I am a mutant. I possess uncanny and otherworldly powers on par with Stan Lee’s X-Men.

For example, I can position myself in a seat at the right angle at the right time of day to perfectly capture a beam of the sun’s oppressive rays directly into my eyes.

I cannot hide my supernatural abilities, especially around campfires where I can draw clouds of cough-inducing smoke to follow me no matter the direction of the wind.

Without thinking, I can drop the last Tylenol capsule in the house and know without fail it will fall, bounce, and roll as if pushed by a phantom hand under the refrigerator. Telekinesis or Murphy’s Law? You be the judge.

If these feats don’t earn me a classified folder in the parapsychology labs at Duke University, the next should. I possess a flexibility worthy of a boardwalk freak show in how easily I can insert my foot in my mouth.

Over a lifetime, I’ve collected awkward moments like some people collect charms around a bracelet. I do not know why I am this way, where my thoughts move as fast as a kid bolting for the toy section at Target.

I first became aware of my knack for making all parties uncomfortable while working a manufacturing job in my early twenties. It happened around Easter, as I shared with co-workers that the cuddly and slightly creepy cryptoid Bunny still stopped by my parents’ house to leave my adult sister and me baskets filled with Cadbury Creme Eggs and pastel-colored Whoppers.

Wrapping up the tale, I noticed my supervisor standing off to the side. He had appeared the way most supervisors do— without warning, out of nowhere, and with little if any idea of what was going on.

“Man, I wouldn’t tell such a thing,” he said. “A grown man getting an Easter basket?” 

He laughed and continued to try and embarrass me over the fact my parents treated me like the child I was to them. I let him finish. 

Before fully processing what happened, my foot made a beeline for my kisser. I was vomiting words.

“You know, if I had any respect for you, that might have hurt my feelings.”

Crickets.

Eyes shifted down. Everyone found a reason to see if their boots were untied.

There was at least one stifled laugh, but I was too busy holding up a shit-eating grin to see who it was while I stared back at him. His cheeks flushed like he had just run a mile. I was never a big fan of the guy, nor was he of me, but this certainly didn’t help our relationship moving forward.

That moment seems like forever ago. I like to think I have matured in realizing that as much as I enjoyed saying what I said, I know I didn’t act appropriately. Seeing this play out at a place of employment, my actions were far from being what many would describe as “professional.”

This memory recently returned when I was poised for another cringe-making exchange. This time, I wasn’t nearly as crass, but the conversation did lead me to question if I ever stood a chance of being professional?

But before I share the story, let me wonder aloud: “Can someone be a professional minister?” According to all things Calvinistic and Reformed, John Piper, the answer is no. 

In a book I found on a rarely used church library shelf, Piper’s “Brothers, We Are Not Professionals” argues that ministry should not be viewed as a guild. Piper builds his thesis by saying there is no such thing as a professional pray-er or professional distributor of the gifts of the Spirit.

He quickly goes off the rails for me soon after this, but as crazy as it sounds, I’m in a rare state of agreement with Piper.

I want to claim my bias and admit to associating the term professional with athletes, business types and engineers— the latter I’m prone to believe don’t have emotions or souls. This comparison helps me to understand Piper’s point: Amateur or professional labels don’t work for church leaders.

Yet, I know there are some practices even ministers should consider adopting. Here are a few ways ministers might consider being more professional.

Timeliness

This should be a given, but I’ll list it first and foremost. I am the type of person who needs to get to the movies early. I calculate the time I know it will take me to get to a theater, grab overpriced popcorn and sit down to enjoy the handful of trailers. 

I treat everything this way. Dropping the kid off at school, staff meetings, and dentist appointments.

Patron Saint of Opinions Anthony Bourdain said it this way during an interview:

“Show up on time. I learned this from the mentor who I call Bigfoot in ‘Kitchen Confidential.’ If you didn’t show up 15 minutes exactly before your shift — if you were 13 minutes early — you lost the shift, you were sent home, and the second time, you were fired. It is the basis of everything.

