I stood in the Christian bookstore thumbing through a volume on a subject I’d been researching. This looked like exactly what I wanted. “How to Help Your Child to Faith” contained 35 chapters, each directed toward parents on counseling and preparing their child for understanding the Christian faith and making his own commitment. What got me, however, was chapter 35.

The topic for that chapter was “Finally, all you can do is pray.” I laid the book down in disgust and walked away.

“Finally” implies that prayer is the last thing to do. “All you can do is pray” clearly says that prayer is the least thing you can do. The last, the least. What’s wrong with this picture?

What kind of philosophy of prayer is that? Think of it! As though to call on the Lord of Heaven and Earth to become involved in a situation involving a child you love dearly is some small thing to be lightly regarded.

If you need evidence of the fallen nature and sinful heart of man–even the best among us–consider the low regard we hold for prayer.

Confession time. I consider myself a person of prayer. Prayer is never far from my mind throughout the day, and after reading several chapters in the Bible each morning, I try to spend a good deal of time in prayer. And yet, I did the same thing I was criticizing that book’s author for doing.

I forgot to emphasize the pre-eminence of prayer. Over the past six months, as I have added the occasional “leadership lesson” to this collection, only this week did it occur to me that prayer should have been featured more prominently and much sooner.

I deeply apologize. Since my son has taught me how to edit these blogs, I know how to go into the website and insert this article earlier, giving it a much higher number. The problem is that no one would see it way down there, since those were written and dispatched into cyberspace months ago. So, number 40 it will have to remain, at least for the time being.

A leader is a decision-maker and a people-influencer. A leader sets the direction, then stands out front and blazes the trail. His mantra is “follow me.”

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“Pastor,” the caller said, “I have a question, and I’m embarrassed to ask it.”

Thinking I was about to do some telephone counseling, I donned my best pastoral manner and said, “Don’t be. Tell me about it.”

She said, “Well…sir…could you tell me when I got married?”

It turned out that I had performed the wedding for this woman and her estranged husband several years earlier and she was now needing to benefit from his insurance with the Veterans Administration.

And if that wasn’t enough, she said, “It was either June 1, 1969, or July 8, 1970.”

I said, “You don’t even know the date?”

She had an excuse which I have long since forgotten.

After digging through the calendars of my pastoral ministry for previous years, I called her back. “You and Sam McFranklin were married on March 3, 1971.” She thanked me and hung up.

I hope everything worked out for her, but have my doubts. Anyone who doesn’t even remember her wedding date probably has a lot of other loose strings dangling in her life.

Let’s hear it for keeping good records.

I sat in a meeting in which the pastoral team was divided, one man saying one thing, another contradicting him. As a result of the divided leadership, the entire church was split down the middle and serious consequences were looming.

On the surface it seemed to be a “one said/the other said” controversy with no obvious clear-cut resolution. Then one of the men volunteered something that settled the issue.

“Here are the minutes of the meetings,” he said, as he opened a file and produced a stack of papers. “Furthermore,” he said to the man across the table, “your wife is the clerk and took these minutes.”

According to the minutes of the church business meetings, the first man was correct in his position and the man whose wife had taken the minutes was clearly mistaken. The matter was settled, or would have been if the plaintiff had been interested in the truth. Unfortunately, his primary interest involved getting his way, which moved the controversy to another plane altogether.

I was not then and am not now a judge, but had I been, the notes of the church business meetings would have been the smoking gun and would have ended the “trial.”

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Let me tell you about a local fellow.

Drew Brees is the quarterback of the New Orleans Saints football team. After a great season last year, the team got off to an 0-4 start in 2007, but since have come back to even their record at 7-7. If they win the next two games, they’ll end up at 9-7, only one game off last year’s record with a slim possibility they will make the playoffs.

Even so, Drew Brees is having the best year of his career. Football fans will appreciate these numbers. Brees has not thrown an interception in the last 121 passes. He is on a pace to break the NFL record for the most completions in a season (he has 378 passes and needs 41 in the next two games to pass Oakland’s Rich Gannon who had 418 completions in 2002). Brees has 25 touchdowns this year which means he will probably hold the Saints record in that department after this year.

