Page 3548 – Christianity Today (2024)

It had been months since I felt so refreshed. The time spent with my wife and two teenage sons during the summer had been some of the best in recent memory: a week at a ranch in the mountains, a family reunion at the “YMCA of the Rockies,” camping, canoeing, and cookouts—all added up to a summer filled with memories and much needed renewal.

As the summer ended, I anticipated our next church board meeting, when our church leaders could renew our fellowship and refocus for the fall. Our meeting began as refreshing as I had anticipated. However, I noticed an unusual item on the agenda: member concerns. After our fellowship, prayer time, review of the minutes, and a financial update, the board chairman introduced a member who had some concerns.

In the following minutes, this person complained about the amount of summer vacation the board had approved for me. This member said, “We need our pastor to be here during summer weekends because new people visiting the church want to hear the pastor, not some second stringer they’ll never see again.”

After our guest left, the board discussed his concerns. That led to a discussion about what it means to lead a balanced life. Most board members admitted they would hardly be guilty of that. As I told of my commitment to a well-balanced life, the board seemed to see the complaint in a different light. Someone remarked, “I guess it’s no surprise that we would have some complaints about the pastor’s schedule. When you try to live a balanced life, there will probably be those who will think you aren’t working hard enough.”

Most church people don’t share a uniform picture of what a balanced life looks like. I found that thinking specifically about my view of a healthy lifestyle is important if I am to give leadership in that area. But it’s an area fraught with potential for conflict. No one will dispute that a pastor should live a balanced life, but when you live it out, you may hear rumblings. The truth is that if you develop other areas of your life outside of ministry, when extended church conflict sucks out the joy of ministry, you aren’t cut down or completely devastated.

Philosophy of living

In general terms, I define a balanced life as a life lived according to biblical priorities. That seems simple enough. Most of what I’ve read or heard about priorities orders them numerically, from most important to least important. However, I have found the analogy of a pie more helpful to conceiving my philosophy than a numerical list, which implies I must fulfill my first priority before I can move on to the second. I see my priorities as pieces of a pie. Each piece is important (or else they would not be priorities!); the challenge is not to keep them in order but in balance.

For example, rather than striving to fulfill the priority of God in my life so I can get on to the priority of my wife, family, ministry, and, finally, community, I devote myself to all at the same time. Attempting to maintain equilibrium allows me to adjust the degree of focus I give my priorities at various times.

When I communicated this to the board, I used the discussion of my summer schedule to illustrate. I knew no one on the board doubted that pastoral ministry was a priority for me. I said, “I have an equal commitment to my wife and children and to my personal well-being, as well as to my relationship with God, and with my neighbors. The summer was an opportunity to focus more intently on my priorities of my wife and children rather than on the priority of church ministry.”

One board member joked, “I guess the best way to discern whether your life is in balance is by the number of people who complain that you’re not at the church enough!”

There may be more truth to that statement than most are willing to admit. Pastors often hold to an unwritten law that says we have to put in enough hours so that no one will ever doubt our commitment to sacrificial ministry. The last thing most of us want to hear is “I don’t think you’re working hard enough, Pastor.”

I recently read an interview Jerry Falwell gave to Christianity Today, in which he stated he didn’t think most pastors worked hard enough. That’s a tough criticism. Most of us pride ourselves in being hardworking and diligent. Whenever someone questions my work ethic, my instinctive response is “I guess I’ll just have to show you by putting in more hours.”

Now I suggest another response to “Our pastor isn’t putting in enough hours at the church”: Ask that person, “Would you mind defining ‘enough’ for me?” Seldom have I heard an acceptable definition. Usually it is loosely defined as “at least as many hours as I put in at my job.”

But I contend most professionals today put in too many hours at work.

How much is “enough”?

In formulating the specifics of a balanced life, I developed two criteria for the hours I spend at church:

1. Are my working hours compatible with my current family situation? Eighteen years ago, when I began my first pastorate, I asked my wife to help me be accountable for living a balanced life. She has exercised that right many times. Usually it comes as “The boys sure miss you when you’re gone this much.” Or, “I miss taking our morning walks together.” That is my cue that I need to rein in the priority of work so other priorities can regain equilibrium.

When our two boys were preschoolers, I spent fewer hours at the church than I do now that they are teenagers. I arrived at the office earlier in the morning to compensate for an early departure; I was almost always home by 4:30 in the afternoon. By then my wife needed a break from the kids, so I arranged to play with the boys while she took some time for herself. She not only appreciated the break, she also has expressed numerous times how much she appreciated the fact that I was sensitive to her needs and put them on equal par with ministry.

2. Does my work schedule set a positive example? Or does it reinforce the imbalanced work priority of the men and women in the church?

If I regularly work seven days a week and put in 60, 70, or 80 hours a week, how can I challenge someone who is doing the same to the detriment of his or her family? I have had numerous conversations with a man in my congregation about his work habits; he works at least 70 hours a week. His wife has talked to my wife about how to handle his work schedule, which is putting pressure on their marriage and family.

Last week he told me, “If you can find some balance in life with all the demands on you as pastor of this church, then with God’s help so can I. I’m making plans to back off at work after the first of the year.” He has hired a new assistant to cover some of his responsibilities and is training two other people to assist him with other phases of his job. He even asked me if I would hold him accountable.

I can hear the objection of some: “But what about getting your work done? How can you possibly get enough accomplished if you spend only 50 to 55 hours a week in ministry?”

My response is simple: “Would you mind defining ‘enough’ for me?”

While I know my work is never done, I’ve discovered I need the discipline to say, “I’m finished.” Knowing when to finish each workday is crucial to a balanced life.

Schooling the church

As a pastor I work more like a traveling salesman or consultant than an engineer in an office. I’m working when I’m at my desk, of course, but I am also working when I visit a child in the hospital or eat lunch with a new couple in the church or spend the day in prayer at a mountain retreat or have folks over for dessert on a Sunday evening. I’m working even though my car may not be in the church parking lot. That’s what I have to communicate to the church.

A pastor-friend came up with a creative way to remind people of this in the office-hours sign he posted on his door. It reads:

Office Hours:

I’m here most days about 8 or 9 a.m. Occasionally I arrive as early as 7 a.m., but some days I get here as late as 10 or 11 a.m. I usually leave about 4 or 5 p.m., but occasionally I’m out of here around 6 or 8 p.m. Sometimes I leave as late as 11 p.m. Some days or afternoons or mornings I’m not here at all, and lately I’ve been here just about all the time, except when I’m someplace else, but I should be here then, too.

I want to help our church recognize that I work differently than most professionals. That is an ongoing challenge, and the way pastors work will never be fully understood by everyone. I have had countless discussions with boards, staff, and church members about living a balanced life. Only once was I chastised for attempting to keep work in balance with the rest of life’s priorities. All the other times people have appreciated my openness and honesty.

The good from these discussions about my work ethic has been enormous. Regularly I print a summary of my work schedule in our church bulletin or newsletter so people will know when I am available to meet with them for routine issues. (Emergencies, of course, don’t need to fit the schedule.)

My secretary submits a simple announcement for the bulletin that runs once a month. It reads:

For your convenience in meeting with the pastor, his schedule is as follows (please call the church office to schedule an appointment as his “office” hours are not always spent “in” the office):

Monday: Office in morning; staff meeting 11:30 a.m. to 2 p.m.; office in afternoon

Tuesday: Office all day

Wednesday: Study/prayer day

Thursday: Sermon work in morning; office in afternoon

Friday: Day off (please call the church office with any emergencies)

Saturday & Sunday: Available by appointment; Sac. evening reserved for Sunday preparations

Weekday evenings: Available by appointment, though limited to three evenings for meetings or appointments.

I want people to know my work schedule is their business, too, and I gladly share it with them. I give them the right to address my priorities, but I also tell them that assumes I have the same right with them.

I discuss my schedule with the church board at least twice a year. I do this at the beginning of the fall and then again at the onset of summer. I want the board to know that my schedule changes the most at these two times of the year. I solicit their input and questions about the schedule. That also provides the board an opportunity to discuss their priorities and lifestyle.

Exception to the rule

Some pastors, of course, might be tempted to work too little, but in my experience and conversations with them, that is the exception.

One time, however, some in our church began to question the work ethic of a staff pastor. I took their concerns seriously, just as I would if a person were spending too much time at the church. Rather than camouflage my inquiry about his work schedule, I told the staff member straight out that some folks felt he might not be working enough hours. That enabled us to deal with the issue head on.

I asked the staff person about his usual work hours. After calculating his hours, I said that to me they seemed a little light. I usually require staff to work between 42 and 45 hours per week. He explained his concern about being home for his wife and their three young children. That was legitimate. I explored with him alternate work hours that would not place such a burden on his family. We finally arrived at a plan that was balanced yet provided for five more hours of work each week.

The next step was to communicate that plan to those concerned as well as to the segment of the church he ministered to directly. I addressed those who raised the issue by writing them a letter saying that the stage of this pastor’s family required that he spend more time at home. I then detailed how he would compensate for that by revising his schedule to work at other times. I thanked them for their concern, assuring them I would monitor his schedule for the near future.

The staff pastor then printed his schedule in the next newsletter and posted it on his office door. For the next month, he provided me with a weekly review of how he was managing his schedule.

