Solitary conceit: “I can do this by myself! I don’t need help.” (Famous last words)

C. S. Lewis was fielding questions from his audience. Someone asked how important church attendance and membership are to living a successful Christian life. From his book “God in the Dock,” his answer:

My own experience is that when I first became a Christian, about 14 years ago, I thought that I could do it on my own, by retiring to my rooms and reading theology, and I wouldn’t go to the churches and Gospel Halls; and then later I found that it was the only way of flying your flag; and of course, I found this meant being a target.

It is extraordinary how inconvenient to your family it becomes for you to get up early to go to church. It doesn’t matter so much if you get up early for anything else, but if you get up early to go to church it’s very selfish of you and you upset the house.

If there is anything in the teaching of the New Testament which is in the nature of a command, it is that you are obliged to take the Sacrament (John 6:53-54), and you can’t do it without going to church. I disliked very much their hymns, which I considered to be fifth-rate poems set to sixth-rate music. But as I went on I saw the great merit of it.

I came up against different people of quite different outlooks and different education, and then gradually my conceit just began peeling off. I realized that the hymns (which were just sixth-rate music) were, nevertheless, being sung with devotion and benefit by an old saint in elastic-side boots in the opposite pew, and then you realize that you aren’t worthy to clean those boots.

It gets you out of your solitary conceit. It is not for me to lay down laws, as I am only a layman, and I don’t know much.

Yeah, right. C. S. Lewis doesn’t know much. Oh, that I knew as little as he.

Solitary conceit. That one has snagged my attention and will not turn me loose. I see it in Christians who stand aloof from church attendance, in pastors who will not associate with other ministers, and in myself.

The Christian who stands aloof from identifying with a specific church suffers from solitary conceit.

“The churches today just don’t meet my need.” “They aren’t as warm and welcoming as churches ought to be.” “I find I can worship better at home with my Bible sitting in front of a blazing fire in the fireplace with a cup of spice tea at hand.”

Then you are smarter than God.

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No place for Crybabies: The pastorate

It comes as a surprise to few people that pastoring a church can be extremely hard work. Rewarding, yes. Fulfilling, challenging, and blessed. But there are times when it taxes the child of God to the core of his being, when it tests his sanity, and drives him to question everything he ever believed about the faith he is proclaiming and the people he is serving.

Only the strong need apply.

They used to say that only the hardiest of stock settled the early American west. “The cowards never started and the weak died along the way.”

There’s something about that which fits the ministry.

Watching a football game on television, I noticed the quarterback had an ankle injury.  Yet, he was making every effort to play on in spite of it. The commentators were impressed: Isn’t Big Ben great! He doesn’t give in to a little injury. He knows how to play hurt!

Playing hurt.

I’ve played hurt. You too, pastor? In fact, every pastor who stays in the Lord’s work for any period of time sooner or later will “play hurt.” He will have a serious burden or strong opposition or major trial or some kind of massive handicap which would destroy a lesser individual (“a career-ending injury” it’s called in sports), but he still stands in the pulpit preaching, still goes to the office, still leads the congregation.

I hear from pastors and/or their wives with similar stories of great upheavals in their ministries. A recent letter said, “I perceive that you too have had troubles and trials in your life. That’s why I decided to write you.”

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Broken Pastor, Broken Church

This is our account of the most difficult three years in our lives, as we pastored a divided church in North Carolina. The article ran in the Winter 2001 issue of “Leadership Journal,” a publication of Christianity Today.  At the conclusion, check out the postscripts.

How could I lead a congregation that was as hurt as I was?

My calendar for the summer and beyond was blank. I usually planned my preaching schedule for a full year, but beyond the second Sunday in June–nothing. I had no ideas. I sensed no leading from the Spirit. But it was only January, so I decided to try again in a couple of months. Again, nothing. By then, I suspected the Lord was up to something.

A member of my church had told me the year before, “Don’t die in this town.” I knew what she meant. She didn’t envision Columbus as the peak of my ministry. Columbus was a county-seat town with three universities nearby, and, for Mississippi, cosmopolitan. I felt Columbus, First Baptist, and I were a good match. The church grew. We were comfortable together. My family was settled. Our sons and daughter had completed most of their schooling, and after twelve years, they called Columbus home. My wife, Margaret, and I had weathered a few squalls, but life was good–a little quiet, perhaps even stagnant, but good.

