Last week, as we completed the fourth article in this series, I put on Facebook that we were yet to decide on the fifth IRS, and invited suggestions. They were–as you might expect–all over the map: love, humility, kindness, honesty, and so forth.

Those are all good ones. To be sure, there are NOT “five” interpersonal relationship skills which supersede all others in importance. There are more like five hundred. But, given the limitations of life and this blog, we settled on five.

Yesterday, in a conversation with my pastor, Dr. Mike Miller (Kenner LA’s First Baptist Church), I realized what the fifth one should be: vulnerability.

I’ll tell you why in a second. It’s the story Mike was relating to me, something embarrassing that happened to him not long ago. But first, let’s see if we can find a workable definition for vulnerability.

To be vulnerable is to open yourself to be wounded. Going into battle without proper armor, you are vulnerable. Walking into a lion’s den–think of Daniel–with no visible protection but God, and Him invisible at that and given to not telling us everything He has in mind for a given situation, you are being vulnerable. Standing in the pulpit of a church on Sunday morning, admitting to your error, your humanity, your weakness, your own sense of deep need, you are making yourself vulnerable. You are putting yourself in a position where you can be criticized, opposed, attacked.

I say to you that vulnerability is one of the greatest assets (skills, strengths) one can bring to relationships with other people.

To be vulnerable, then, would mean an openness, an honesty, a lack of hypocrisy or pretense. These qualities are standard equipment in all believers, but particularly in those called as shepherds of the Lord’s flock.

Okay, here’s Mike’s story. He gave me permission to share it.

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Pastor John came by my office a few minutes ago to visit. Since I’ve been retired for over two years as the local SBC “Director of Missions” (for non-Baptists, that’s our title for the leader/servant of pastors/churches in a given area called an “association”), this was John’s first visit, and a complete surprise.

He handed me an envelope, saying, “It’s just a little ‘thank-you’ note.” I said, “For what?” He said, “Read it later.”

What he had written caught me completely by surprise.

Thank you for your leadership during the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. (That was late 2005, over 6 years ago.) Thank you for your awareness of the association’s need for new vision. The idea for a new associational vision was birthed in your heart, and you took action by laying the foundation for years to come. For that, I say ‘thank you.’

I share this with you because it hits precisely the theme I’ve been working on in my mind all day: One of the primary interpersonal relationship skills for pastors is gratitude. The very quality Pastor John exhibited this very day.

Would you like to hear of the times I have helped pastors–speaking in their churches, doing art projects for them, counseling them through tough situations–and never received so much as a ‘thank you’ from them?

Well, you’re not.

I do not have such a list.

A roll of those owing us thanks is one nobody should keep. It’s a sure recipe for resentment and frustration. Better to do a favor, then go on to the next assignment than stick around and wait for gratitude.

We would do better to keep a list of people to whom we are indebted.

Today, as I scanned over my e-mail in-box, I saw names of pastors and associate pastors who have had me in their churches over the past few months. With this subject on my heart, I began wondering whether I had adequately thanked them for the privilege of serving in their churches, for their hospitality, and for the opportunity to know their people.

So, I sent quite a number of emails. Thank-you notes. Similar to Pastor John’s note to me.

Now, John’s note was store-bought and hand-written and personally delivered–how rare is that!–whereas the ones I sent today were e-mailed. We could make an issue of that.

But let’s not. This is about gratitude.

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“Preacher,” said the fellow at the door shaking the pastor’s hand, “You ought to loosen up. Learn to laugh at yourself. We do.”

It’s a wise preacher who knows how to laugh at himself. And a sad one who doesn’t.

Few skills a minister possesses will get him through troubled waters like a great sense of humor: the ability to laugh at things that would otherwise have destroyed him, the gift of seeing the humorous in any circumstance, a love for oddities and incongruities in every situation, the enjoyment of life itself.

Did our Lord have a sense of humor? Without a doubt. I refer you to Elton Trueblood’s classic, The Humor of Christ.

Baton Rouge’s Bob Anderson told us in seminary one day, “We know Jesus was a happy person because children loved Him. And little children do not like to be around an unhappy person.”