Strong in all events

Such upfront communication has affected the church’s attitude toward my work and my need for balance. At a recent newcomers social, I overheard a board member telling a newcomer, “We try to protect the pastor’s time and schedule so he can do what he needs to do in the church and also have time for the other priorities in his life.”

I couldn’t have said it any better.

There will always be those who question my definition of balance or the way I work it out week to week. There have been times when I put in 40 hours and called it quits because of other priorities.

Have I ever regretted it? Occasionally. But then I see how my attempt to be balanced affects my relationship with God, my wife, children, church, and friends. In the final analysis, I want to be a person and pastor who can say, “I have finished the race in all the events where God had me entered.”

Copyright © 1998 Gary D. Preston

I was in my second year of college when the pastor of my home church made a shocking announcement. I can still remember the aching feeling in my stomach as I sat in the congregational meeting on a Sunday afternoon and heard the pastor, whom I admired and loved, explain that his wife was having an affair with a man in the church.

That occurred at a time when such revelations were still rare and scandalous.

The congregation was stunned. No one knew what to say. No one knew how to respond to the need in his family and the brokenness of his heart. Later I heard that he left the church after that meeting and returned only to clean out his office and pack his books. He and his family left the church, moved from the city, and were never heard from again.

The pastor wasn’t the only one in his family who was hurting, of course. In that congregational meeting, he told about the grief his wife had been feeling for more than a year. Much of her travail was the result of the conflict that had been going on in the church for months. She would come home from choir practice in tears, vowing never to go back again. I guess the conflict took its toll.

Her role in the conflict was primarily as a spectator, though her husband was at the epicenter of the controversy. Few folks offered her comfort or understanding, assuming that she and her family would somehow get through it on their own. They didn’t, and I guess she found her solace in the arms of another.

Though I won’t justify her behavior, I can empathize with her loneliness. When we left a church in the midst of conflict, my wife told me, “I would be eternally grateful to God if he would just let you leave the pastorate.” During another time of turmoil, she confided, “If you got out of the pastorate, I would have no regrets. This life as a pastor’s family is just too painful and lonely.” At one of our lowest points, she told me, “I hate the church and wouldn’t regret it for a minute if I never had to go back.”

Church conflict can deeply wound a pastor’s wife, sometimes irrevocably. (Since the majority of pastors’ spouses are still women, I will refer in this chapter to wives rather than spouses.) She’s hurting, her husband is hurting, and neither can help the other. Several years ago, after the worst church conflict in my ministry led to my resignation and immediate expulsion from the church, I was fortunate that a colleague offered me his friendship. During one of our times together, he asked, “How is Suzanne holding up through all of this?”

Tears came to my eyes because I knew she was hurting as much as I was, but I didn’t know how to respond to her needs. When ministry is buffeted by conflict, the pastor’s marriage can—and should—be a sheltering tree for both him and his wife. Even if there is disunity in the body of Christ, the pastoral couple can, with God’s help, be united in their commitment to Christ and to each other.

But it’s not easy for the pastor embroiled in conflict to come home and think about his wife’s needs. The fact that God takes conflict and forges out of it our character is one of the key themes of this book, and that is no more true than in caring for our family. In the opening chapter, I discussed briefly how during the time of my forced exit from ministry, Suzanne and I guarded our family. In this chapter, however, I want to focus on the importance of making an effort to understand, acknowledge, and respect your wife’s feelings.

Sting of betrayal

Pastors’ wives form their own connections in a congregation, and when conflict tears at a ministry they can feel deeply betrayed by people they trusted. During one of our church battles, Suzanne had been meeting regularly with several women in the church. It was a group she enjoyed spending time with and trusted, and often they would discuss very personal issues about their lives. Suzanne felt she could confide in these friends about our situation. She spoke honestly about her feelings toward two church board members who opposed my leadership. Although she didn’t name the individuals, she did express her feelings of anger, distrust, and dislike.

As the conflict escalated, some of her friends in the group eventually sided with those who were in conflict with me. It didn’t take long for it to be reported at a congregational meeting that “it’s no surprise that the pastor is at odds with the board; even his wife harbors bitterness in her heart against two board members.” The speaker went on to quote what “she told me personally.”

When honest feelings are used against us, there is no greater sense of betrayal.

When we came to our current church, Suzanne acknowledged to me that it would be harder for her to trust people in the new congregation because of the past. After hearing her honest admission, I began to notice that I, too, felt guarded in opening myself up to new friendships. Formerly we had given ourselves to people with great freedom; now both of us were more careful, more suspecting. Admitting that to each other drew us closer together.

Suzanne was in a “birthday club” with a group of women at a former church. She found it a wonderful source of friendship and support—until some other birthday buddies turned against us. Not long ago I asked her if she would be interested in starting a birthday group at our current church. She didn’t reply. She didn’t have to. The look on her face told me everything I needed to know.

Trust betrayed is not easily rebuilt, and I learned again how I need to offer my wife support and space to allow her to heal—in her way and at her pace. There’s no big secret about how I can make that happen. I simply need to listen and not be shocked at what she says or worried that she is not moving along fast enough in the healing process. Feelings of betrayal and distrust that go unacknowledged can drive us to bitterness and resentment. It’s too easy to become cynical.

I used to be troubled by the wife of a friend who was formerly in the pastorate. Whenever Suzanne and I saw them, we knew we were in for an extended session of hearing about the foibles of their local fellowship. The woman would zing unnamed people in the congregation. She painted many in their congregation as hostile, carnal, set in their ways, and sinfully critical.

Rather than challenging her attitude, Suzanne and I tried to be as supportive and as caring as we could. Our listening slowly seemed to pay off. The couple realized we understood and genuinely cared for them. Finally, after one spate of sarcastic remarks, the wife blurted, “I guess by now you know how much I hate this church!”

We did know. It wasn’t that we condoned her bitterness, but we understood it and were willing to put up with it until God pointed it out to her. I remember gently telling our friend, “Now that you’ve acknowledged that you hate them, I think you’re ready to start forgiving them.”

I’ve watched Suzanne struggle through disappointment and disillusionment with the church, and I’ve discovered the best thing I can do to help her is not to judge her attitude, to trust that God is at work in her, and to be emotionally present when she is ready to talk.

Family oasis

Recently Suzanne and I attended our denomination’s retreat for pastoral couples in our region. We look forward to this conference every year. Out of this annual event, I struck up a friendship with a couple who caught my attention when I heard them speak about pastoring a church in the middle of a neighborhood in transition. The largely Anglo congregation was aging and resistant to change. Not only did the people in the church resist assimilating residents of their changing community, they wondered whether their pastor should remain in the church. Most wanted the good old days back. A once-thriving church was now torn by deep conflict, and the pastor was right in the middle of it, through no fault of his own.

As this couple told their story, I could sense their brokenness. The pastor’s wife said, “If I didn’t have my family with me through this past year, I would never have made it.”

She then described how the love and support from their three sons had been their oasis. She told how the boys, who were in their twenties and all still lived in the area, dropped in for Sunday dinner after church. Along with the roast beef, potatoes and gravy, and apple pie, they shared laughter, pranks, teasing, and fun. It was as if for a few restful hours on a Sunday afternoon, she and her husband could forget the hassles at the church and be with the people who knew them best and loved them most. As she put it, “I never knew how much I would come to love, appreciate, and need my family.” She added, “I knew the boys could have been doing lots of other things with their time on Sundays, but they chose to spend it with us—playing games, talking, and letting us know we were loved.”

The hardest part was when late on Sundays this couple would say good-bye to their boys. It was made a little easier by their practice of standing in the living room, holding hands with their sons, and hearing each one pray for them. This couple said that at first it was difficult to tell their church struggles to their children. But they did, trying not to slander the people in the church, and the boys responded with support, which the parents had not expected.

There’s nothing quite like the support of family during times of ministry crisis. Of course, our children can’t be our therapists, and we need to sort judiciously through the information we tell them. But family members mean the most to us, and it is reassuring when they rally together for support and acceptance.

During the time when I was forced out of a pastorate (the story I tell in chapter 1), our family was a tremendous support. Although our boys were younger at the time, Suzanne and I tried to share with them our struggles at a level suitable to their understanding. They weren’t old enough to grasp the details of the conflict, but they knew that it was time for our family to come together in support of one another.

It’s a humbling experience to allow children to care for us during times of emotional crisis. We still recall with gratitude the evenings spent playing board games or putting together a jigsaw puzzle. Family hikes in the foothills, long mountain-bike treks, and canoe trips provided renewal and refreshment.

Shelter of friends

I have a theory that the longer a couple is in the pastorate, the smaller their circle of close friends becomes. In face, if a couple isn’t careful, the circle can become so small they may find that, after a while, they’re the only ones in it.

Part of this stems from the distrust mentioned earlier. Yet we still need people in our lives who support and understand us. Close friends care for our souls when they are bruised.

I remember a friendship my wife developed shortly after one of our ministry miseries. In our conversations, Suzanne often quoted something her friend had said to her that provided comfort and empathy. Today she still keeps in contact with this friend whom God used in her life to embolden her faith and confidence in God’s care.

