Somewhere toward the latter half of Pope Francis’ address to the Congress the other day, I had a Homer Simpson moment… You know, one of those times when you realize that some clear-as-day fact or bit of truth has been staring you in the face and you’re only at that moment actually grasping it… As one who is often a little slow on the uptake, I shouldn’t be surprised—but I do have to confess to a bit of embarrassment about it.

The thing is, I’d been sitting there watching this well-known Catholic man, the leader of the Catholic world, in fact, and was listening to what he had to say as if his words were coming exclusively from somewhere deep in Catholic doctrine—as if the sermon he was delivering (and it was indeed a sermon) was one that only a committed Catholic, steeped in Catholic dogma could give.

But then it hit me: this man is preaching to the leaders of the most powerful and influential nation in the world simply as a Christian. And a humble Christian, at that. Pope Francis, arguably the most powerful and influential man in Christendom, was preaching to the United States Congress, saying pretty much what I believe Jesus would say if he were in the same position.

He challenged the men and women of Congress—and by extension, all of us—to care for the poor and vulnerable, and to reject a mindset of hostility as an answer to international disagreements, responding instead with hope and healing, peace and justice.

He called on us to abandon our fear of foreigners, instead welcoming the immigrant, the refugee, and the stranger, affording to them the dignity and opportunities that we ourselves cherish; and he celebrated our efforts at diplomacy with neighbors from whom we have long been estranged.

He affirmed our ability to address the serious environmental challenges we as humankind have created, and reminded us of the importance of doing so with all peoples as we share life on this “common home.” If only we have the will…

He reiterated the “importance and, above all, the richness and the beauty of family life”, reminding us of the need to pay particular heed to the welfare of our children. Only by finding ways to assure them a future filled with “countless possibilities” instead of violence, abuse, and despair will we in fact ensure our own future. “Their problems are our problems”, he said, and we must work together to address them.

In the October issue of The Cumberland Presbyterian magazine, Rev. Dr. Anum Akai (a name familiar to many of our readers) affirms the importance of preaching in a pastor’s catalog of responsibilities. “Preaching”, he reminds us, “is the occasion when the pastor through the illumination of the Holy Spirit is enabled to interpret the word of God to the people.” As I see it, whether Jorge Mario Bergoglio subscribes to Catholic doctrine or not misses the point; he spent his time before Congress interpreting the word of God to a people in need of hearing it. In Pope Francis, we saw the face of God and heard the voice of God. In the streets of our cities and within the walls of our prisons, we felt the touch of God as he walked among us. He’s a brother in Christ if ever there was one.

That’s a pretty good summation, I think, of the responsibilities of any pastor, too—regardless of the particular Christian dogma she or he embraces. But as simple as that summation may seem, being a pastor—and especially being a good pastor—is neither as simple nor as easy as a man like Pope Francis might make it look. This month, many of us will focus at least some attention on letting our own pastor know just how much we appreciate her or him. And while there is certainly nothing wrong with that, I sometimes worry that by designating one month out of each year for being intentional about our appreciation, we risk forgetting—at least to some degree—what our pastors mean to us the other eleven months.

As a minister’s son myself, I know very well the sacrifices that a pastor’s family must often make in order to support their loved-one’s calling. I have seen the psychological, if not the physical and mental wear and tear that can result from a pastor wanting to be a good shepherd to her or his congregation while also being a good spouse or parent in her or his own family.

But I have also seen in my minister parent the face of God; I have heard the voice of God; and I have felt God’s comforting embrace. I have seen lives transformed through the patient but persistent efforts of a pastor to open the hearts and minds of her or his congregation to new ways of seeing and living through the grace of a God who loves without condition. I have seen hearts of stone turned into hearts filled with compassion for people who were once strangers. I’ve seen broken spirits healed, and grief turned into hope. It’s what pastors are called to do. It’s what pastors spend their lives doing.

Too often, we take this most difficult of callings for granted. At least until it is we who need the comfort or encouragement. Too often, pastors in our denomination find themselves struggling to both answer their call to serve and to take care of themselves and their families. And too often, there aren’t any easy answers for how to address the issue. The Mt. Denson congregation (Springfield, TN), however, has found one answer, and it works well for them. See A View from the Pew in the October issue for the story of their success.

Whatever the situation in our own congregation, though, let’s remember the person whom God called to be our shepherd, in good times and bad. And let’s be certain—this month and in the months and years to come—that our pastors know we know how important we are to them, perhaps as central as their calling. Pastor appreciation—it’s not just an October thing…