I make all my major decisions on other people based on that. Give the people you work with or deal with or have relationships with the respect to show up at the time you said you were going to. And by that I mean, every day, always and forever. Always be on time. It is a simple demonstration of discipline, good work habits, and most importantly, respect for other people.”

This isn’t always so cut and dry in ministry settings. Your afternoon meeting with someone can be interrupted by an urgent phone call, not to mention the random person stopping by your office. 

This happens,m and when it does, take the time to call someone and let them know you are running late or need to reschedule. This leads to my next point.

Courtesy

Such a low bar qualification and one demonstrating you are a somewhat functioning relational human being.

If someone sends you a text or email, answer it. If you can’t, find thirty seconds to respond with “I’ll get back to you soon.” 

Don’t ghost or leave them hanging. Follow up when you can.

I know this will sound wild, but when talking with someone, fight the urge to interject. Give the person a chance to finish their thoughts and sentences. This should be the norm.

Acknowledge someone when they walk into a room. Let them know their presence matters.

Hold a door for strangers even if they don’t need you to. I know what you’re thinking. Geez, isn’t this just common courtesy?

Yeah, it is. And I wish I saw more of it in professional settings.

Authenticity

This word gets used a lot. Authenticity runs as the antithesis of being professional, as it means being who you are and not what people expect you to be. People want to be able to be themselves and ministers are no different.

For me, this means wearing leopard print pants and shiny Doc Martens boots. It means I don’t have to hide my Southern accent or think about code-switching depending on who I’m around. It means I can say hello to you in a liquor store and let out an expletive in the church’s kitchen if I burn my hand taking a pan out of the oven.

For far too long, ministers have been viewed as the folks who are supposed to have it all together. It’s a charade that has done more harm than good.

I have found the freedom to refute this stereotype. Now, I let people know how much I, too, deal with insecurity, imposter syndrome, and the fear that everything is burning down around me. Being authentic enables me to lay all this on the table and say my vocation doesn’t shield me from the hardness of life.


You might be wondering where all this is coming from. As someone who resists the “professional” moniker, I found myself wishing someone I was trying to introduce myself to had acted more professionally.

Peers kept telling me how much I needed to meet this individual and Lord knows I tried. Several emails were sent. 

A couple of phone calls went to voicemail. The response? 

Zip. Nothing. Nada.

After these failed attempts, I threw in the towel. I never thought of them as terrible people, but I did write them off.

And then I ran into them.

I fought the urge to ask why they never returned my calls or emails? My tongue was coiled and ready to strike; it wanted to form a string of contemptuous words, but it didn’t. Instead, it rolled around my mouth, assessing the damage like it does after a painful bowl of Cap’n Crunch.

Unlike with my former supervisor, the more mature me didn’t say anything out of the way. I held the passive-aggressive comments at bay. 

I was courteous in our conversation. Sincere, authentic even, when I said it was a pleasure to finally meet them. We parted ways with nothing between us but mundane pleasantries.

Was I professional? I don’t know.

Afterward, I thought a lot about why I didn’t say anything. Maybe it’s because I’m growing older and wiser. That could be the reason. 

Or it could be because I know somewhere to somebody that I’m that person. I’ve done the same.

I have a long list of casualties in my rearview mirror. People I unintentionally blew off, didn’t show up on time to meet or forgot to call. 

I imagine some of this was because I was already trying to do too much and didn’t possess the vulnerability to admit I couldn’t be all things to all people all the time. In the last several years, I have tried to do better by owning my shortcomings.

What I found is when I do, it’s generally well received. People get it. 

They extend me the grace that I need and am uncomfortable with at times. I’ve taken this grace and passed it on to those who need it, too.

Call it decency, empathy, a superpower, or even being professional. It’s not a bad way to move through the world.