That’s good enough for me.

Although, if you are like me, you’d be more convinced if somewhere along Galilee’s dusty trails, the Lord Jesus had turned to the disciples and said, “Stop me if you’ve heard this one….”

I’d like it if the Apostle Paul had dropped in a tale of something funny that happened on the road to Ephesus to illustrate a point. That he didn’t doesn’t bother me, but still, I wish he had.

I apologize in advance for what follows….

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Today, I picked up the phone and called the service number for my gasoline credit card. The last few times I’ve used it, “see attendant inside” came up on the screen. And the last time, the clerk inside said, “This card has been canceled, sir.”

The only thing I could figure is that since I pay the card off each month, they’re not making any money off me and decided to cut me free. But, I thought, let’s find out. So I dialed the number.

“Sir, we show a security hold put on the card. Just a minute and I’ll connect you with someone in security.”

A moment later, a lady with a heavy foreign accent came on. Direct from Calcutta, I imagine. “Sir,” she said, “the computer froze your account because it shows you purchased gasoline from a Shell station you don’t usually use.” I said, “Which one?”

She said, “The one on Jefferson Highway in Harahan, Louisiana.” I said, “Ma’am, that’s the one closest to my house. It’s the main one I use.”

She had no idea why, she said, and promised to activate the card immediately.

I said, “But are you telling me every time I use a station I don’t usually frequent, it’s going to stop the account? Because I travel a lot. I logged nearly 3,000 miles in the last two weeks.”

She said, “And did you use this card?” I said, “No. You had frozen it.”

“Well, I’m sorry, sir. The computer blah blah blah.”

I was not aggressive, on the one hand, or passive on the other.

I was assertive.

Assertiveness is a good skill to have to function in this world. It means to (ahem) assert yourself, to express what you are feeling, to inform the people around you of something important to you even if it makes them unhappy.

Have you ever seen a non-assertive pastor? They’re fun to observe, if you like disaster movies and car crashes.

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Yesterday, the judge in the Dr. Conrad Murray trial–he was Michael Jackson’s physician and is on trial for killing him–gave a witness a lesson in interpersonal relationship skills.

Turned away from the spectators, the judge addressed a woman in the witness chair. He said: “Now, Ma’am, you are to listen to the full question before you answer. I know when we have conversations with people, we often think we know what they are about to say, and sometimes we answer before they finish. You cannot do that here. Listen to the full question before you respond.

“Then, when you respond, you must not simply nod your head or say ‘Uh huh’ or ‘huh uh.’ You must answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to the questions.

The judge looked at her sternly and said, “Do you understand this, Ma’am?”

“Yes sir.”

A pity we can’t send some friends we know into that courtroom and have the judge instruct them.

A pity someone didn’t send me to that judge a long time ago. Those lessons are vital, not only to courtroom procedure, but to functioning well in our daily lives.

If there is one thing I excel in–and that’s debatable–this is not it. I have always been a better talker than listener. And that, for one called by God to minister to His sheep, is a major failing.

If the work a pastor does from the pulpit on Sunday can be likened to a doctor’s prescribing, then only by listening during the week can he properly diagnose.

Have you ever gone to a doctor who would not listen, but insisted that he knew what you needed before you opened your mouth? If so, you changed physicians in a hurry.

Why do we preachers think listening to our people–to anyone we are trying to help–is of little importance? The skill of listening is one of the rarest of qualities in ministers, but when you find it, you know you have found a jewel of a minister.

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What is the number one complaint I hear from church members about their pastors?

Brother Joe, what do you suggest be done about a lazy preacher? Our pastor preaches two times a week, and is trying to turn the Sunday night sermon over to someone else. He’s quit doing Wednesday night church, and he refuses to hold staff meetings. We ask him to make a visit to someone and he may or may not do it. No one seems to know what he does with his time.

My suggestion in every case is the same: Each pastor needs an accountability group. Without one, you are asking for trouble. An “accountability group” is two or three or more laymen who meet with him from time to time–not weekly, and maybe not even monthly, but definitely more than annually; perhaps quarterly–as his sounding board, to hear his needs and concerns, and to let him know if there are problems.