One way we can help our wives weather church conflict is to encourage them to be open to a few trusted friends—outside of the immediate church situation or maybe just outside of the church, period. When I asked one pastor’s wife how she coped with the conflict in a past church, she told me, “I didn’t cope. It was only with the help of two loving Christian friends in my neighborhood that I even survived!”

Finding such a friend is not always easy. It takes patience and courage. One way to go about it is to ask God to show your wife someone who could be a safe friend. The woman who found friends in her neighborhood said that the person who became her special friend was someone she had only known as a casual acquaintance. She said, “One night I was praying and crying at the same time, asking God what I should do. Without thinking about it, suddenly Shannon’s name popped into my head, and I knew right then that I needed to call her up and see if we could have coffee together.” They did, and out of that came a friendship that provided much-needed support.

To this day, my wife talks about her friend Marcia as one of the special people God used to help her through a difficult church experience. Marcia’s favorite comment to her was that “It’s okay to be who you are, because God has made you to be uniquely you.”

In addition to friends and family, wives need their husbands during conflict. That sounds obvious, but I’m ashamed that I didn’t realize how alone Suzanne felt. When she first told me that she felt alone, I asked, “You mean, alone other than for me?”

“No,” Suzanne said. “I even feel separated from you.”

Then she said, “Doesn’t it matter to you that I feel like no one cares how I’m feeling, not even you?” She felt abandoned. I felt rebuked.

Since then I’ve tried to learn how to listen to her, be close to her, and draw her out to express what’s going on inside. Although conflict isn’t something to relish, I can say that some of the times when Suzanne and I felt the closest have been when we’ve walked through the fire together. We are learning to minister to each other.

When in the throes of a church conflict, our feelings are mirrored and usually intensified in our wives. A pastor can usually engage in the battle directly—he has to go to work and face the problem every day—thereby releasing some of his negative feelings, but his wife doesn’t have that outlet. It’s critical, therefore, that she find safe places to release her feelings, places where she is affirmed and where she can discover God’s healing. The most obvious place where that needs to happen is at home with her husband.

Copyright © 1998 Gary D. Preston

THIS PAST SUMMER MY FAMILY ATTENDED a Christian family conference hosted by the radio ministry of a well-known American pastor. Over the years I have enjoyed listening to him preach countless sermons, both in person and by audiotape. I have profited spiritually from his exposition of the Scriptures.

During one message at the conference, he illustrated from his life. That was no surprise, for it was fairly common for him to insert personal anecdotes into his sermons. Frequently these stories were of the rubber-meets-the-road variety of family-life events. This, however, was different. A hush came over the audience as he told his story.

The story was about a soul-wrenching conflict that had affected his entire family. But it wasn’t the details of the story that gripped me—in fact, the details were purposely vague because of the intensely personal nature of the pain. The impact came not from what he said, but from what he was unable to say.

His story did not have a conclusion; he and his family were still in the midst of the struggle. As he ended the illustration, he said, “I wish that I could close this story by telling you that everything has been taken care of and we have seen the faithfulness of the Lord’s healing touch. But I can’t, because we haven’t. We’re still hurting and waiting to see how God will work all of this out. And so we wait … and we wait … and we continue to wait.”

That was a powerful reminder of the peculiar challenge pastors often face preaching the great promises of God during times when we ourselves are still waiting for those promises to be fulfilled. Sometimes we bear the pain and heartache of conflict while holding forth in our preaching the hope we have in God. Perhaps this challenge is never greater than when we have to preach to those who have perpetrated pain in our lives. Speaking the truths of God to people we know are plotting to undo us is daunting. I’ve found it troubling to preach when I know that one person in the congregation doesn’t like me.

How do we preach through pain, to people we may not like and who may not think much of us? How do we bring a message from God while trying to push down all the unresolved hurt and anger? Although I’ve been preaching for more than twenty years, I’m still trying to fully answer those questions. The conclusions I’ve drawn in this chapter are certainly tentative at best. For with each new conflict, I learn more about what it means to proclaim the truths of God amid the brokenness of life.

Unfulfilled promise

One challenge of the Old Testament saints was to proclaim the promises of God and to exemplify a steadfast faith when they themselves had not received what was promised. In his conclusion to the great faith chapter (Heb. 11), the author surprises his readers by announcing that the heroes of their faith died without receiving the total fulfillment of God’s promises:

And what more shall I say? I do not have time to tell about Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, David, Samuel and the prophets, who through faith conquered kingdoms, administered justice, and gained what was promised; who shut the mouths of lions, quenched the fury of the flames, and escaped the edge of the sword; whose weakness was turned to strength; and who became powerful in battle and routed foreign armies. Women received back their dead, raised to life again. Others were tortured and refused to be released, so that they might gain a better resurrection. Some faced jeers and flogging, while still others were chained and put in prison. They were stoned; they were sawed in two; they were put to death by the sword. They went about in sheepskins and goatskins, destitute, persecuted and mistreated—the world was not worthy of them. They wandered in deserts and mountains, and in caves and holes in the ground. These were all commended for their faith, yet none of them received what had been promised. God had planned something better for us so that only together with us would they be made perfect, (vv. 32-40)

Yet these leaders still proclaimed God’s promises to a needy nation. I suspect that is what God calls pastors to do. In the midst of conflict that has yet to be resolved, we must hold forth the promises of God. For it’s the promises themselves, not only their fulfillment, that call forth faith.

When I preach during a period of conflict, I ask myself what specific promises of God would be relevant to that situation. I once had a man in the church accuse me of being greedy because I asked the budget committee for a much-deserved (and long-delayed) salary increase for the staff. He didn’t seem to understand there was a spiritual principle of sowing and reaping at play in how the church treated its staff. In his mind, my asking for a raise for the staff was an expression of greed rather than generosity. After a particularly harsh criticism that he leveled at me during a budget meeting, I went home angry and hurt. I wrestled the rest of the week with having to stand before the congregation on Sunday and preach grace when I felt like dispensing God’s wrath.

Finally, on Saturday morning I sat down and began to list the promises of God that were applicable to the situation. On a piece of paper I wrote:

My God shall supply all your need. (Phil. 4:19 KJV)

I have learned to be content whatever the circ*mstances. (Phil. 4:11)

The God of all grace … will himself restore you and make you strong. (1 Pet. 5:10)

Seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. (Matt. 6:33)

Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. (Matt. 6:34)

I had memorized most of these as a child in Sunday school. Throughout my life God had fulfilled them time and again. But not this time—at least not yet. But the process of writing down these promises, though not yet fulfilled, helped me release my disappointment and hostility. I realized the issue was in God’s hands; rereading God’s promises helped me to hand back the responsibility to him.

Softened hearts

When the apostle Paul confronted his accusers in Acts 24, he used the method of preaching. Before the Roman governor Felix, Paul’s response to the prosecuting lawyer Tertullus was in the form of a sermon. So effective was his rejoinder that Tertullus was silenced and Governor Felix was moved to give Paul a greater measure of freedom even while he was still under guard.

Again in Acts 26, Paul responded to his accusers with a sermon before King Agrippa. Paul spoke in the power of the Holy Spirit, intending to convince Agrippa to become a Christian. Although that did not happen, God used Paul’s proclamation to convince Agrippa of the apostle’s innocence.

Preaching in the midst of conflict can be a means for allowing the Holy Spirit to soften the hearts of adversaries. Certainly that is tricky, for preaching to confront adversaries requires skill and integrity. There is a fine line between authentically preaching biblical truth to accusers and using the sermon and the Bible to bludgeon them.

An issue arose in our church related to the growing number of youth coming to the services. Many of the young people had recently discovered a personal relationship with God through faith in Jesus Christ. To highlight what God was doing among the teens, we asked the youth ministry to lead the congregation in corporate worship one Sunday.

The youth jumped to the challenge with energy, creativity, and enthusiasm. The result was a moving worship experience for the entire church family. God enabled us to capture the hearts and minds of three generations simultaneously, bringing them together in worship in a unique way.

In light of that powerful encounter with God, I was surprised when I heard criticism about the way a number of the youth were dressed for the worship service. They said the young people’s casual dress was disruptive to the work of the Holy Spirit and disrespectful to some of the adults in the church. The next couple of weeks I discussed the issue with the unhappy folks. It seemed I was getting nowhere, except that their vitriol was increasing and starting to be directed toward me. Likewise, the youth and their supporters were growing more vocal in their arguments. One woman told me in no uncertain terms, “If we have to make a choice between reverence for the Lord in worship and having our youth participate like that, then both the youth and you will lose!”

The stakes were higher than I thought. Rather than continue down the path of private dialogue, I decided to address the issue publicly. I was careful to direct my message to the issue before us rather than to the people in dissent. To do that I used the message of Acts 15 as the text and titled the sermon “Freedom Worth Fighting For.” The point was that our spiritual freedom and liberty are core Christian values. I tried to show how from the Book of Acts onward, there have been constant attacks on the liberty Jesus Christ won for us on the Cross. Acts 15 says our relationship with God begins solely by grace through faith; the life that results is a life of liberty and freedom in Jesus Christ.