And suddenly I could hear the clock ticking. Did God have something more for me?

First Baptist Church of Charlotte, North Carolina, called in March. I ended my ministry at Columbus the second Sunday of June and began in Charlotte one month later.

After I’d been in Charlotte about a month, the man who chaired their search committee phoned. “I have some people I want you to talk with,” he told me. He picked me up and drove me to the impressive home of one of our members. In the living room were a dozen men, all leaders in the church and in the city. Another man appeared in charge.

“We want to offer you some guidance in pastoring the church,” he said. “There are several issues we feel are important, and we want you to know where we stand.” He outlined their position on the battle between conservatives and moderates for control of our denomination and on the role of women in the church. He wanted women elected as deacons, one item in a full slate of changes he wanted made at the church.

Charlotte’s web

I was beginning to see what I had been told: a handful of very strong lay people had called the shots for more than two decades, and this was part of their plan.

My immediate predecessor had run afoul of this little group and after three tough years had moved to another church of his own accord. The pastor before him had stayed over 20 years.

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Should we encourage the pastor? Yes, let’s!

You are a member of the Lord’s church and you support your pastor, right?  Okay. I have a suggestion.

Write him a letter.

Handwrite it. Make it two pages, no more. Make it positive and uplifting.

And when you do, I can tell you several things that are true of that letter once it arrives at the pastor’s desk….

It will be a rarity. He gets very little first class mail these days. Everything is done by computers.

—He will keep the letter for a long time.

It will bless him (and possibly his family) for years to come, particularly when they come across it years from now.

Case in point. While perusing my journal of the 1990s, I ran across a letter from Christy dated July 15, 1997. Here is what this young lady–perhaps a high school senior–wrote to her preacher.

Dear Brother Joe,

I’ve been saying for some time that I was going to write my pastor a letter of encouragement. So here you go. Do you feel encouraged yet?

You really do a good job in passing on God’s Word to us. Would you like to hear some good news?

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10 things pastors can do to save their sanity

Alternate titles for this might be: Ways to Prevent Burnout.  Or, How to Pastor the Saints Without Losing Your Religion.  How to Mind God’s Work Without Losing Yours.  How to Enter the Ministry Rejoicing and End the Same Way.

This list is as it occurs to me, and is neither definitive nor exhaustive.  You’ll think of others.

One. Pace yourself.  You’re in this for the long haul, not just till Sunday.  Ministry is a marathon, not a sprint.  Among other things, this means you should not stay in the office too long, should not stay away from home too much, and should not become overly righteous.

Say what?  The “overly righteous” line comes from Ecclesiastes, something they say Martin Luther claimed as one of his favorites.  “Do not be excessively righteous and do not be overly wise.  Why should you ruin yourself?”  (7:16).   I interpret this to mean: “Don’t overdo it, pastor.  Keep your feet on the ground, and your humanity intact.”  It’s possible to be so religious you become a recluse, so devout you come to despise lesser humans, and so righteous you become a terror in the pulpit.  Stay grounded, friend.

Two.  Honor your days off with your spouse.  Enlist the aid of your staff or key leadership to help you guard one day a week as time with your spouse.  Then, work at keeping this as sacred as you do Sundays.

If you cannot allow yourself to ignore a ringing phone, turn it off.  If you cannot do that, leave your phone with someone else. Block out of your mind everything waiting for you back in the office, the drama going on within the finance committee or deacons, and the issue with conflicting staff members.  Try to give your attention to your wife for 24 hours.  You will return to the church strengthened and freshened.

Three.  Simplify. Pay attention to what in your daily routine wears you out and drains you of strength and energy.  If they are ever-present and on-going, try to make changes.  Even if you cannot cut those things out altogether, perhaps you can find how to lessen their impact.  Consider sharing the load with a staff member, bringing in a couple of leaders to help, or rescheduling the toughest events.

Four. Learn what relaxes you, and what doesn’t. Notice which leisure activities you’ve been doing are not really helping, and cut them out.  Replace them with something that will work.

