Last week I was on the tennis court playing a round of doubles. My partner and I were headed to the bench to grab some water and a breather when one of our opponents off-handedly looked in my direction and asked, “Aren’t you a pastor?”

[sigh]

That may sound like an innocent enough of a question. It may even sound like an opportunity to talk about Jesus or invite this guy to our church. But it wasn’t. And I knew it wasn’t. The guy asking was a church-guy—admittedly, a super nice church-guy who probably loves Jesus a whole lot—but still a church-guy. And this church-guy, in-between game 9 in our first set, asks about my view on predestination.

Predestination? Seriously?!

Unsurprisingly, I didn’t respond well. I didn’t flay him open with John Calvin’s Institutes or anything. But I vaguely remember a sharp sarcastic retort. Cause, you know, I was playing tennis. For clarity, I don’t dislike theological conversations. I enjoy a robust, thoughtful, and irenic discussion about the bible and all things kingdom of God. But not while I’m trying to figure out what’s going on with my backhand slice.

This little interaction reminded me, once again, that most church people have a one-dimensional view of pastors and clergy. I don’t blame church-people for this view. Honestly, if anyone is to blame it’s probably our failure to remind the people we serve that, well, we are just normal people.

This can’t be a revelation for anyone, can it? Pastors are people—normal people. We eat and sleep and poop. We have dreams and expectations and bad habits. We need friends and community and hobbies. I don’t come down off Sinai with my sermon every week. I don’t have a monthly commute into the third heaven to get my marching orders from the Trinity. I’m living in the same space as everyone else. I’m learning to submit to Jesus, listen to his voice, obey his commands, love my wife better, not kill my children, & lead in a way that doesn’t injure.

Pastors are first people. And people need to be allowed not to be “on” all the time. That means when I’m at dinner with my dermatologist, in between the appetizer and main course, I don’t ask him to look at that funny mole on my upper thigh. That would be ridiculous. And gross. Perhaps a version of the golden rule for pastors is needed. “Treat your pastor the way you’d like to be treated if you were a pastor.” Meaning, your pastor may be deeply interested in Christology and the nuances of election, but he is equally interested in how the price of gas and raising children run through his life.

He lives where you live. Please let him live there.

And he may even love to talk about predestination. But not on the tennis court.