No Matter What You Do, Be a Teacher

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“The things which you have heard from me in the presence of many witnesses, these entrust to faithful men, who will be able to teach others also.” (II Timothy 2:2)

Every teacher who is truly effective became a teacher because of the influence of a highly effective teacher.

You can’t say that about preachers. Preachers are called by God. (Teachers can be also, but it’s not a requirement as it is with preaching.)

In seminary, we debated an entire class period the difference in preaching and teaching. Nothing was ever settled, but doing so forever burned the question in the minds and hearts of the lot of us. This morning I went online to pursue the issue. The internet has many powerful voices, each with the definitive answer.

Here’s mine. To preach is to announce the truth of God’s revelation in all its dimensions. To teach is to individualize truth and assist people in their development.  Preachers are messengers; teachers are mentors.

It’s not that clear cut, I can hear someone say. Fine. Give us yours. But this one suffices for me at the moment.

Brad Meltzer is a highly successful novelist. In “Parade” magazine for Sunday, September 30, 2012, he paid tribute to the “World’s Greatest Teacher.”  (Nowhere in the article does Meltzer make that grandiose a claim about Sheila Spicer, his ninth grade teacher. Perhaps this is a series the magazine is running.)

Meltzer writes, “The teacher who changed my life didn’t do it by encouraging her students to stand on their desks, like John Keating in Dead Poets Society.  Or by toting a baseball bat through the halls, like Principal Clark in Lean on Me. She did it in a much simpler way: by telling me I was good at something.”

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Immature Pastors (Part 2)

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Immaturity and sin have one big thing in common: they’re more obvious in others than in ourselves.

At a state Baptist convention attended by a thousand or more church leaders, during a business session when anyone is free to walk to a microphone and express an opinion about the motion on the floor, I noticed the same young pastors kept rushing to address the messengers. At times what they said was pertinent, but one got the feeling they liked the sound of their own voice reverberating off the walls of that majestic worship center.

Returning home, I wrote a letter to the editor of our state paper–in hope that some of these guys might recognize themselves–suggesting that these youngsters could save themselves a lot of embarrassment and the rest of us considerable time if they would attend a few meetings before speaking out. That way, they might know what they were talking about instead of having the chair gently inform them that they were misinformed or out of order or clueless on this issue.  (In the next issue of the paper, the mother of two young preachers took me to task for my insolence. “McKeever was young once,” she said. I was then 44.)

I have indeed been young and I have been green and ignorant, and I possess lots of experience with immaturity.

In my first church following seminary, I can still recall (painfully, I might add) the way I was critical of one of our state convention workers who would plan the annual youth evangelism meeting a few days after Christmas.  Since my church was doing well and our youth were excited and the numbers growing, all the evidence proved I was an authority on working with youth. To my thinking, it did. I could have written a book on what that guy was doing wrong and how he could get it right.

And then, something happened.

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Help! Our Pastor is Immature!

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“Let no one look down on your youthfulness, but rather in speech, conduct, love, faith and purity, show yourself an example of those who believe” (I Timothy 4:12).

Recently after one of our writings on the subject of spiritual immaturity, a young friend in the ministry wrote to tell of a painful experience he’d had with a longtime buddy who was pastoring a church. I’ll summarize his story.

After his team lost in the Super Bowl, Pastor Kent went to his Facebook page and slammed the winning team. He griped about the city, its people, its reputation, and said every bad thing he could think to say. He was an unhappy camper.

His friend, telling the story–we’ll call him Tommy–sent him a private note to say it was not very gracious for a pastor to be speaking that way just because his team had lost. Perhaps Kent would like to soften his words somewhat.

Pastor Ken responded harshly, insisting he had been joking and that he was offended at being reprimanded in public this way.

Since they were longtime friends and he felt he could speak plainly, Tommy pointed out that he had not rebuked him in public but this was a private communication. He added that the city whose team had just won the championship had undergone some very difficult times lately and this victory had given them a much needed lift, that sort of thing.

That day, Kent cut off all further communication with Tommy and  “unfriended” him and his family on Facebook. They’ve had no contact since.