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To change the world, be a writer

(This first ran on this website in 2011. I’m reposting it with minor editing and tweaking.) 

I’m a sucker for a great beginning of a book.

Here is how Kelly Gallagher kicked off his outstanding work Teaching Adolescent Writers:

You’re standing in a large field minding your own business when you hear rumbling sounds in the distance. The sounds begin to intensify, and at first you wonder if it is thunder you hear approaching. Because it’s a beautiful, cloudless day you dismiss this notion. As the rumbling sound grows louder, you begin to see a cloud of dust rising just over the ridge a few yards in front of you. Instantly, you become panicked because at that exact moment it dawns on you that the rumbling you’re hearing is the sound of hundreds of wild bulls stampeding over the ridge. There are hordes of them and they are bearing down right on top of you. They are clearly faster than you and there is no time to escape. What should you do? Survival experts recommend only one of the following actions:

–A) Lying down and curling up, covering your head with your arms.

–B) Running directly at the bulls, screaming wildly and flailing your arms in an attempt to scare them in another direction

–C) Turning and running like heck in the same direction the bulls are running (even though you know you can’t outrun them)

–D) Standing completely still; they’ll see you and run around you

E) Screaming bad words at your parents for insisting on a back-to-nature vacation in Wyoming

Gallagher, who teaches high school in Anaheim, California, says experts recommend C. “Your only option is to run alongside the stampede to avoid being trampled.”

Then, being the consummate teacher, he applies the great attention-grabbing beginning: “My students are threatened by a stampede–a literacy stampede.”

He adds, “If students are going to have a fighting chance of running with the bulls, it is obvious that their ability to read and write effectively will play a pivotal role.”

Illinois high school teacher Judy Allen, wife of Pastor Jim Allen of Palmyra, gave me her copy of Gallagher’s book when she saw how fascinated I was with it. I’m grateful.

As the grandfather of eight intelligent, wonderful young people, I am most definitely interested in their being able to “run with the bulls.” But my concern on this blog, as readers have figured out by now, is for pastors and other church leaders who are trying to find their greatest effectiveness.

I hear veteran pastors say, “When I retire, I’m going to go to the mountains (or the beach) and write my memoirs.”

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What to do in a trial sermon (i.e., you are the candidate)

The prospective pastor walked to the pulpit, took the measure of the congregation, and began. “There is a powerful lot of wondering going on here today.  You are wondering if I can preach. (pause) And I am wondering if you know good preaching when you hear it!”

I know a good Flip Wilson story that fits here, but I’ll tack it onto the end of this.

Now…

Not all pastors are asked to deliver a “trial” sermon to the congregation they hope to serve.  Some are appointed by a bishop and others are chosen by elders or a committee. We Southern Baptists usually use the procedure listed below.  Of the six churches I served through 42 years of ministry, only one brought me in without the people hearing me preach.  The other five administered the usual “trial.”

The procedure goes like this….

The pastor search committee zeroes in on a candidate they like.  They’ve prayed a great deal, visited the minister’s church, heard him preach numerous times, interviewed him and his spouse, and run all the background checks and references.  Now, at long last, they are ready to present their choice to the church.

The congregation will be given information on him that week, will hear him preach in the Sunday morning service, and then will take a vote, immediately following or on the next Lord’s Day.

That sermon–when the prospective pastor preaches to the congregation which will be considering “calling” him as their new shepherd–is a huge deal to everyone involved.

For good reason we call it a “trial” sermon. No minister takes it lightly.  If things go according to plan, his life and the eternal destiny of a lot of people will be changed.

The preacher must not set out to win the congregation’s approval, but to show them who he is.  He wants to help them decide whether he would be right for that church. 

No preacher wants to go to a church where he would not fit.

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Write a book, change the world!

This will be written for the generation to come, that a people yet to be created may praise the Lord.  Psalm 102:18

A friend said, “Pastors who write books are on ego trips.”  I begged to differ for a lot of reasons.  For one thing, I’ve just finished my eighth and am now working on the ninth book!

In my opinion…

In one sense, people who write books are paragons of faith. They have no proof anyone will ever read what they write or if they will recoup the investment of their time and money.  And yet, they write on.

Aren’t we thankful for people who write books!