Without some kind of mechanism to make his needs known and to hear from the congregation, both the pastor and the members will grow increasingly frustrated until something bad happens: an explosion from one side or the other or both.

As one who is pro-pastor in most disputes shared with me, I reluctantly admit that there are lazy pastors in the ministry. But hopefully, not for long. Either they will be helped by that responsible group of laymen who will build a fire under them, or they will be out of work and looking for another job.

Before addressing the issue with 5 things the lazy pastor does not know, but is about to find out, let’s admit the obvious here: just because someone says he’s lazy does not make it so. Perhaps he does his work at unusual times, there may be extenuating circumstances, and so forth. I once knew a pastor who, for reasons I’ve long since forgotten, slept all day and worked all night. Really. Pastor Dan Scott of First Baptist Church of Fort Oglethorpe, Georgia. A great guy. And if there was dissatisfaction–after the congregation made adjustments in their expectations!–I never heard it.

All right then. Here is my list.

The lazy pastor is about to find out….

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The phone call last night was unnerving.

“Brother Joe,” the young pastor on the other end said, “the deacons voted to ask for my resignation.” They had met that night.

“They’ve given me 30 days to get out of the pastor’s residence.” They had also voted 2 months’ salary. And, if he plays along nicely, nothing will ever be said about his having been terminated.

I said, “Did they give a reason?”

“The chairman asked, ‘Do you have confidence in the pastor’s leadership?’ All six of them said they didn’t. So that sealed it.”

Granted, all I have is one side of this discussion. And I know from long experience with this young pastor he is not perfect. In fact, he told me of difficulties in administration he had experienced that may have brought this on.

But I know also that this pastor is a godly man of great integrity, that he works hard at his preaching, and that he has a servant heart. One could do a lot worse than have such a shepherd, particularly a small town church such as the one in question.

Having had 18 hours to reflect on this situation, and from a half century of observing similar dealings from church leaders, I would like to say a few things to these deacons as well as to other church leaders who are contemplating asking their pastor for his resignation.

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I’m a veteran.

A veteran minister. I received the call to preach in April of 1961, which means we have recently passed the half-century mark for that anniversary. I began pastoring in November of 1962, and was ordained on December 2. I served 6 churches as pastor for 39 years and one as a staff minister for 3. Does this qualify me as a veteran?

“Veteran,” at least to me, is a better term than what originally came to mind: “old.”

I’m not nearly through preaching, although, best as I can tell, I’ve pastored my last church. And that’s just fine. I do not miss the day-to-day grind of the pastoral ministry at all. If I never attend another deacons meeting, never preside over a monthly church business meeting, and never sit in on a finance committee meeting, it will suit me just fine. The preaching part, I love.

So, as the Lord wills and host pastors continue to issue invitations, I’ll keep preaching wherever He sends me.

The other thing we retired veterans do–in addition to trying to stay active and useful–is to look back and rethink what we did. We reflect on what we wish we had done. Not, hopefully, in a morbid sense. No one wants to do an autopsy on himself, to second-guess every decision he ever made. To do so would fill today with all of yesterday’s pains.

But there is value to thinking of the ministry behind. And wondering what we could have done better.

For the purposes of this article, let’s not make this a Joe-confessional. Let’s raise the question and confine ourselves to: what sermons most of us veterans wish we had done differently “way back when.”

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I’m pro-pastor, but I’m not blind.

These men (in our denomination, pastors are men) are called of God and assigned some of the most difficult work in the universe, and for the most part they labor well and long and you never hear a complaint out of them. They are my heroes.

Most of them.

The typical pastor in our denomination serves a church running 100 or fewer in attendance, which tells you the offerings are insufficient to provide much of a living for him. In some cases he holds down a second job or his wife works. Or both. Or, most amazing of all, he manages to live on what they pay him.

I believe in these guys. They are my brothers and my admiration of them knows no bounds.

Most of them.

But there are times when some of these ministers do the most self-defeating things. Not all of them, thankfully. But enough to warrant our addressing the issue as a caution to the rest of the Lord’s stable of shepherds.

Here is my personal list of the 5 most frustrating things pastors do.

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