If you're like me, you like things to run on schedule.

Trains, planes, automobiles . . . and work weeks.

In fact, I typically like to do the same things on the same days each week. So most weeks look a lot like the ones that came before and like the ones to follow.

Maybe you're the same way.

Yet I have found that some of the most important moments in ministry are unscheduled.

Like when you're visiting one family at the hospital and discover someone else is there as well.

Or the person who just "drops by" to say "hi" . . . but usually has something weighing heavily on his mind.

Or the random comment someone else says that you know has the seeds of a sermon in it.

Or simply the time to pause, open your palms to heaven and listen to what the Spirit is saying to the church.

So if you're like me and you like schedules, perhaps it's time to schedule the unscheduled into your life.

Last week provided an interesting case study in the rhythms of life in ministry.

Monday-Wednesday: I spent the first half of the week at a conference for pastors of the largest United Methodist churches in the country. We stayed in luxury. We re-connected with old friends and made new ones. We talked about ministry in the local churches. We didn't do any of that ministry, mind you, we merely talked about it. And as I soaked up the wisdom of pastoral leaders who have had greater numerical effectiveness than I have, it seemed that there are two elements to being a good pastor in the 21st Century: 1) come up with really good ideas for sermons series; and 2) start satellite campuses for your church.
The conference was so enjoyable that it was tempting to make it last longer. But remember . . . we simply talked about ministry without actually engaging in it.

Wednesday night - Sunday: Reality hit as soon as we arrived home from Charlotte. Voice mails and answering machine messages all letting us know there had been an unexpected death of a young man connected to the church. Immediately, I had to change from "conference" mode to "grief" mode. Then the young man's father died two days later -- not an unexpected death, but a terrible blow on top of a terrible blow. Then there were several difficult counseling sessions, an appointment with a family to deal with some custody issues, and grief visits to another family who had suffered a loss. And I couldn't forget the dear Good Shepherd people in the hospital. On top of all that, we hosted Olympic High School's Overtime program on Friday night. So: counseling, refereeing, funeral preparing, praying, resting. No time to talk about ministry; high time to engage in it.

Seldom have I had a week with such extremes. It is tempting -- even seductive -- to stay in conference mode permanently. It is a calling -- a high one at that -- to return to local pastor mode and stay there.

Much of pastoral work is in fact the work of reminding.

When I preach, for example, I am (usually) not so much teaching people new truths but instead reminding them of ancient truths that they have perhaps forgotten. Or chosen to disregard.

Just as often, preaching is a reminder of how those ancient truths actually apply to current living.

When I make a visit to the hospital or nursing home, I stand in as a visual reminder that God is involved and active in people's lives, even as they wrestle with illness or struggle with convalescence.

When people come for marriage counseling, the very office in which we meet is a reminder that God's heart beats with a desire for marriages to be stable, strong, and loving. My words can bring either a comforting or challenging reminder of what God has already said about husbands and wives.

When people come for personal counseling on a myriad of other issues, my use of the bible or my words of advice best serve to remind people of God's enduring love and faithfulness. I hope to remind people of what they already know but have perhaps forgotten -- that God is bigger than any addiction, obstacle, or frustration they face.

Are these new & revolutionary truths? Of course not.

They are ancient ones we all too often overlook.

So my pastoral colleagues and I -- when we get it right -- are here to remind you that you are surrounded, protected, challenged, and loved by a God whose word is clear and true.

What do you need to be reminded of today?

When does a sermon begin? After the public reading of the Scripture? After the prayer? After a really cool solo?

It's actually the wrong question.

The better question is where does the sermon begin? Not when, but where.

There is an easy answer to that question: in the parking lot.

See, the entire Sunday morning experience is the sermon.

That means good manners on the part of people helping with parking.

It means a welcome in the lobby that is friendly without being intrusive.

It means smiles and accuracy at the Guest Services Desk.

It means a printed bulletin that is well-designed and communicates what the church is about and what the Sunday message is about.

It means music, graphics, and visuals that all complement the day's big idea.

It means a spoken message that is simply the continuation and culmination of an experience that began an hour or so earlier.

It means that the conversation started by the experience will continue in the parking lot. And beyond.

See what I mean as we wrap up Still this Sunday with a service that includes a Good Shepherd original song, a message called "Goodness & Mercy", and an experience that starts before you walk in the door. 8:30. 10:00. 11:30.

We have this ministry called Bless This House.

It involves getting the addresses of recent house closings in our area from the Sunday Charlotte Observer, and then sending out pairs of people (going out in twos -- that's biblical!) to welcome the new movers to southwest Charlotte. While there, we give the gift of a "world famous refigerator magnet." If the people are receptive, we will ask if we can pray a blessing over their new house.

We do not ask as people open the door, "if you died tonight, do you know where you'd go?" Please.

What we do is offer a high-touch, low-threat welcome to Charlotte and invitation to the church.

I have been doing this kind of thing since I pastored in Monroe. Mt. Carmel Church was tucked away in a corner, so no one would see it just by driving by it. I knew that if we weren't out there inviting, people wouldn't come.

But back to Good Shepherd and Bless This House. We now have about 150 people who call this church home because their house got blessed.

Yet for a couple of reasons, I haven't been able to "bless houses" as much in 2009 as in previous years. But I got a couple of those obstacles worked out, and was able to "bless" last Thursday and I'll be going out again this evening.

It's one of the things that makes me feel most alive as a pastor.

After all, how can I expect new people to come to church if I am not personally involved in inviting them?