The New Testament is clear that the model for the Lord’s people in this world is servanthood. The texts are numerous and so clear they leave no room for argument. We have the Lord Jesus washing the disciples’ feet and telling us to do likewise (John 13). We have His testimony that He is among us as One who serves (Luke 22:27) and He came not to be served but to serve (Matthew 20:28).

Jesus said, “He who would be great among you, let him be your servant” (Matthew 20:27).

In epistle after epistle, Paul identifies himself as the servant or even slave of Jesus.

But no text speaks as pointedly to our being servants–and how to do that well–as Luke 17:7-10.

But which of you, having a servant plowing or feeding cattle, will say to him when he comes in from the field, ‘Come straight in and sit down to your meal.’ Instead, you will tell him, ‘Get something ready for my supper; gird yourself and serve me till I have finished my dinner. And after that, you can have your own meal.’

And so with you. When you have done all the things commanded you, say to yourselves, ‘We are unprofitable servants. We have merely done our duty.’

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The host pastor welcomes me to the city and begins telling me about his church.

Half the time, the story is the same. The church is weak, they’re running behind the budget, they have a hard time finding enough workers, and the mood is generally poor. He’s been praying that the Lord would use me to spark a reversal of these conditions.

Sunday morning–our first service–I am struck by something at odds with what the pastor has told me. There are plenty of people there. The potential is all around us. But the problem is a great percentage of the people are not giving, not working, not doing anything but occupying a pew and serving as spectators and critics for what the pastor and the overworked few are doing.

This should not be.

God has so arranged matters in His churches that every believer has a job to do and a spiritual gift with which to accomplish it.

I like that statement so much, think I’ll repeat it: God has so arranged matters in His churches that every believer has a job to do and a spiritual gift with which to accomplish it.

So, what’s the problem? There is no one answer. For many, it’s their spiritual immaturity or ignorance or rebellion. For others, it’s laziness or the fact that no one has asked them to do a job or take a responsibility and they don’t know they can volunteer. And for a certain percentage, the problem is they do not know their spiritual gift, that inner proclivity toward doing a certain kind of ministry in the church which was implanted at the moment of their salvation.

The last one is our focus here: Those who do not know their spiritual gifts.

Notice that we are not defining spiritual gifts, not citing all those scriptures that speak of them, describe them, and name them. We’re doing one thing here–answering the question: how does one go about discovering his/her spiritual gift?

The answer is not what you think. In most churches I’ve pastored, the minister of education finds a test people can fill out to identify their spiritual gifts. My opinion–and that’s all it is–is that they have little or no value.

There is a better way. And it’s so much simpler.

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My friend David told me what happened. One thing I am sure of, there was a mighty embarrassed preacher (not Dave) in the church building that day.

Here’s the story in my words, not his.

Dave was pastoring a small church in a deep southern town while living in the nearest city. During the week, he worked at the health department.

One day, his church leadership requested that Dave get ordained. He passed this on to his home church pastor in the city.

The pastor said, “Dave, anyone in particular you want to preach your ordination?” Dave couldn’t think of anyone. “I’ll leave that to you,” he said.

The night of the big event, Dave entered the church sanctuary and spotted a colleague from the health department. As they exchanged greetings, the friend said, “Uh, Dave. Have you seen who’s preaching your service tonight?” He hadn’t.

As soon as he laid eyes on the featured preacher, Dave stood there in shock.

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Sometimes someone says something to you in the body of a letter than jumps out and grabs you by the throat and will not turn you loose. You have to do something and do it soon, otherwise it chokes the life out of you.

Here’s what happened this morning.

A friend whom I may have known many years ago but who is now active in my circle of Facebook friends sent a message concerning a difficult situation she was facing. Toward the end of the letter, as she made her case for straight-shooting from my direction, she said something I will not soon forget.

Pray for me if you like. Send me scripture if you like. Put me on a prayer chain if you want. But please don’t lie to me about God.”

She was not trying to be dramatic, only to convey how strongly she wanted to know the right answer. Even if it hurt, even if it went contrary to everything she was doing and believed. She wanted to know.

You have to respect that.

My impression is that so many of the inquiries we preachers get via the internet about doctrinal issues want us to confirm what they are already doing and seeking someone to endorse all they have previously believed.

Don’t lie to me about God. God help us not to do that.

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Tonight, a realization threw me out of the bed and drove me to my note pad. I was lying there in the post-midnight hour doing what we preachers do, going over my sermon for later this morning.

The sermon is a beginning message for a four-day revival meeting I’ll be preaching for the First Baptist Church of Crowville, Louisiana. This congregation runs 80 to 100 in attendance and is made up largely of farmers and their families. The pastor, Dr. Keith Dowden, and I had dinner tonight and prayed for the Lord to give me the messages and do something special in the hearts and lives of his people.