In my presentation, I addressed both groups, who glared at each other across the aisle. I showed how the Jerusalem Council’s decision in Acts 15 makes it difficult to determine the condition of a person’s heart toward God by looking at the style of her clothing or noticing the absence of shoes or socks from his feet. On the other hand, one’s liberty not to wear shoes must never be exercised in a way that disregards or disdains the convictions of others. Rather, we must exercise our liberty in Christ with a spirit of sensitivity and concern for others in God’s family.

The response to the sermon was more than I had asked God for.

The first person to catch me after the service was an older lady who had been in tears only weeks before after the youth service because of her distress over “the young people’s disregard for the Lord’s house.” She took my hand and said, “I don’t know if I can get used to people not wearing shoes in church, but now I see that it doesn’t have anything to say about how much they love the Lord.” Similar sentiments were voiced repeatedly that morning by people on both sides of the issue. I was again amazed at the power of God’s Word to bring reconciliation.

Log in your eye

In conflict I can become too focused on intersecting the message of Scripture with the lives of those with whom I disagree. Doing so inhibits the impact Scripture has on my life.

Once I preached a sermon series on the epistle of James when there was a small-scale war of words going on in the church. Most of the loose talk was focused on differences of opinion concerning our building project.

As I planned the sermon series, I could hardly wait until I got to chapter 3. What James had to say about “taming the tongue” was just what many needed to hear! Finally the Sunday to preach that passage arrived. I prayed all week that the Lord would use the message to soften hardened hearts. I did my best to connect the message of James with the words that had been spoken by members of our congregation. For the most part, I felt God answered my prayers. After the sermon people acknowledged to me that the Lord had spoken to them that morning and that they intended to mend some fences that coming week.

On Tuesday afternoon at the men’s fellowship group, I conveyed my excitement about how God had used Sunday’s sermon to challenge people. A couple of men acknowledged that they, too, were thankful for the way the Lord had used my message. Then another man cleared his throat, looked me square in the face, and said, “Does that mean that you want to clear the air with us over some of the things you have said in recent weeks?”

I had no idea what he meant. I thought at first he was trying to catch me with his dry humor, so I retorted with an off-the-cuff quip.

“No, we’re serious,” he said. “As I listened to the message on Sunday I wondered if you were hearing what you were saying.”

They had me. They talked straight to me, reminding me of statements I had made to them during the building conflict. Some of my comments had been gossipy and even slanderous. In the midst of preparing and delivering a sermon on taming the tongue, I had been deaf to the Spirit’s voice about my own transgressions. I, too, needed to pay attention to James’s message.

That incident reminded me about the importance of allowing my study and preaching to address me first. It’s easy for preachers to study, prepare, and preach the holy truths of God to a congregation before addressing themselves. Phillip Brooks, the great nineteenth-century rector of Boston’s Trinity Church, illustrated this peril with the analogy of a train conductor who comes to believe that he has been to all the places he announces to the passengers because of his long and loud heralding of the names of those places.

Allowing my preaching to address me first keeps me from using the sermon as a weapon. I keep a blank notepad on the corner of my desk during sermon study. Throughout the week, I ask the Holy Spirit to bring to my mind particular issues or areas of my life where the message I’m preparing applies. As these thoughts come to mind, I write them down so I can pray about them before God prior to concluding my study that morning. I’m constantly amazed at how thoroughly God applies to my life the truths I’m studying for Sunday. That helps me identify the log in my eye before I become obsessed with the speck in someone else’s.

Needed cushion

A friend has been embroiled in conflict in his church for the past six months. So snarled is the situation that he is planning to offer his resignation within the next two weeks. When I talked with him this week, I asked him how he has been able to continue preaching every Sunday while his adversaries have maligned him and managed to gain the upper hand in the struggle splitting the church.

His response: “I’ve had a cushion between me and the congregation.”

He explained that an elder in the church, a friend and mature Christian, has stood in the gap between pastor and congregation. My friend credits him with allowing him to vent his thoughts and emotions in a safe setting. That, my friend says, has kept him from leaking toxic resentment to the congregation through his preaching. He told me, “When I’ve unloaded my frustration during the week to my ‘cushion,’ I don’t feel the burning need to do that in the Sunday sermon.”

During my darkest days in ministry, I discovered the value of such friends. A businessman, an ophthalmologist, an engineer, and a scientist were the friends I turned to to vent my frustrations, ask my questions, and offer my solutions. They mostly listened, occasionally offered advice, but always provided strength and support.

At one low point I called one of these friends as a last straw. “Can I come by and bend your ear for a while this evening?” I asked.

“Come on over,” he said, “the coffee will be brewed when you get here.”

Ten minutes later I sat with him and his wife at their dining room table and told them I didn’t think I had it in me to continue.

“Being a pastor requires constant giving,” I said, “and I’m afraid I have nothing more to give to anyone. I have to get out before this thing kills me.” Those were words I never thought I’d say. I wanted out, a feeling that was so foreign to me.

Through two pots of coffee, we talked into the night. Finally my friends convinced me that it was not time to throw in the towel. They said, “We will stand in the gap for you. You take the next two weeks off, and we will go before the elders and the church on your behalf and explain that you need some time away from the pressure.”

Since my friend was also an elder, I knew his decision would be acceptable to the board. I also recognized that the congregation would be supportive. My concern was about the three families who led the opposition and held the power in the church. What would they do with this news that I was on the ropes? Would they somehow move in for the knockout punch?

My friends told me, “That is no longer your concern. You are now on two weeks leave. We want you to go skiing tomorrow and leave the church alone for a while.”

Their boldness was convincing. Instead of resigning, I stopped worrying (at least for the next few months), and I went skiing with my wife the next day.

That sort of protection from friends prevented me from even more conflict—the kind that comes when you say things you shouldn’t because you’re so weary and beat up. They allowed me to direct my frustrations, questions, and even hostility, toward them rather than toward those instigating the strife.

I’ve had to learn to trust these people, and doing so has been worth it: when I lean on them, I find I am more spiritually ready to handle God’s Word in an objective way. I tend not to allow my wounds to distort my preaching, and thus I don’t misuse the ministry of the Word.

Preaching that comforts me

During church conflict, my preaching has comforted me. I know that sounds a little strange, but if I allow God to do his work in me prior to accomplishing his work through me, I can find healing in my preaching. Once I preached from Psalm 139 in the midst of intense conflict. As I prepared for Sunday, the moving lyrics of Psalm 139 brought me comfort; God was speaking directly to me. Never before had I experienced such intimacy with God, his thoughts becoming more and more precious to me. I felt reassured that God was in control, that everything would turn out as he had planned.

God’s special ministry to me that week emboldened me to proclaim that same hope on Sunday. After the service, rather than the usual hustle toward the refreshment table, many people remained in their seats to continue listening to and talking with the Lord. A small group approached me and asked if they could pray with me there on the platform steps. We knelt and prayed and experienced a profound sense of God’s presence. During a time when the waves of conflict were capsizing the church, Psalm 139 overwhelmed us with God himself:

How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them! Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand. When I awake, I am still with you. If only you would slay the wicked, O God! Away from me, you bloodthirsty men! They speak of you with evil intent; your adversaries misuse your name. Do I not hate those who hate you, O Lord, and abhor those who rise up against you? I have nothing but hatred for them; I count them my enemies. Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting. (Psa. 139:17-24).

Copyright © 1998 Gary D. Preston

I HAD JUST RECEIVED a scathing letter from a couple unhappy about a situation in the youth department. Their response was carnal; they certainly didn’t understand the whole situation. I hadn’t yet been able to meet with them.

When I stepped up to preach that Sunday morning, I felt ungracious and carried a grudge. During my introduction, I made some ad-lib quips that gave everyone a chuckle—everyone except the couple who had sent the letter. While the congregation held their sides in laughter, this couple sat stoically, second row, center section, arms folded, eyes staring through me.

By the time I finished the sermon (with no more humor), I felt physically sick and spiritually wasted. My unforgiveness was quickly growing into bitterness and resentment—the twin temptations of church conflict. Most pastors have preached that temptation isn’t sin but that giving in to the temptation is. Yet, at least for me, it’s a temptation hard to resist. The issue of forgiveness is a character issue, and my tendency not to forgive when I’ve been wronged has forced me to think clearly about the steps I need to take to restore my relationship with God and the offender.

Recognize my weak spots

Most people tend to be sensitive where they’ve been battered numerous times. The criticism leveled at me by the family angry about the youth ministry event was only one in a series of skirmishes with them. Their attitude, devoid of grace, was the final straw for me. I felt they had no interest in giving anyone the benefit of the doubt.

Perhaps because some of my worst conflicts in ministry have involved people who I felt lacked grace and understanding, I tend to react with anger in such situations. I’m quickly set off by people who excel in fault-finding.

As I’ve learned to recognize my weak spots, I’ve found I am better able to control my responses. My challenge is to receive from the Holy Spirit grace and forgiveness for these saints rather than fight back in anger, unforgiveness, and bitterness.

Resist my first impulse

When I read of a person who conceals a gun in his coat pocket to get even with a boss who treated him wrongly, or someone who bombs a building full of innocent citizens, I often think, How could someone do such a thing? Normal people just don’t react like that.

