
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I agree. I'm getting burned out dispatching, and I've been trying to see my job as a sort of "ministry" helping people (sending out police officers to the calls), but it is so limited.
I've read "Here If You Need Me" by Kate Braestrup, who became a Unitarian Universalist-ordained minister when her husband, Drew (a police officer who wanted to be a UU minister) died in a car accident in his cruiser. She is now the chaplain for the Maine State Game Wardens. Very inspirational book and I recommend it. I wouldn't mind doing something along those lines, but I just wonder if law enforcement is ready for a Pagan solitary as a choice for a chaplain. |
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I agree. I'm getting burned out dispatching, and I've been trying to see my job as a sort of "ministry" helping people (sending out police officers to the calls), but it is so limited. |
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