But wait, it gets better. In the past 10 games–after the disastrous first 4 games–Brees has completed 71 percent of his passes. Last Sunday, against the Arizona Cardinals, certainly no pushover, he completed 26 of 30 passes, including the last 12 in a row. That is almost unheard of, and figures out to a completion rate of over 86 percent. Ask any football fan how impressive that is.

And yet, Brees was not selected for the Pro Bowl, professional football’s all-star exhibition. It’s the recognition from fans, coaches, and fellow players that you are at the top of your game. In fact, no one on the Saints received that honor this year. Dallas, meanwhile, is sending 11 players to the Pro Bowl.

If Brees is disappointed, you’d never know it. This man is the most even-tempered, the most mature, of any player we’ve ever had in these parts. His foundation helps underprivileged children in the New Orleans area and he can frequently be seen interacting with children and parents as he uses his fame, his influence, and his resources to make a lasting difference. If our works indicate our faith, as James says in the epistle that bears his name, Drew Brees is our brother in the Lord.

Recognition is good in almost all cases. Most people seem to like it, particularly when it comes from their peers. In the annual awards show of the motion picture industry–the Oscars–time and again, we hear movie stars who receive the golden statuette speak of how special it is to have been chosen for this honor “by my peers.”

The only thing I recall from Psych 201, a course required of sophomores at my college a long time ago, is this incident. In a factory where hundreds of people were slaving away at menial jobs, someone walked back and replaced the light bulb above the head of one particular worker. There was nothing wrong with the old bulb; he just put in a new one. Immediately, the productivity of that worker went up. Evidently, someone knew he was back there and felt he was important. It’s a great lesson.

The trick is to appreciate the appreciation without requiring it in order to do your best work. And to extend it to others without needing it yourself.

In the last “leadership lesson,” the one dealing with humility, we encouraged readers to take down from the wall all those plaques of appreciation, recognition and achievement that seem to accumulate over the years. And yet, maybe not. There is something to be said for leaving them up. At least, leaving them where you alone can see them and be motivated by them.

After posting that essay on humility, as I was walking from my study, I noticed a plaque given by my seminary some 9 months after Katrina. The text says something about “distinguished service.” Now, it was not hanging on the wall and never has been. It sits on a lower shelf of a bookcase in front of some reference books. So, why is it there? Why did I not relegate it to the drawer–or worse, to the dumpster–as I’ve been counseling readers to do?

The answer is that I’m of two minds on this subject.

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Humility is not putting yourself down. It’s seeing yourself as you really are. It’s not thinking, “How small I am.” It’s not thinking of yourself at all.

What appears to some as humility may be inferiority. Think of the wallflower at the dance who pulls into her shell, makes eye contact with no one, and sits there moping, “No one likes me. No one wants to dance with me.” The truth is, she’s the most egotistical person in the hall. The belle of the ball, the young lady who is charming everyone by her dazzling smile and sunny personality, is the very opposite: she’s not preoccupied with herself at all. She’s thinking of others, and they are responding to her attention.

For some reason the ministry seems to attract more than its share of not-very-humble persons. I suppose it has to do with the fact that they are “performing.” People are sitting in pews and looking up to them, and it goes to their heads. Poor things. If they only knew.

I’ve been in pastors offices where the walls were literally covered with plaques and framed certificates. The office was a shrine to the minister. I’ve seen ministers receive doctorates, then change every sign in the building to reflect their new status, and make sure the secretary never misses an opportunity to add his new title to his name.

Read a pastor’s resume when you get a chance. Or an evangelist–they tend to be even worse. Notice the ones that are quick to cover themselves in the glory of large pastorates or successful revivals or books published or other awards. It would be funny if it weren’t so sad.

These are our spiritual leaders, the ones sent to teach character and integrity to the rest of us.

There are so many reasons to be humble and so many temptations not to.

Judging from his epistles, the Apostle Paul had to deal with the problem of arrogance and pride in the various churches where he served. In his letter to the church at Corinth, he took on those who were “arrogant in behalf of one against the other.” Think of the way high school or colleges promote their football teams and put down their opponents; that’s what was happening in Corinth.

