I dropped by the governor’s office before leaving town. He was a member of the church I’d been serving, and now that I had been called to another pastorate several hours away, I wanted to thank him for his encouragement and ask for an autographed picture. He was more than accommodating and effusive in his praise of my work.

Pulling out a poster-sized photo, the governor picked up a magic marker and wrote across the bottom, “To Joe McKeever–the greatest preacher in the world!” I thanked him and slipped out.

In the hallway, I bumped into an old friend who worked for the governor. I showed him the poster and said, “I can’t hang that in my office! It’s too ‘over the top.'” He smiled and said, “Joe, he does that for every person who walks in the office. But the people who work for him are dying for a word of appreciation from him.”

I’ve never forgotten that lesson.

From somewhere in the distant past, I recall hearing of a concert organist who was putting on a show at an outdoor gathering. He was using an old-fashioned organ, the kind powered by a kid standing behind the curtain working the bellows. The little boy would pump furiously while the musician sat out front and stroked the keys and wonderful music would miraculously fill the air. After each number, the organist would stand and acknowledge the applause, take his bows, and then announce, “For my next number, I’d like to play….” That went on for a while, when suddenly when he sat down and began to play the next piece, no sound came out. He walked around behind the curtain to see if the boy was all right. “What’s wrong?” he asked. The kid said, “Actually, nothing’s wrong. But next time, sir, let’s put a little more ‘we’ into it.”

Great advice for anyone whose work depends on the faithful labors and support of other people. And who among us does that not include? The coach depends on his assistants, the field crew, the publicity team, the ticket sellers, the equipment managers, the financial office, his wife, his personal office staff, and of course, the players. A pastor depends on his wife and family, the other ministers, the custodial team, the office staff, the nursery workers, choir members, ushers, printers, electricians, sound technicians, and the prayer warriors—and that’s just for starters.

I’ll never forget the time my colleague Tom Warrington and I drove to a state park in North Mississippi to talk to the ranger about our bringing the youth of our church there for a retreat. We spent an hour with that young man and heard every detail about the park’s facilities and accommodations. After these many years, the single lasting memory I have of that conversation is the way the ranger overused the first person singular pronoun. “I do this at my park,” “I insist that my people do thus-and-so.” It was “me this” and “my that.” “My people” and “my methods.”

Just listening to him, all the bells were going off inside me. I felt like saying, “You are not a one-man show, friend. If you don’t wise up fast, the staff at this park will team up to show you just how dependent you are on them!”

What the ranger was doing is a classic illustration of immaturity. Which is another way of saying the young man was ignorant of a) how much he depended on others and b) how important it was that he show his appreciation for their service. I guarantee you if he stays in that line of work, he’ll learn. One way or the other–by his smarting up or by the employees rising up–he’ll learn.

Perry Robinson told me, “My pet peeve about pastors is the way they refer to their staff as ‘my’ minister of music, and ‘my’ minister of youth.” I had just arrived as the very-young pastor of the large church where Perry served. I said, “Okay, friend, help me out here. What should we say?” He said, “Just say ‘our minister of music.'” I said, “Great suggestion. Thank you.” So simple. And so right. I have benefited all these years from a staffer who was willing to offer his pastor some good advice.

Bible students recall an insight from the life of King David that makes our point. While David and his warriors were off sparring with various armies, the Amalekites swooped down upon the town of Ziklag where the wives and families of David and his men were living. They kidnapped the people and burned the town. By the time David arrived with his 600 warriors, everyone was long gone.

The young future-king was furious and led his men in an angry chase after the bad guys. Soon they came to a creek which 200 of his men were too exhausted to ford. That’s when David made a decision. These men would remain behind and watch over the excess baggage of the other 400 warriors, thus lightening their load so they could travel faster.

Eventually, the army caught the scoundrels and made short work of them. They were reunited with their families and recovered all the treasures the Amalekites has amassed on their raids.

When the victorious soldiers arrived back at the creek to rejoin their resting colleagues, a dispute broke out. The 400 did not want to share the spoils with the 200 who had stayed behind. David settled this matter quickly, and in so doing, established a rule that is frequently quoted to this day. “As his share who goes down to battle, so his share who stays by the stuff.” (I Samuel 30:24)

Legendary football coach and motivational speaker Lou Holtz enjoys telling a story to make the point that the support staff can make you or break you. He flew into Chicago in the middle of the night and took a taxi to the hotel where he was to speak the next day. He walked into the deserted lobby and rang the desk bell for several minutes before a sleepy-eyed clerk dragged himself out of the back. “No rooms,” he called out.

Holtz said, “Sir, I have a guaranteed reservation for this hotel.” The man had obviously just awakened and was in a foul mood. “Maybe you didn’t hear me,” he said. “I said we have no rooms.”

Holtz said, “I have a confirmation here that assures me you will provide a room for me.” The clerk said, “I don’t care what you have. I have the keys and I say you’re not getting a room in this hotel tonight!”

Coach Holtz saw there was no point in arguing with the man. He picked up his bags and walked out the front door into the cold, dark Chicago night with two things on his mind: One, how to find a room in the middle of the night in Chicago, and Two, never again for the rest of his life to miss a chance to slam the Chicago-O’Hare Hilton Hotel.

Audiences laugh when Holtz tells that story. However, that desk clerk is the nightmare of every hotel owner and manager on the planet. He’s not the highest paid employee, but in many respects he is the most important. He is always the first, often the last, and sometimes the only hotel employee which guests deal with when they walk into that establishment. He can make or break a business. A wise owner will make sure the best people are chosen for the front desk, that they are given the highest training possible, and receive a generous wage.

Let the pastor know the names of all the custodial workers and call them by name. Let him honor the ushers and make sure they are properly trained and deeply appreciated. Let him set the example for all the ministers by refusing to allow a hierarchy among the staff. Everyone is a servant. Everyone is someone. No one is self-sufficient. The entire machinery depends on the faithful work of the newest employee.

Randy was a custodian in our church. He usually wore a long beard and had such an attitude problem that we finally assigned him to keeping the sanctuary so he could work in that part of the building without having to deal with people. I knew him better than anyone else for a lot of reasons–and no doubt was the only reason he continued to enjoy employment in our church–and one day, wrote a column in the church bulletin about him. My object was to help others to know him and be more understanding of his ways. One day, a year or more after writing the article, I opened a closet in the sanctuary–the room where Randy stored his supplies–and there was that article taped to the back of the door. He had kept it all this time.

The only thing I recall from my Psychology 201 class at Birmingham-Southern College in the fall of 1959–I mean, the only thing!–is that in an experiment in a factory, the boss went into a back corner where an obscure worker was laboring and changed the light bulb. That’s all he did. The bulb was working just fine, but the boss changed it. Immediately, the manager of that division saw a measurable upswing in the productivity of that employee.

Immediately after winning an award as the NFL player of the year, a famous running back did something unusual. He took his offensive linemen out to dinner and honored them. No running back can score touchdowns and make huge gains on the football field without great athletes in front of him, blocking and running interference. He will get the headlines, but if he’s smart, he will value and appreciate them and pray for their well-being.