My Pastor

Theodore J. Wardlaw

In just a few days, as I write these words, I will lose my pastor. After almost
twenty years as the pastor of our church, and almost thirteen years as my pastor,
he is retiring.
I have not been prepared for how hard this is. After all, until this particular chapter
of my life, I have never had a pastornot in the strictest sense. When I was a
child, theoretically it was my dad who was my pastor; but in the main he was my
dad! Across the years of my own ministry in which, before coming here, I served a
succession of four churches as a pastor, I had a handful of cherished pastoral
colleagues who sometimes played the role of my pastor; but they were primarily
friendsnot persons charged in an official sense with the nurture and care of my
soul. Here and there, theres been a therapist, or a Jungian analyst, or a prayer
partner. But they were not tasked with reaching out to me in moments of visible
need, or baptizing or confirming my daughters, or calling on me in the wake of a
parents death, or serving me Communion; nor did I expect that of them.
But across the last thirteen years, the time that I have been here in Austin, this
man was that kind of pastoran attentive, faithful, sacramental shepherd. The son
of a doctor, he grew up in the plain-spoken panhandle of Texas, and, for his
seminary education, migrated to New York where he drove a taxi-cab and attended
Union Seminary and served the East Harlem Protestant Parish. Eventually, he
served in Houston, Corpus Christi, and finally Austin, where he honed his preaching
gifts in a D.Min. program at Austin Seminary. I and so many, many others have
been the beneficiaries of his many-faceted life experiences, his voracious reading,
his diligent stewardship of the mind and of the heart.
By constitution, he is rather introvertednot a back-slapper, but one who cultivates
a rich interior. All the same, as our pastor, he laughed with us, he celebrated my
family, he marked with us some of the seasons of life. On one occasion, in an
especially hard season, he wept with me. I would like to think that enough of us
parishioners were there for him, too, when he needed some care; that surely across
the years we returned the favor. But heres the amazing thing: in largely quiet, untrumpeted and purposeful ways, he simply did his duty. He carried out the
promises made at Ordination, and somehow he infused it all with a deeper
meaning.
In recent weeks, as we have been diligently preparing for what is coming after next
Sunday, we have been reminded by a fellow church member of the story of Elijah

and Elisha. Elijah, the prophet, after an amazing tenure of service in northern
Israel, was taken up into heaven by a chariot of fire; but his mantle was left behind
for his successor Elisha, who received a double portion of Elijahs spirit. Elisha
picked up that mantlethat stoleand made it his own.
On Maundy Thursday, as my pastor served communion to all of us who came
forward, and then again as he served the body and blood of our risen Lord on
Easter; I noticed his stole. It draped his tall shoulders with the weight of larger
purposes; and, on both occasions, I noticed a sad lump in my throat. He has worn
his vocation so well.
I will miss my Pastor. But I will honor him and his ministry by looking forward to
the next chapter, when another pastor will come to us to pick up his mantlehis
stoleand wear it, to the glory of God, as his, or her, own.

Theodore J. Wardlaw is President and Professor of Homiletics at Austin Presbyterian

Theological Seminary in Austin.