Paul asks these boastful believers three questions:

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The number one tool in the leadership kit is words.

Opening our mouth, we utter sounds which others recognize as meaningful words and which we hope to have arranged in such a way as to inspire, instruct, and encourage, and once in a while rebuke. That’s a pretty hefty order for something as simple as words, but we’ve all seen people do it. We remember Churchill’s words in 1940 and Martin Luther King’s words in 1963 and we thrill at the power of speech well-chosen and powerfully delivered.

I’d like to do that, we all think to ourselves. We imagine the effect of speaking just the right words and watching lives change before our eyes.

If the number one tool in the leader’s kit is words, I daresay the number one failing of leaders, and especially the preacher-kind-of-leaders, is overtalking. It’s not that we did not use some great words in our talks, our sermons or our prayers; it’s that we surrounded those wonderful words with so many other words that we ended up devaluing their worth and weakening their impact.

Ask one of us preachers a question and 15 minutes later, we pause for breath and ask, “What was the question again?”

Shame on us.

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I was 27 years old with a new seminary degree and ready to take on the world. We had driven up from the bayou country of Louisiana to Greenville, Mississippi, to visit Emmanuel Baptist Church for a trial weekend. If we liked them and they liked us and if we all agreed God was “in this,” then I would become their new pastor.

I had pastored two small churches before, but this was my first “trial weekend.” Those are well named, incidentally, for they are trials for everyone concerned. That’s why I did what I did that Sunday morning.

I told three jokes at the sermon time.

During the worship service, someone introduced Margaret and our small boys and presented me. I walked to the pulpit, smiled at the expectant congregation, and opened my mouth to speak. Up until then, I had done fine.

First. “This is my first time to preach in Mississippi. I’m delighted to be here, and particularly glad to see you’re all wearing shoes.”

Okay, not a joke, but I meant it as one. They actually laughed, which was all I wanted. They knew I was teasing them about the reputation for backwardness Mississippi has.

Second. “Preaching here today–and you and I looking each other over–reminds me of the country preacher who was in the same situation I’m in today. He looked out at the congregation and said, ‘There is a powerful lot of wonderin’ goin’ on here today. You are wonderin’ if I can preach, and I am wonderin’ if you know good preachin’ when you hear it!'”

Again, it got some laughter. It’s not a knee-slapper, but a pleasant bit of humor. Up until now, I was okay. This was the time to move into the sermon. But I didn’t. I had another joke, the best one yet.

Third. “Flip Wilson (African-American comedian everyone was familiar with in 1967) was portraying a Black preacher in this same situation on his television program. You know how the congregation answers the preacher in their churches. He looked out at the people and said, ‘If I’s called to be pastor of this church, this church is going to WALK!’ The people called back, ‘Let ‘er walk, boy, let ‘er walk!'”

“The preacher said, ‘If I’s called to be pastor of this church, this church is going to RUN!’ They said, ‘Let ‘er run, boy, let ‘er run!'”

“The preacher said, ‘If I’s called to be pastor of this church, this church is going to FLY!’ They said, ‘Let ‘er fly, boy, let ‘er fly.'”

“The preacher said, ‘If this church is going to fly, it’s going to take money!’ They said, ‘Let ‘er walk, boy, let ‘er walk.'”

(Hope I don’t offend anyone by printing the joke in dialect, but that’s how he said it and it’s the only way to tell it. The teller has to raise his voice in the appropriate places to make it work, too.)

It is a funny story. They laughed, and finally I went into my sermon. Oddly, I have long ago forgotten what the sermon was about, but will never forget those three little jokes. The reason I remember is what happened afterward.

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As a young minister, I would preach the value of people having the courage of their convictions. Nothing was more important, I would proclaim, than standing by the values you hold dear. I said that and believed it.

In time I met some church members with convictions that needed to be abandoned. Out of their steadfastness–some would say stubbornness–to their convictions, they were running their church into the ground and destroying its witness to the community.

That was the day I quit preaching about convictions as a positive trait.

Joanie’s husband suggested I call her at home. She was upset about some fundraising thing the young people were doing for their summer mission trip. She felt it was out of place in the church.