But I’ve had all kinds of evil thoughts about settling the score with people who I felt had wronged me. Perhaps that’s the next move toward forgiveness—recognizing that, if given the right circ*mstances, I could exact a vicious retribution. In fact, if I don’t forgive someone, I can begin to fantasize about ways to get even.

After a devastating disagreement with a church family who had opposed me on nearly every issue and subject, I thought, If God isn’t going to bring swift judgment, I could offer some assistance.

I thought about alerting the IRS to their tax improprieties I happened to know about. Or I could become a nocturnal nuisance by driving by their house with my radio blaring, horn honking, and high-beams shining in their windows.

When I shared these dastardly secret thoughts with a friend, he looked at me in astonishment. “Could you really do those things to them?”

I said, “Sure, just like anyone could who yields to the temptation to get revenge instead of tackling the challenge of forgiveness.”

I am reminded of the observation James Broderick made of Pope Paul IV: “He never forgot such offenses, which was one of his fundamental weaknesses. He might bury the hatchet for a time, but he gave the impression of always carefully marking the spot.”

I avoid that only by curtailing any fantasies of revenge.

Admit my guilt

In Deuteronomy 32:35, God instructed the people through Moses: “It is mine to avenge; I will repay. In due time their foot will slip; their day of disaster is near and their doom rushes upon them.”

My obsessing about revenge is an attempt to participate in God’s judgment. That only aggravates the conflict, exacerbates the memory of it, and causes more pain. It’s like having one of the guilty parties in a contractual dispute participate in the trial and sentencing of the other party. Justice cannot be served by one guilty party judging the other.

The fact that I am also often guilty, that I haven’t been perfectly righteous in my actions, can be hard to accept. In many instances, there are two guilty parties in conflict. Therefore, I cannot have any part in repaying the wrong. I wonder how many reconciliation opportunities have broken down because both parties came together prepared to forgive but were unprepared to be forgiven. John Oglethorpe, a friend of John Wesley, allegedly told Wesley, “I never forgive.”

Mr. Wesley wisely replied, “Then, sir, I hope that you never sin.”

Avoid pulpit revenge

I have found that delaying forgiveness can lead me to abuse the public ministry of preaching. I once used a critical letter I received to illustrate how wrong it is to criticize someone when you don’t know all the facts. During the sermon I read a portion of the letter, which made accusations and drew conclusions based on misinformation. Then I set the record straight for the congregation by describing the facts of the situation. Of course, the facts demonstrated how my critics had jumped to the wrong conclusion and had been at fault in their criticism.

The congregation seemed to sympathize with me and saw my accuser as a careless and negative antagonist. I had illustrated a biblical point and silenced my opponent at the same time.

The next week I received a second letter from this man stating that he and his family were leaving the church and asking me not to call or contact them. While I had carefully protected their identity in the sermon illustration, they knew to whom I was referring. I had left them no way out but to leave.

No matter how wronged I may have felt, and no matter how strong the temptation, the public forum was and is not the place to confront a critic. It gives me a lopsided advantage that too often results in a biased presentation of my side of the story without an opportunity for a fair rebuttal.

I’ve discovered the best way to defend against this temptation is to offer forgiveness privately.

Forgive one at a time

I wish I could say I’ve found the formula for forgiveness that works the first time, every time. I haven’t. Forgiveness isn’t something I can do once, then it’s all over. The length of the forgiveness process is usually proportionate to the severity of the pain. Forgiveness is more like writing a book than writing a letter. When I write a letter, I put my thoughts on paper, sign it, seal the envelope, and send it. Writing a book involves what seems an endless cycle of writing and rewriting.

I can usually handle minor conflicts quickly, in the spirit of 1 Peter 4:8: “Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.” But when the offense is severe, the process of forgiveness can be equally severe. Following the most difficult experience I’ve had in ministry—being terminated—I learned more about the process of forgiveness than I wanted to know. The entire process took close to two years. It seemed like my forgiveness was complete within a few months after I left that ministry. I brought the incident to the Lord in prayer and told him I wanted to forgive those whom I felt were responsible. I even listed them by name. Forgiveness seemed to release me.

But a couple of weeks later, I ran into one of the opposition leaders at a local restaurant. After my friend and I finished our breakfast, we stopped by this person’s table for a brief but cordial chat. As we left the restaurant, my friend remarked, “Boy, you sure seemed at ease talking with Steve. I guess you’ve been able to put all of that stuff from the church behind you.”

I mumbled, “Yeah, that’s old business now; it’s time to move ahead.” But for the rest of the day, every time I had an idle minute, Steve’s name, face, and actions came rushing to the forefront of my mind. I couldn’t get rid of my thoughts. That old resentment seemed as real and powerful as ever—a shocking blow to my spiritual equilibrium.

I thought I had forgiven those in that debacle. Why was I reacting like this?

“Lord, isn’t it enough to put that whole mess in a package, tie it up tightly, and then write ‘forgiven’ across it?”

Evidently not. I still had to forgive each of the eight individuals in the conflict. While thinking I could forgive in one composite act, I discovered I would have to forgive one by one.

The process lasted many more months. Each time I fantasized about one person, I identified clearly what I was feeling toward the specific person God brought to mind. Sometimes that took a few days to think through thoroughly. But finally I was able to write down my feelings as well as identify the reasons behind them. I discovered that the simple act of praying for someone, even when it felt hollow and rehearsed, had a way of opening my heart toward that person.

God was creative in showing me the next person I needed to forgive. I was in the supermarket looking for toothpaste and shaving cream, when out of the corner of my eye I saw another couple who had contributed to my termination. My reaction was to hide among the vegetable displays. Too late. I heard that familiar drawl, “Well, hi there, Gary.” After several short sentences, we parted.

I knew immediately the next person whom I needed to forgive.

Speak about the person to others

One technique that helped me forgive was to speak about the person who had wronged me in conversations with others.

I remember talking about one antagonist to a friend who knew him; that way, I put myself in a position that forced me to speak kindly of him. But I discovered that whether or not the person I conversed with knew the person I needed to forgive was irrelevant. By speaking positively about someone, I felt pushed toward reconciliation; the positive words forming on my lips began to work on the feelings in my heart. The ease of those words also became a gauge of my forgiveness—the easier they flowed, the further along I discovered I was in the forgiveness process.

Take them to the Lord in prayer

A final step that helped me to forgive was to gather my thoughts and feelings and take them to the Lord. Sometimes I would write them on paper and read them to God in prayer. Other times I recited them to God directly from my thoughts. Reciting negative thoughts and feelings to the Lord allowed me to ask God to forgive me for my sin. I was then able, with his help, to move forward to offer forgiveness to others.

This protracted experience of forgiveness taught me how much God’s forgiveness of me enables my forgiveness of others.

There’s a story about a traveler making his way with a guide through the jungles of Burma. They came to a wide but shallow river and waded through it to the other side. When the traveler came out of the river, numerous leeches had attached to his torso and legs. His first instinct was to grab them and pull them off.

This guide stopped him, warning that pulling the leeches off would only leave tiny pieces of them under the skin. Eventually, infection would set in.

The best way to rid the body of the leeches, the guide advised, was to bathe in a warm balsam bath for several minutes. This would soak the leeches, and soon they would release their hold on the man’s body.

When I’ve been significantly injured by another person, I cannot simply yank the injury from my soul and expect that all bitterness, malice, and emotion will be gone. Resentment still hides under the surface. The only way to become truly free of the offense and to forgive others is to bathe in the soothing bath of God’s forgiveness of me. When I finally fathom the extent of God’s love in Jesus Christ, forgiveness of others is a natural outflow.

Copyright © 1998 Gary D. Preston

I WAS IN MY NEW PASTORATE for less than three months when one of the founding laymen took me to lunch.

“It seems to me,” he started out, “and I’ve confirmed this with a number of other key people in the church, that you may not be the right person for this job after all.” He pointed to a couple of insignificant (at least to me) changes I had made in the worship service and how that had offended some people involved in our music program.

“In fact,” he warned, “there are a growing number of people who just plain don’t like you or where you’re leading the church. I’m not sure those people will remain in the church if you stay.”

This is yet another anecdote from the story I told in chapter 1. Perhaps it was a harbinger of what was to come. I certainly didn’t realize it at the rime. After my forced exit, I realized that I had either ignored or avoided or didn’t know about a key role of leadership: As a pastor, I must maintain healthy relationships with all the people in the church, even those with whom that is difficult. Put bluntly, I must shepherd people who don’t like me—and those I don’t really like.

That is an enormous challenge, especially when you’re feeling beat up, insecure, and ready to throw in the towel. Another challenge may be the simple admission that, truth be told, we don’t like certain people in the church. We want to believe we love all of God’s children.

But it seems clear it’s normal for every church to have a couple people who are tough to like and, consequently, tough to pastor. Not to care for those who persecute us, though, only invites trouble down the road. Our instincts drive us to avoid feeling uncomfortable, but that drive can cripple our effectiveness as leaders.

Nowhere in Scripture am I instructed to shepherd only the agreeable sheep.

Resist what comes naturally

In ministry, doing what comes naturally is often the best approach. At the bedside of a hospital patient, with families at a funeral, or when sharing the gospel with a nonbeliever, my pastoral instincts usually guide me in the right direction. However, that’s not true when it comes to pastoring difficult people. One of my natural responses is to distance myself from difficult people.