The experience hurt Tommy. He told me, “I really miss my old friend.”

An immature pastor can be a problem for all who know him.

Pray for his church. Pray God will give the church a few mature leaders who can speak plainly with him (that’s a euphemism for “take him to the woodshed when necessary”). He will be lost without such friends.

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The Funeral Surprise

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All right, here’s what happened.

I never did know for sure which team Mack was for.  All I know is the one he hated: ours.  He missed no opportunity to slam our players and coaches and me for supporting them.

This made little sense, seeing as how Mack was a native of this area.  But when I wore  a shirt sporting our team emblem, if he was in the yard–did I say we were next-door neighbors?–Mack would make a derogatory remark.  Sometimes he would unloose a stream of profanity and more than once called the owner a scoundrel.

Now, I can understand neutrality about a team one doesn’t care for, but hostility? That one escapes me. Mack was most definitely not neutral. He hates us.

One time when we were talking over the backyard fence about something or other, I told Mack I had met his sister the other day and what a nice person she seemed to be. This set him off again. He informed me that she had been a cheerleader at one time for our team, and he thought she was a fool. He cursed her, cursed the team, and said the fans were idiots.

When Mack opposed something, he took no prisoners and left no one in doubt where he stood.

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How I overcame the fear of public speaking and learned to love it.

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Good title, right?

Now a confession. I was never afraid to stand in front of a group and speak. Not ever. In fact, quite the opposite.

As a fourth grader in our little West Virginia schoolhouse, teacher Margaret Meadows would periodically invite class members who had read an interesting story to stand and share it. I recall Violet Garten (love that name!) was so good at it. But when she called on me (I’m the guy frantically waving my hand) and I walked to the front of the class, I broke the rules.

I did not relate a story I had read somewhere.

I made one up on the spot.

That is serious something or other, I don’t know what. Was it a love for being the center of attention? Self-confidence on steroids? Not given to introspection, I’ve never tried to answer that, but I am confident that little snapshot reveals a world of insight on the man I became. Positive and negative.

In high school, one of the requirements for presidents of local chapters of the FFA (Future Farmers of America) was that we be able to address an audience of our members for a full 30 minutes.  I don’t recall actually doing that, but addressing audiences 30 minutes at a clip would end up describing my life. I’m a Southern Baptist preacher, you understand. As of this December 2, I will have logged a full half-century of preaching.

When friends tell me they hate public speaking with a dread, that they would rather take a whipping than stand in front of a group and speak about anything, I’m speechless and cannot begin to identify.  So, yesterday I did something.

I asked my Facebook friends who dislike public speaking to tell us why.

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You Are Not the Judge of Your Own Work

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Two scriptures need to be up front….

“Sow your seed in the morning, and do not be idle in the evening; for you do not know whether morning or evening sowing will succeed, or whether both of them alike will be good.” (Ecclesiastes 11:6)

“And let us not lose heart in doing good, for in due time we shall reap if we do not grow weary.” (Galatians 6:9)

Half the ministers I know are sitting in judgment on their own work. And it’s not looking good for them.

They decide the Kingdom work is not going very well, feel guilty because they are so ineffective, and grow discouraged. Instead of giving their all day in and day out over a long life of service and obedience, they turn inward, give less and less of themselves, while the visible results they so long for become more and more scarce.

Stop it.

You’re not the judge, just a worker in the field of the Lord.

Now, get back out there and trust that the Lord knows what He was doing when He assigned you to this corner of the Kingdom.

Jeff Christopherson could tell you.  In an article “Re-defining success,” published in the Fall 2012 edition of “On Mission” (pastors’ edition),  the publication of Southern Baptists’ North American Mission Board, Jeff talks about something that happened to his father Allan.

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We are God’s handicrafts. His artwork, even.

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“For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.” (Ephesians 2:10)

Think of the Creator as a Master Artist. A Craftsman superior to all others. Can anyone doubt that He is?

Look at the incredible, mind-boggling beauty across the universe. Look in the distance at the stars and galaxies. The Hubble telescope has revealed such stunning visuals which up until now, only the Heavenly Host saw and enjoyed.