Over the phone, I explained to Joanie my deep sensitivity to this very issue, and how the youth minister and I had gone over every aspect of their fundraiser to make sure it was done right. But nothing satisfied Joanie. She was dead-set against the program.

Finally, I pointed her to some biblical principles on the subject. “These are very important, Joanie,” I said, and explained how we were in line with them. I thought I made a good case and was surely winning her over.

When I paused, Joanie said, “I don’t know what the Bible says, but I know what I believe.”

I said, “My friend, you have just ended the conversation. I thought the issue was about what the Bible teaches. If it’s only about what you believe, then there’s not a thing in the world I can do with that.”

I can still hear the echo from many years ago of a couple in my church who were taking issue with me over something I was doing or preaching. Again, I tried to move the discussion to biblical principles. The wife stunned me by insisting, “But we have our convictions!”

I tried as gently as I knew how to remind her that God did not send us to preach our convictions, but the Word of Christ.

A man I know has a conviction that the length of a person’s hair will determine his eternal destiny. He believes it as surely as I believe in the authority of the Scriptures.

I met a woman who believes that smoking one cigarette would send her soul to hell.

I met a man who believes he can live any way he chooses and never darken the door of a church and still go to Heaven because he belongs to a church of a particular denomination.

Convictions are not the same as truth. They may be, of course, and ideally should be. But we should never make the mistake of giving our convictions an equal place with God’s Word. I think it’s safe to say that Hitler and Stalin had their convictions. The Jehovah’s Witnesses who came to my door this morning have theirs. The Mormons have theirs, the Catholics theirs, and yes, I have mine.

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You do yourself no favor when you go up against a great challenge and expect nothing but smooth sailing all the way.

The football team that prevails on a Saturday afternoon is the one with coaches and players who anticipate difficulties. Obviously, that includes preparing for the game strategy of the opposing team, but it also involves key players getting injured, the weather turning bad, and the ball taking the wrong bounce. “What will we do if this happens?”

What actually separates the average coach from his superior colleague, I’ll leave to those more knowledgeable than me. But surely one key element is that the winning coach consistently out-plans–and this means he “out-expects”–his opponent.

Paul and Barnabas were at a crucial point. They had set out months ago on this, the first-of-its-kind missionary trek, to take the gospel to villages and cultures that had never heard of Jesus Christ. They journeyed to Cyprus out in the middle of the Mediterranean (that was Barnabas’ familiar territory), then north to Asia Minor–Paul’s stomping grounds–where they went from city to city spreading the word. Now, everything inside them said it was time to stop and return home.

“Let’s do this,” one said to the other. “Let’s retrace our steps and revisit the disciples we’ve made on our journey. Let’s offer them some encouragement and assist them in their organization.”

I can hear the other saying, “And we need to prepare them for the hardships ahead. We have to tell them the unvarnished fact, that only through much tribulation do we enter the Kingdom.” (My version of Acts 14:22)

Between here and Heaven expect a lot of obstacles.

No rose-colored glasses allowed in this Kingdom, friend. When you chose to follow Jesus Christ, you set yourself against the culture around you, the standards of the world, and the way of life of almost everyone you know. You had been floating downstream; now you are swimming upstream. Expect it to be hard.

That’s important counsel for new believers, true, but it’s a necessary reminder to veteran Christian workers who set out to do anything important in this world for God.

The winning strategy for a pastor, the spiritual coach if you will, has a familiar look to it: going into a stewardship campaign or a building program or an outreach emphasis or any of a hundred other new directions for his church, he sits down with his leadership to plan for every eventuality. Who will do what? What will our approach be? When will each segment be added? What kind of report system and accountability structure will we have? What will it cost and where will the money come from? What have we left out?

And then this one: What trouble can we expect and how can we prepare for it?

There’s a certain naivete’ that afflicts servants of the Lord, that goes like this: “If the Lord is in it, it cannot fail.”

The only problem with that is that it assumes God gets everything He wants. And this would mean the present state of affairs in the world and in the church is exactly what God wants.

Who in his right mind believes that?