Therefore, I’ve had to learn to make it a point to seek out difficult people and spend a few moments talking together with them.

Recently a woman in our church let it be known that, in her opinion, I had acted out of anger and harshness. She voiced her criticism after she had sent me a letter apologizing for her role in the issue and commending me for the way I had handled it!

When I saw her at a community event a few days later, she walked past me without saying more than “Hello.” I could have let it pass and rationalized that her coldness was her problem. In such situations, I typically think, She’ll get over it. I wanted to ignore her, let her stew, and wait for her to come to me.

Instead, I decided not to do what comes naturally. I practically had to chase her down the hallway. When I caught up with her, I didn’t confront her about her actions or anger toward me; I engaged her in friendly conversation to make sure she knew I wanted to connect with her.

It was amazing what those two minutes did. We ended up laughing about something one of her children had said that week. She hugged me as I left and gave me a look that communicated, “Thanks for talking to me; I needed that.”

Even if our contact with the person doesn’t solve the problem, it builds a bridge rather than a wall. There is something positive and healing about face-to-face contact with people at odds with us.

Invite talk about sensitive subjects

The next rime I saw this woman, we were able to talk with more ease, so I broached the subject of our conflict. My purpose wasn’t to make a point or add another thought about the subject. I simply said, “I’ve been wondering how you are processing your frustration. I want you to know that I care.”

This second contact was easier for both of us, and it communicated to her that we could talk about the issue. The subject didn’t need to be avoided. It’s important to let people know that even subjects of conflict can be discussed; they don’t have to end the relationship.

I’ve had ongoing differences with one couple over the style of our worship service. I’ve met with them on a couple of occasions to talk specifically about the issue. We continue to disagree. We see each other regularly, and sometimes when we are talking about something unrelated to worship, I will intentionally bring the subject into our conversation. I might casually ask, “I’ve been wondering if you have noticed any positive changes in the worship services lately?” Or, “Did you enjoy the extra hymns we sang today?”

I’m not trying to stir up controversy; I simply want them to know it’s okay to talk about something we disagree on. We can disagree and still work together.

Keep private battles private

One of my bigger relational mistakes came at a church meeting. One person had battled me repeatedly about my emphasis on evangelism. At a business meeting the subject of evangelism came up, and several people expressed their excitement about how the church was finally reaching out.

I jumped at the opportunity to say, “Of course, there are some in the church who tell me that we are losing more people than we are gaining because of this strong focus on evangelism.”

Almost everyone recognized that I was referring to the “no evangelism” proponent. The majority of the people supported our evangelism philosophy. It was clear my critic was part of a shrinking minority. I had scored a major victory on that issue, and a public one at that—or so I thought.

Ultimately, the statement came back to haunt me. Just as a negative political ad campaign can generate sympathy for the opponent, so too can a public attack against someone in the church. The week following, I heard comments like, “I don’t think it was fair to say what you did about Ed. He can’t be as opposed to evangelism as you implied.”

Someone else said, “That wasn’t appropriate to raise an issue about Ed’s position when he was not present to respond.”

I could support every statement I had made about Ed’s opposition to evangelism. That didn’t seem to matter. Even though people didn’t agree with his position, they disagreed even more with my public attack of him.

The moral is some things are best left unsaid—an obvious principle that gets ignored or overlooked when the heat gets turned up. Don’t take private battles public. That’s true in a board meeting or in the pulpit or in a conversation with someone who is in the “doesn’t need to know” category.

Practice kindness

A bumper sticker adorns the bumpers of numerous cars in my community. It reads: Practice random acts of kindness and senseless acts of beauty. It’s a good reminder of one of the most helpful lessons I’ve learned about pastoring people I find difficult to love.

I look for opportunities to be nice to them. It is amazing what acts of kindness can do to build bridges to people. A man in a former church let me know every time I failed to fulfill some expectation of his. Whether returning a phone call within his prescribed time limit, reciprocating a lunch invitation, or giving him an equal number of compliments to the ones he gave me, he seemed to keep score in a way that made me the perpetual loser.

I found him increasingly difficult to be around. After the Lord convicted me of my attitude, I began to look for ways to show him kindness.

I stopped him after church one Sunday and said, “I was wondering if you might be available this next week to help me work on my fly-fishing.” He was an avid fly-fisherman, and I could hardly catch a weed in a stream. In the weeks after our outing, he often referred to our fishing lesson in conversations with me and others.

Fishing on my own sometime later, I finally caught a fish big enough to keep. On the way home, I stopped by my “instructor’s” house and presented him with my first big catch as a gift for helping me learn to fly-fish.

Another time, I invited him to go skiing, and he asked me to show him how to canoe. On some outings, we talked about his need to keep score of people’s behavior to make himself the winner. He eventually admitted this was negatively affecting his wife and his oldest son. I offered some help on how to deal with it.

When best efforts fall short

Of course, no approach to dealing with difficult people will be successful with all people all the time. In Romans 12:18, the apostle Paul said, “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.” Paul recognized that not everyone will want to live at peace with us.

What do we do when our best efforts still come up short?

In a former church, one lady never seemed fully satisfied with anything I did. Seldom would she tell me directly of her displeasure; I usually heard it through an intermediary source.

I met with her and told her, “I’m unable to live up to your standards of performance and expectations for my ministry. I feel as though I can’t please you.” I told her that since I couldn’t, I was going to stop trying.

Of course, she assured me I didn’t have to please her.

I responded, “So you won’t mind if I no longer concern myself with pleasing you with every action and decision?”

She said she wouldn’t. That took the pressure off and diffused some of her constant complaining. I shared with our elders my conversation with this woman so that if her carping continued, they could address the issue with her directly and decisively.

Sometimes, of course, people decide they can no longer be a part of my life or ministry and leave the church. I’ve learned even here to open the door of communication as much as possible.

One couple told me they could no longer support my ministry or sit under my preaching. My natural response was to let them leave and not to contact them. Instead, I picked up the phone and asked if I could stop by for a brief visit. They reluctantly agreed.

When we met I told them I was not there to talk them out of their decision. I asked if there were specific incidents where I had wronged or offended them personally. I wanted to apologize if there were. They said the issue was more a difference in philosophy and direction, so they decided it was best to find another church. I thanked them for their years of ministry at our church and invited them back anytime. Before I left I asked if I could pray with them.

As I walked toward the door, the wife took my hand and said, “I was surprised you wanted to visit us, but I’m glad you did. Now when I see you at the supermarket, I won’t have to avoid talking to you.” The door of communication was still open. They may not come back to the church, but at least they didn’t leave with a bitter spirit.

Not only are these approaches helpful in building good relationships in general, they yield personal growth in my relationship with Christ. The more I seek to love difficult people, the more God uses them to refine me into the image of Christ. After all, learning to love people is one of the ways we become like Christ. Perhaps it’s the main instrument for pastors in that process.

Staying close to our enemies will usually open doors of ministry beyond what we imagined. That ought to motivate us to care for even the most difficult saints.

Copyright © 1998 Gary D. Preston

RECENTLY I READ ABOUT a professional hockey player who is a star of the NHL team in the metro area near where I live. The measure of this man’s stature as a hockey player was not his salary, number of goals scored, or minutes on the ice. Rather, the local sports-writer nominated him for greatness because of his ability to “play hurt.”

Consider the symptoms of this athlete after receiving a hard check in the first period of play in a recent hockey game: He couldn’t take a deep breath, he had bad bruises on his torso, and his shoulder and rib cage felt as though they had been through a meat grinder. His own description of his injuries made me cringe: “I couldn’t breathe. It was lucky my head didn’t land in the boards. I would have been dead, almost.”

He was finished for the rest of that game.

Now consider the prognosis for this athlete: he was expected to return to the lineup after missing one game. Two, at most. To athletes, playing hurt is a badge of honor, reflecting the measure of their inner drive. The team needs them. They have to compete in the event. The work has to go on.

That’s also true in ministry. Sometimes we just have to play hurt. In fact, we often have to play hurt. Some days I think this is what pastoral work is all about. Church conflicts leave scars from which some never fully recover. A battered soul doesn’t heal quickly, yet most of us have to put food on the table—every day we go to the work that causes us pain. To stay in pastoral work means to play hurt in pastoral work.

We are often called to preach, pray, teach, visit, counsel, marry, and bury with wounded hearts.

A close friend is a retired pastor who is still going strong in his early eighties. He and I often talk about ministry, the good and the bad of it. One of his statements has stayed with me: he says that as he looks over his years in ministry and evaluates it quantitatively, the good far outweighs the bad. But he goes on: he says that when he does that same evaluation from a qualitative perspective, the good isn’t that far ahead of the bad. Still, he says he keeps pressing on because he lays hold of the hope expressed by the apostle Paul that in light of eternity, our “troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all” (2 Cor. 4:17).

In my reading of the Bible, I’m often struck with the seemingly unfair advantage I have over the saints of Scripture. When I read stories about Noah, Abraham, Joseph, David, Job, and a host of others, I know the end of the story. Those who lived the stories, of course, didn’t have that perspective. They were unsure of the destination while in the midst of the journey. They didn’t know what God would bring out of it.