David reveled in the tiny portion which his eyes could take in: “When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have ordained, what is man that you are mindful of him?” (Ps. 8:7-8)

Look nearer home, at the planets and our own Earth. Travel the Earth and take in visuals delights like–naming some of my favorites here–the Rockies, the Smokies, the Western plains, the sugary beaches of the Gulf Coast, the Painted Desert, New England in Autumn, and San Francisco from a distance. And yes, the Holy Land, Egypt, the Italian peninsula, and Ireland. The variety is endless, the majesty awesome.

Closer still, look at the jaw-dropping beauty ot a child’s face, the stunning perfection of a winter rose, a closeup of an opal, and the heart-stopping thrill of a double rainbow after a storm.

Those whose work confines them to the laboratory see God’s handiwork under a microscope. The professor sees it in the mathematical precision by which the universe functions. The historian sees God’s hand in the movements of men and nations through the centuries. Those in the medical field see God in the healings that occur under their watchcare each day.

God, the Artist.  He is the Original Originator, the One whose craft the rest of us imitate and copy and admire.

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What Revival Does (A Plethora of Metaphors)

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“Let us know, let us pursue the knowledge of the Lord…. He will come to us like the rain, like the latter and former rain to the earth.” (Hosea 6:3)

A revival of God’s people is like a rainy season when Heaven’s blessings are poured out upon a dry and thirsty land. So said the Prophet Hosea nearly 3,000 years ago.  Nothing has happened since to challenge that image.

The result of such an outpouring of “spiritual rain” is new growth and a bountiful harvest.

As a teenager on our Alabama farm, one Spring I saw what abundant rain can do. We had planted string beans in the bottomland alongside a creek called Bunkum. This was rich soil, made all the more productive by the occasional overflow of the stream. No sooner had the seeds sprouted than several weeks of heavy rain followed. When we were finally able to get back into the bottoms, the weeds were almost waist high, but the green beans were incredible. I could reach under a plant and could not wrap my hand around all the beans. That’s what rains can do for a crop.

Hymnwriter Daniel Whittle liked this image. “There shall be showers of blessings,” he sang. “Mercy drops round us are falling; but for the showers we plead.”

Scripture abounds with metaphors for revival.

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Top Ten Thanksgiving Texts

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Giving thanks is such a beneficial activity, Scripture is saturated with reminders and encouragements and admonitions and enticements.  It is good to give thanks–to one another, yes, but in particular to the One who is the Source of it all: The Living God.

“It is good to give thanks to the Lord….”(Psalm 92:1)

We’re coming up on the Thanksgiving season, everyone’s favorite time of the year.

Wonder why we even have such a season, though.  One would think giving thanks would be like taking the next breath: something we do automatically, constantly, naturally, without needing to be prodded.

I’m reluctant to say what follows, for the simple reason that I make myself vulnerable to someone saying I’ve done the same thing. But here goes….

I have  occasionally knocked myself out for a pastor or a church or a religious group, and gone to great lengths to serve them–sometimes buying a passport and doing the multitude of things one has to do to travel internationally or driving a long distance and enduring the interstates for hundreds of miles–only to return home and never hear  a word from them again. Not a note, an email, phone call, nothing. I would assume they thought the check they handed me said everything that needed saying.

It didn’t.  In no way was my work with them a commercial transaction. We did not sign a contract.

This is a ministry. And a faith one at that.

I simply wonder why some people–not all, thankfully–cannot go to the trouble of saying “thank you; good job.”

Now, if I were insecure, I would obsess about the shouted silence from those who invited and hosted me, then sent me on my way with a check and not a word since. I would lie awake at night wondering if I failed them in some way, if they were unhappy with what I did, if their silence speaks volumes about their negative feelings.

I would, but I don’t.

Where’s the point in that?

Do you suppose God in Heaven lies awake at night wondering if He has failed you and me in some way, since He never hears a word of thanks or appreciation from our direction?

We know the answer to that one, don’t we?

God does not need anything from us. He said, “If I were hungry, I would not ask you. The cattle on a thousand hills are mine” (Psalm 50:12,10).

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