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College was a bit deceptive.

From the student perspective, I was jaded into thinking that I could with the snap of a finger perform at a level above some of the professors and administrators I had disdain for.

When I started teaching college courses I became well acquainted with the challenges of higher education. This experience gave me a deeper appreciation for those who previously had the responsibility of standing before me in a classroom.

The same went for my church life.

From my narrow point of view as a seminary student, I just knew that I had better solutions to the problems that hampered my church than those who had been in charge for decades. Retrospectively, I did have some great ideas. What I was at a loss on was how to bring those ideas to reality. When you’re with a group of fellow students talking about things that are wrong it’s easy to miss talking through the challenge of personalities, systems, and traditions. There wasn’t a course offered on how to really deal with church members, church systems, and church traditions. This trifecta has popped several balloons of inspiration for thousands of years. This trifecta has also caused anguish for many adults who at one time sat in the seat of a student with dreams of changing the world around them.

My reflection on this is the reason for this apology.

I want to apologize to the pastor who led the church I attended in my childhood.

I couldn’t understand why we had to share you other churches. I hated having to endure a church service that flowed so well when you were there but struggled along when you weren’t. Your extended preaching assignments in other places created an uneasy ebb and flow to church attendance. I was angry at your choice to be a part of a system that kept things that way. Things were amazing when you were in town but you weren’t always in town.

It finally made sense when I had to pastor three churches of my own. It made sense when people tossed at me the same critiques we tossed at you.

I’m sorry.

I want to apologize to the pastor that immediately followed the beloved pastor of my youth.

Our church didn’t just want you to be as dynamic and engaging as the pastor that came before you. We wanted you to be him. We couldn’t understand why you didn’t adjust your style or personality to fit what we were accustomed to. We made meetings difficult and congregational buy-in was nominal.

It finally made sense when I had to pastor churches that still held dear to the memory of their beloved pastors. It made sense when their talk of glory days made it seem like my contributions would be meaningless.

I’m sorry.

I want to apologize to my high school chaplain.

As a student, I thought some of the things you tried to do were corny. I thought your lessons could have been better. I tried to stack what you were sharing against the movies I shouldn’t have been watching and the music I shouldn’t have been listening to.

I barely gave you a chance.

It finally made sense when I started speaking to high school students. After each experience, I am reminded that a high school group is the toughest audience on the planet.

I’m sorry.

I want to apologize to the pastor of the church I served at as a seminary student.

I always wondered why you didn’t make the sweeping changes that needed to be made. Why didn’t you create a new culture or just get new leaders who were willing to make things happen? Why did you let conversations continue in meetings? Why didn’t you yell at the knucklehead that was causing trouble or get rid of the faction that was always opposed to change?

It finally made sense when I had to chair boards of my own. What I saw in your eyes back then makes sense now.  I didn’t know back then you were struggling with a culture that wouldn’t protect you but made nearly impossible demands of you.

I’m sorry.

To more than just my pastors, I apologize to all the leaders I’ve judged from my comfy chair or disconnected point of view.

Life sure looks different when you must sit in the seat, stand in the spot, make the tough calls as a leader.