That is how we live our lives. We don’t know the details of the end of our stories either. We are called upon to live faithfully without knowing how our story will conclude. Applied to ministry, we are called to play hurt without knowing when or if we will feel better.

Why it’s so hard

Over the years I’ve mentored dozens of young people heading into the pastorate or other vocational ministry. It’s not uncommon for me to hear later from them, once they’ve spent some time in ministry: “I can’t take any more of this. Why didn’t you tell me that life in the ministry could be so brutal?”

As I listen to their questions and their uncertainties about their calling, I often ask them a question I have posed to myself countless times: “Do you ever wonder why doesn’t God do a better job of taking care of us in ministry?”

Surprised I would even ask such a question, they usually answer, “Yes, how’d you know? I didn’t think anyone else ever asked that!”

If I were in God’s place, doing His job for a time, I’d make sure I provided special care and protection for those on the front lines of ministry. But God doesn’t seem to do that. There don’t seem to be many breaks for vocational ministers. Sometimes the hurt seems unbearable.

Not every pastor reading my words will be able to say, “I’ve been through the conflict and have emerged better rather than bitter, healed through the hurt.” There are times when healing, a word that defies definition, seems far away. At times I’ve wondered if I’ll ever feel whole again. I have no pious platitudes.

I have a friend whom I mentored during his seminary years. We’ve stayed in touch through the fifteen years since he graduated and accepted his first pastorate. In his current church, he often says to me, “I feel so stuck here. These people don’t want to move ahead; they want only to take what they need and then demand more. They want so much, pay so little, and then kick me when I’m down. I feel used and abused by them, but God doesn’t seem to do anything about it.”

My friend might read a book like this and ask, “What do you do with the wounds that never heal? Just about the time they scab over, someone comes along and rips off the scab.” I’ve heard my friend paraphrase the words of Job so often, I have it memorized: “As the sparks fly upward, so is the pastor destined for use and abuse.”

By the grace of God, I have found healing from and hope beyond church conflict, but this has come in developing a theology of church conflict. It hasn’t eliminated the pain, but it has helped me press ahead when in the midst of it.

All-sufficient grace

The apostle Paul learned that in his weakness God’s strength was manifest. God didn’t take the thorn away. Instead God offered Paul the assurance that “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor. 12:9). Our hope is not so much the removal of our thorn but divine strength at the very time we need it. That’s not much comfort on the one hand—I want relief from the incessant criticism—but on the other, the promise of strength from God means the world.

Another student I mentored some years ago confided in me that he feared standing up to preach in his church because of how angry and hurt he felt. He worried he would say something he would regret. Yet to his amazement, he discovered that while he struggled with anger and resentment, God seemed to continue to speak a clear and powerful message to the congregation each Sunday. My friend wondered how that could be, when he believed he was delivering many of those messages in the weakness of his flesh.

He discovered the power of Christ still rested on him even in weakness. I don’t think God was excusing my friend’s resentment or his inability to forgive his enemies or whatever his part in the conflict was, but God’s grace was still operative in his life. As my friend was faithful to the preaching task, God was faithful to his Word.

I find more encouragement in reading about the woes of the apostle Paul than perhaps about any other biblical character. His words and example help me keep going. Paul recognized the value of the message of the gospel that had been entrusted to him as a bondslave of Jesus Christ. He acknowledged that he himself was weak and frail and not up to the task. Out of that realization he wrote that “we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body” (2 Cor. 4:7-10).

Though conflict rips out our hearts, God gives us his power to do his work. That strips us of pride and self-sufficiency—there are times when I press forward in my service to him out of total weakness, moving solely on God’s power. Paul seems to indicate that is the norm rather than the exception: “We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus. … For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body” (2 Cor. 4:10-11). With Christ we are never devoid of hope, never left to our own strength. God never abandons us. Our weakness, wounds, and brokenness are opportunities to experience Christ’s power and presence through us.

In my early years of pastoral ministry, I experienced this in a way I’ve never forgotten. I was serving overseas in an international church and was buffeted by repeated struggles with a young couple who was critical of me and negative about our church. I grew fearful of even seeing them on Sunday mornings. It seemed nothing measured up to their expectations.

At the suggestion of a friend in the church, a lay-leader and I scheduled a visit with this couple in their home on a Tuesday morning. As I traveled by tram across town to their apartment, I was nagged by anxiety and began to regret setting up the meeting. Hoping God would confirm my second-guessing and allow me to turn back, I opened my Bible as the tram noisily wound its way through the narrow streets toward my dreaded destination.

Two stops before mine I read, “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. … For I am the Lord, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior” (Isa. 43:1-3). At that moment I felt God’s presence, as if his power was not only within me but around me.

That day my relationship with that couple began to turn around. Over the next four months, we experienced a renewed friendship and partnership in ministry.

Suffering identity

I remember as though it were this morning the first time I read Paul’s startling words in Philippians 3:10-11: “I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead.”

How could Paul honestly write that?

I was a college student when I felt the joy of serving Christ; I certainly wasn’t interested in knowing much about suffering. Two decades later my wife and I sat together at a Good Friday service in the church we were attending at the time. I had recently resigned from the church where I had been pastor. I was out of the pastorate. Suzanne and I were still in shock from the pain and disillusionment of the past two years.

Worshiping in that Good Friday service, I suddenly began to understand the previously confounding words of the apostle Paul. Out of my suffering for the sake of Christ came a deeper understanding of the suffering he endured to accomplish my salvation. I couldn’t escape the thought that if Jesus had suffered that much for me, didn’t he have the right to ask me to share in that suffering?

I arrived at a deeper understanding of God’s love for me—God had given absolutely everything to bring me into his family. In light of that, I could endure seasons of suffering, knowing that is part of establishing Christ as the Lord of my life.

Learning to trust and obey

One final truth from God’s Word that has sustained me through conflict, through times of playing hurt, is that even Jesus, God’s Son, “learned obedience from what he suffered” (Heb. 5:8). Jesus was not following a script. He fully lived his life, choosing obedience at every turn. The Gospels record how some of his choices resulted in suffering, even for the Son of God. But it was from that suffering—playing hurt— that Jesus learned more about continued obedience to the will of his Father.

I was struck by that truth in the life of Gladys Aylward, missionary to China during and after World War II. Gladys’s ministry in China was chronicled in the film “The Inn of the Sixth Happiness.” She suffered terribly during her journey across the mountains of China in order to take a hundred orphans to safety in Sian in Shensi. Ranging in age from four to fifteen years old, these children were saved because of Gladys’s faithful obedience to God.

But it was not without cost.

When Gladys arrived in Sian with the children, she was gravely ill and almost delirious. She suffered internal injuries from a beating by the Japanese invaders in the mission compound at Tsechow. In addition, she suffered from relapsing fever, typhus, pneumonia, malnutrition, shock, and fatigue.

Through her ordeal, Gladys learned to choose Christ over anything else life had to offer—so much so that when the man she loved, Colonel Linnan, came to visit her in Sian as she was recovering and asked her to marry him, she declined. In her heart she knew she could not marry him and continue the work God had for her among the children of China. Out of her obedience to God, she said good-bye to Linnan at the Sian train station, and they never met again. Gladys continued serving God faithfully in China and England until her death in 1970.

Through our suffering in ministry, God wants us to increase our maturity in Christ. Today I’m better able to trust God and obey him because of my painful experiences. Harsh criticism I’ve received in the past has taught me to listen longer and respond with a gentler answer to my critics today. From suffering I learn more about obedience.

Recently a man in our church opined in a meeting that I had lied to the congregation in a recent sermon. There was a time when he wouldn’t have finished his sentence before I would have challenged what he said and set him straight. But sometimes there is wisdom in remaining silent before accusers. I never had a chance to respond to his accusations. One after another, people stood up and confronted his erroneous statements and challenged his harsh indictments. His response after being rebutted was, “I guess I jumped to unwarranted conclusions and was harsh in my judgments.”

Then, turning to me, he said, “I’m sorry for what I said.”

I’m learning more about what it means to allow God to be my defender, rather than jumping to my own defense. It’s tough to trust God with that, but doing so is part of my obedience in allowing him to work out his plan in and through my life.

Playing hurt in pastoral work is no one’s idea of fun. Somehow, through pain and perseverance, we can discover the truth Paul expressed so eloquently: “We also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us” (Rom. 5:3-5).

Copyright © 1998 Gary D. Preston

WHEN I KNOCKED ON THE COUPLE’S massive oak door, a woman answered. Her husband was on the phone.

Her bloodshot eyes signaled immediately that this might not be the routine one-hour pastoral visit I had planned. Rick and Becky were new to the church, and I wanted to get acquainted.

“We almost canceled your visit tonight,” she blurted. “Rick and I both lost our jobs this morning. Our boss came by at 9 a.m. and told us that due to corporate reshuffling ‘for the good of all concerned,’ our jobs were phased out as of today.”

The shock, she said, was superseded only by the company’s lack of compassion—they had invested fifteen years in the company. Of no one in particular, Becky asked desperately, “And how can they possibly believe this reorganization was the best for everyone involved? Who do they think they are?”

Too bad, I thought, that corporations can’t handle terminations in a more Christlike manner.