After all…

When you write a book–any kind of book!–you give away a piece of yourself.  You have spent countless hours secreted away laboring over a pad with a pen or typing away on the laptop.  If you’re like me, you have wept and fussed, stopped to look something up, asked your spouse if this is the right word, and sent up periodic prayers that this would work and make a difference in someone’s life. You have abandoned the project for a time, returned to it when something was burning inside you and just had to come out, and eventually you decided “that’s enough” and sent it out to the world.

When people hold the book in their hands, they’re holding a piece of you.

When you write a book, you touch parts of the world you will never travel to, people you will never see, and make a difference you will not learn of in this lifetime.  This is a faith venture of the first sort.

When they hold the book in their hands, they touch the fruit of your life.

When you write a book, you touch the future.  Perhaps your book will live forever and never be out of print–does C. S. Lewis in Heaven see this and smile?–or someone will come across your book a century from now in some obscure storage and read it as a lark and find themselves being blessed.  Either way, fruit massive or miniscule, you are sending your witness into the future.

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Something the new pastor is going to be needing from you

The new pastor looks out at the congregation.  He’s acting confident and looks the part. The search committee did a good job from all appearances.  The pastor speaks well and seems to know what he’s doing.

But wait….

Has someone removed the pulpit from the platform?  And is that a rowboat the preacher is standing in?  What is going on here? Am I in the right church?  Have we entered the twilight zone?

I know of a pastor who did that on his first Sunday. (And not everyone received it well.)

Is the new pastor not wearing a suit? Oh my, is he wearing jeans and sneakers?  Does he have a long beard? It makes him look like an old Civil War veteran! Whatever is our church coming to? What was the search committee thinking to bring in such a person to pastor our great church?

Sound familiar?

Was the new pastor right in introducing some changes immediately? I don’t know.  It depends on a hundred things.  Suffice it to say, most times the new pastor gets it right.  However….

Sometimes new pastors goof up. They get off on the wrong foot. Sometimes they misspeak.  Or they call an important person by the wrong name. New pastors have been known to introduce change abruptly when a more thoughtful thing would have been to prepare the congregation and transition slowly.

In every case, beginning pastors need one huge thing from the congregation.

They need space. 

They need time.  They need slack.  Some room. They need a lot of understanding.

New pastors need time to adjust, to learn you, to make connections, to find the path, to hear the heartbeat of the congregation, to learn the history of the church, to decide what God wants, to receive the vision from Heaven, and to make a few mistakes.

How’s that?  New pastors make mistakes?

Yes. The new pastor needs time and room–the freedom, actually–to make a few mistakes.

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How to know you were called into the Lord’s work. (Or if you were not)

My pastor friend was about to conduct the most difficult funeral of his nearly-twenty year ministry. He and I had discussed it and I had prayed for him. His heart was breaking for the young family that was laying to rest two close loved ones.

In a private moment, I said to him, “Pastor to pastor, I want to ask you something. Even though this is tearing your heart out, do you find yourself thinking, ‘I’d rather be here doing this than anywhere else in the world’?”

He said, “I do! I really do.”

I said, “That’s how you know you are really called to this work.”

He was quiet a moment, then added, “I tell my wife–pastors’ wives understand these things–that my favorite part of pastoring, what I do best, is the funeral of a Christian. It’s hard, it can be gut-wrenching, but this is our moment to shine, the event which brings together all the great stuff we believe so strongly.”

God-called pastors understand.

I have stood at the graveside of a two-year-old who had fought a valiant fight against leukemia, my heart almost as torn as the parents’, and thought, “Thank you, dear Lord, for calling me into this work. I’d rather be here than anyplace else on earth.”

Only the called will understand.

A friend and I were having a lengthy discussion about a pastor who had almost ruined his last two churches and in both cases, left under a cloud. My friend said, “The guy was in the ministry, he has seminary degrees, but honestly, I do not think God called him into this work.”

In a meeting with leaders of our denomination, one subject we discussed out of great concern but for which we had no solution, was “helping pastors know if they are called (or not) into the ministry.”

There ought to be a way to help uncalled ministers recognize their situation, so they can step away from this work and find something else to do.

Some will ask why, what difference it makes.

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