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Ladies and gentlemen, buckle your seat belt.

The market you are working in, no matter the kind of business, enterprise, or ministry, is not static. It’s always moving, always changing, ever metamorphosing into something else. Conditions change as members of the work force transition and as leaders come and go. New products and cutting edge ideas are introduced and everyone rushes to get them, master them, use them, and then improve on them.

I’m sure there was a time when you could start a business or a ministry and do pretty much the same thing for the next quarter-century and have everything turn out well. The buggy whip industry seems to have been static for many generations. Then in the 1890s someone invented the horseless carriage and within ten years, buggy whip magnates were laying off employees and trying to figure out how to crank their Model A Ford.

Outsiders have no idea how rapidly conditions in the church office have changed. Take my experience, for example. In the 1960s our church bulletin was produced by a mimeograph machine. The secretary–or usually, I–typed everything on a blue form using a manual typewriter. If we made a mistake, we slapped on a blue correction fluid, then waited for it to dry. Spill some on your hand and you would wear it for the next two days. Printing the bulletin on a mimeograph machine involved messy ink, alignment problems, paper jams, and folding machines. Electric typewriters were around, but expensive.

In the 1970s we got copiers–but nothing like the one in your church office today. These printed one copy at a time using a form made up of two pages, the back side which you peeled off and threw away, leaving you one good copy–which proceeded to curl up and turn yellow. The church bulletin was printed on an offset machine, usually by a commercial printing company in your town. And you mailed them out to the congregation on Thursday, expecting them to receive them by Saturday. They were addressed using metal plates and a huge machine called an addressograph. Ask any veteran secretary and watch her grimace.

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Today, I had coffee with a friend of many years whom I served on staff with a long time ago.  At one point, he mentioned a pastor he served under after I departed.  “As fine a preacher as he was,” said my friend, “he so hated conflict he would do anything to avoid it.”

At one point, said he, the pastor arranged to be out of town when my friend the staffer was going to be needing him to take a strong stand.

That pastor impressed a lot of people by his preaching and disappointed quite a few who had needed him to show some courage and take a stand.

Let’s talk about that.

Perhaps the nicest guy ever to occupy the White House lived there only six months. After his March 1881 inauguration, James A. Garfield, our 20th president, was assassinated by Charles Guiteau, described in history books as a disappointed office seeker. Garfield died in September of that year. As for Guiteau, what he was, in the words of Andy Taylor referring to Barney Fife, was a nut.

In Dark Horse: The Surprise Election and Political Murder of President James A. Garfield, Kenneth D. Ackerman penned the most readable account of an historical event you will ever find. Now, I’m a history student (history major in both college and seminary), so I’m accustomed to slogging through the most boring books in order to learn about someone from the distant past. This book, however, is a page turner, and I recommend it highly.

Garfield’s nemesis was Roscoe Conkling, an egotistical senator from New York. He was a dandy dresser who worked out to keep his body looking sharp in a day when to be stout was proof of a man’s success. Conkling was a ladies’ man who broke his marriage vows regularly, his wife’s heart deeply, and other people’s marriages thoughtlessly. The power behind the political machine controlling New York politics, nothing happened without Conkling’s say-so.

In those days, one of the most powerful appointments a president could make was the head of the U. S. Customs House in New York harbor. Almost all foreign shipments arrived in this country through that port, meaning this office collected untold millions of dollars in federal taxes. Thousands of people worked under the authority of the director, and in the days before civil service, New York City political bosses took care of their people by filling those lucrative positions.

Until Garfield, the head of that government bureau was always approved by the boss of New York politics, in this case Roscoe Conkling. This was the price the president paid for receiving the support of Conkling’s machine. In our day, this would be like the governor of Virginia being allowed to select the head of the CIA or the Secretary of Defense since their headquarters are located inside that state. Presidents regularly caved in to Conkling’s bullying tactics.

Repeatedly, Garfield’s attempted to get along with Conkling, to give him what he asked for, to satisfy his demands which seemed limitless, anything to avoid a showdown with the man. Reading this account, one keeps waiting for the president to show some backbone and stand up to this tyrant.

Eventually Garfield did.

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