My text is the parable of the mustard seed, Matthew 13:31-32. It’s a strong insight that a lot of the people in our pews need to hear, that God loves to use small, ordinary things and churches and people and acts and offerings. The mustard seed is a reminder that what God begins to do may be unimpressive on the outside, ordinary to the human eye, and not big by any means. However, being God, He can do amazing things with small beginnings.

I love to encourage small congregations with the assurance Jonathan gave his armorbearer just before the two of them took on a nest of Philistine warriors. “It matters little to the Lord whether He saves by the few or the many.” (I Samuel 14:6)

I like the question the prophet Zechariah raised as he spoke of the rebuilding of an economical version of the Temple and the coming of a Messiah who would ride in on a colt and be pierced for our transgressions: “Who has despised the day of small things?” (Zech. 4:10)

The answer to that is: “We do.” We like big things, dramatic results, impressive crowds, celebrity guests.

However, that happens not to be God’s way. He loves to use the small and the ordinary.

That’s when it hit me that I’m praying all wrong about this revival.

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I was with you in weakness, in fear, and in much trembling. (I Corinthians 2:3)

For reasons I cannot explain, this line from the great apostle has lodged itself in my heart over the past few days. The more I reflect on it, the more I appreciate Paul’s admitting it.

In this and every other case where Paul mentions some kind of physical infirmity, we wish we had more information. Was he sick? Ailing? Still healing from previous beatings?

John MacArthur writes: Paul came to Corinth after being beaten and imprisoned in Philippi, run out of Thessalonica and Berea, and scoffed at in Athens, so he may have been physically weak. But in that weakness, he was most powerful. There were no theatrics or techniques to manipulate people’s response. His fear and shaking was because of the seriousness of his mission. (The MacArthur Study Bible)

I suppose we preachers are a lot like horses and mules and dogs: hit us often enough and we become “gun shy.” We want to stand and deliver with boldness and power, but we’re ready to duck.

Thank you, Paul, for telling us this. And if you will allow me, I will draw a few inferences from it that I find helpful to all of us who stand to proclaim God’s Word.

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One of the best ways to gauge your mental health is by what you do with the teachings of Scripture.

A few instances….

Jesus said, “Do not worry about tomorrow” (Matthew 6:34). Bad mental health takes that to mean that long range plans, insurance programs, and concerns about the future of one’s loved ones is sinful. Good mental health keeps it in the perspective of the entire Bible’s teachings on the subject.

Jesus said, “By their fruits you will know them” (Matthew 7:20). Bad mental health takes this as a license to inspect the lives and productivity of anyone claiming to follow Christ. Good mental health sees it in context, that one’s works will generally speaking tell the tale on who we really are.

Jesus said, “As you have believed, so let it be done for you” (Matthew 8:13). Bad mental health interprets this (and similar scriptures) as carte blanche promises that we get what we believe God for, and if we are not getting, it’s because we are not believing strongly enough. Good mental health knows that there is far more to this issue than some isolated scriptures or instances of the Lord’s healing.

The shooter in Tucson from a few weeks back provided one more lesson that we seem to keep getting in this country again and again: The person with poor mental health can look at anything and make it into something bad.

Three texts in I Corinthians impressed this upon me during my reading this morning.

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I do love a good story.

The only thing I love more is being the one telling it.

I’m clearly not alone in my devotion to the story. It forms the outline of every television soap opera, sitcom and cop show and most of the movies. It fells forests to supply paper for an unending outpouring of novels, all with a story to tell. It connects with people as nothing else does.

In “My Reading Life,” novelist Pat Conroy drops story upon story upon the reader, supplying me with more writing-or-sermon illustrations than any single book I’ve read in a year.

Last night, I came across Conroy’s tale of the time an agent for his publisher took him as a young, up-and-coming writer as he called on booksellers to market their latest line. On the third day out, the agent suddenly turned to Pat and said, “You’ve seen me do this. Now, let’s see if you’ve got what it takes…. We know you can write a book; now let’s see if you can sell one.”

Conroy was game. He gave it a try. Addressing the bookseller, he launched into the chatter he’d heard from the agent, making the case for each of the new works coming from the publisher. Then he came to his own book, “The Water is Wide.” He described it.

The store owner said, “Who gives a d–n?”

Conroy was stunned. The man said, “What should my readers care what happened to a bunch of black kids on an island no one’s ever heard of?”

Conroy said, “Well, the book is well written.”

But the owner was not swallowing that. “I don’t want to order a single copy of the book. It’s not for me. I can’t think of a soul who’d buy it.”

Conroy says, “I finished selling the list in a barely controlled rage…. By the time I left that bookstore, I was ready to whack the living daylights out of that smug, hostile bookseller who had taken such grotesque pleasure in my humiliation.”

Later, over dinner with the agent, he found out what had happened.

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