I stayed several hours, but before leaving, I cautioned them not to make any rash decisions and then knelt beside them, concluding with a prayer that would haunt me just a few weeks later.

“Lord,” I prayed, “help Rick and Becky to remain open to you during this difficult time. Give them patience to wait on you. Perhaps this is a time when you will lead them in a radically new direction.”

After the prayer I sensed our time together had given them hope. On my way out, we hugged, and they said, “God knew that we needed to keep this appointment with you tonight. Thank you for your encouragement.”

It was approaching midnight. As I drove home along the twisted, moonlit road, I quietly thanked the Lord for the providential visit. God would be faithful during this time of upheaval, I firmly believed, and it could be a time of significant growth for them.

I must admit, though, my mind also entertained another thought on the drive home.

Isn’t it fortunate, I thought, that the chances of that ever happening to me are remote. Sure, a host of hazards accompany the pastor’s calling, but surprise terminations aren’t one of them. I felt comforted—at least I was free from that worry.

Six weeks later, at 10:15 one evening, our telephone rang. I picked up the phone, recognizing the voice of the board chairman.

I had expected a call. The board was meeting that evening and had promised me a late update. Earlier in the meeting, I had made a proposal to the board about how we could respond to some of the volatile issues facing the church. I informed them that I thought it best for me to resign from the church in six months so a new pastor could bring a fresh start. Affirming my commitment to the battle-weary ministry, I hoped to use the transition to bring much-needed healing to the congregation.

“The board chose me to call you tonight,” the chairman began, “because I’m a good friend of yours and my wife is on the staff.”

Hardly taking a breath, he continued, “The board asked me to inform you that it voted to terminate you as our pastor. We have decided to effect your intended resignation immediately.”

“You mean the board is firing me?” I stammered.

“Absolutely not,” he corrected. “We are only making your resignation effective tonight rather than in six months.”

“What about the votes of the two absent board members?” I countered. He wasn’t dissuaded; my termination was definite and immediate. In fact, he wasn’t going to prolong this painful conversation either. He concluded with “the board believes this is the right decision, and it will work out best for everyone involved.”

It occurred to me that I had heard similar words just weeks before.

When I hung up the phone, my wife, Suzanne, sat beside me on the bed. Even hearing only one side of the conversation, she had no difficulty figuring out what had happened. With our arms around each other, we sat in stunned silence.

“I guess we’re finished here,” I finally said.

With despair in her voice and tears in her eyes, she replied, “How can they do this? What are we going to do?”

La-z-Boy™ depression

I had discovered firsthand that unemployment hits pastors. This wasn’t corporate restructuring, however. I was essentially fired.

For the first week I felt overcome by low-grade depression and helplessness. With little or no provocation, I would shout at our children or snap at my wife. Some days I sat paralyzed in my living room chair, barely able to answer the phone. Friends’ assurances seemed hollow.

It’s easy for you to tell me about God’s faithfulness I thought. You still have your job.

Several days passed before I could do anything other than stare into the pine forest outside our living room window. When my wife finally coaxed me out of our LA-Z-BOY™ recliner with the invitation “Would you go with me for a hike in the woods?” my recovery began. I didn’t feel like leaving the security of my chair, but her patience with my anger and irritability made me feel indebted to her. Reluctantly, I gave in. Walking the trails that afternoon, I began to feel hopeful for the first time since the phone call.

Looking back, I’m certain navigating the choppy waters of unemployment might have been easier if I had possessed a primer on pastoral unemployment. But I’d never read anything on the subject. I needed help with the myriad daily questions I was asking: How do I explain to family, friends, and fellow pastors what happened? How do we survive financially before I find employment?

And, of course, the ultimate question: What is God trying to teach me through this awful experience?

To the first question, what do we tell family and friends, we decided to be up-front, telling people we were no longer at the church, rather than to let the grapevine run its course. So we called family and close friends, relaying the facts of our termination. That was not easy. The biggest challenge was sticking only to the facts. Brief conversations, we quickly discovered, helped us do that. The longer we talked, the more likely we were to criticize people on the board or spew our volatile emotions.

When neighbors noticed I was around home every day, I informed them with a pat answer: “The church and I thought it best for both of us if I took an early retirement.” They got the point and seldom asked for details.

The church promised us a severance package that would help us financially through the early weeks. Unfortunately, because of deteriorating finances and declining attendance, the church was unable to fulfill its promise. I discovered this when what turned out to be our last severance check arrived for only half the usual amount. There was no accompanying note or preparatory phone call, only half a paycheck. Once again, I felt angry and disappointed.

To fill the financial gap, I resurrected my skills as a carpenter and became a fix-it repairman. My wife was also able to add an extra day at the office where she worked part-time. The remaining shortfall God provided through special gifts from friends in the church and the community. We also found help through a ministry in southwestern Colorado called Sonscape, designed for wounded ministers and their spouses. One week there began to restore our walk with God, renewing our desire to serve again.

As I walked through the valley of unemployment, I began to learn several important lessons.

Mr. Mom

When I lost my job in ministry, I not only had to deal with loss of self-confidence and steady income but also with the losses experienced by my children, who were in elementary school at the time. They could not understand why they could not attend their church anymore and why Dad no longer preached on Sundays.

For the first six weeks after being fired, Suzanne and I couldn’t bring ourselves to attend another church. At first, our two young boys were thrilled with the thought of missing church.

“Do we get to stay home from church again to-morrow, Dad?” became a routine Saturday evening question. Somehow, by not going to church, they felt naughty, like they were getting away with something.

We tried to explain. “For us, going to church is a little different than for the rest who attend our church,” I told them. “Not only did we attend that church, but that is also where I was employed. So since I’m not working there anymore, it isn’t okay for us to attend there.”

They didn’t fully understand the connection. Later they asked, “Why can’t we sing in the children’s choir spring concert?” and “Why isn’t our family going to family camp this summer?”

Even though our boys couldn’t fully grasp the significance of my termination, keeping them informed, we believed, was important. Our open communication seemed to calm the ripple effect my job loss had at home.

We also discovered a book that presents basic questions that adults who have lost a job might not think to ask their children. When a Parent Loses a Job, published by the National Childhood Grief Institute in Edina, Minnesota, helped our children cope with the range of emotions associated with a parent’s job loss. Too often a job loss can trigger family problems and even divorce. But it need not be that way. It can be a time for a family to pull together and for the children to help the parents accept some of the grief by sharing it. The imagination of children can run wild. Children may believe worse things are going on and assume the problems are their fault.

By watching their parents, children can learn significant lessons about how to maintain a sense of hope and faith. Before going to bed, for example, our boys regularly prayed for me, asking God to help me with this difficult situation. One night our youngest petitioned, “God, help Daddy find another church to be its pastor and help him not to run over [with the car] the people on the board.” The boys had a sense of my needs as well as a sense of humor.

Teens particularly can be included in many of the family discussions relating to a job loss. Of course, discretion should be used in sharing too many details when the children are present. With our preadolescent children, for example, my wife and I never used the names of board members. Though the boys were curious, we didn’t think it was necessary for them to know which of their friends’ parents on the board had decided to terminate me.

The boys had a hard time adjusting to our financial situation. “Dad, are we going to be poor now?” became a frequent question. I assured them that God would provide for our needs. We made a point of sharing with them the various ways God provided financially for us. When a sizable check came in the mail from a neighborhood Christian, we showed our boys the letter and the check right away.

Being on a tight budget also helped our family discern more carefully between needs and wants. We all recognized that our summer vacation plans would need to be pared down. We asked our boys, “Even though we aren’t going on a big vacation this summer, do you think you still have everything you need?”

“Well, yes,” they responded. “But we can hardly wait for you to get a job so we can finally get a new toy.” Rather than pull them out of the Christian camp they loved, we swallowed our pride and requested financial assistance.

My unemployment was a wonderful opportunity to spend larger blocks of time with my children. I learned the art of carpooling. Walking my sons to the school bus became a morning ritual. And I joined a dozen moms from our youngest’s school class to take the kids on an excursion called “A Day in Denver.” Our son was the proudest kid in his class that day, the only one whose dad came along.

My wife also saw more of me. Things we had only talked about previously we now did: riding bikes, playing tennis, hiking, having lunch together. These activities enabled us to grow closer during this painful time. Without Suzanne’s support, my unemployment would have been a minus rather than a plus to our family relationships. Although our money was tight, we did have extra time, and we chose to spend it freely with each other. Fortunately we owned our home and didn’t feel the immediate pressure to move. Pastors who live in a parsonage may have much more complex situations to address, such as finding immediate housing and uprooting their family to a new area. We didn’t have to yank our sons from their school and friends.

Not so personal

Being fired made me feel like a complete failure. I tended to accept all the blame or lay it all at the feet of the board. Neither approach was helpful. I had to acknowledge that it takes two parties to quarrel and have a parting of the ways.

I began listing mentally some of the lessons from this ordeal, trying to analyze what I could have done differently or better. That process was helpful. I recognized the debacle was partially my fault, and that was all God asked me to accept.

I also recognized that others were partly to blame as well. My journal entries during those first days following my termination were filled with angry accusations: “How could that board have been so blind and self-righteous?” But as the ink flowed from the pen to my paper, along with it went some of the anger in my soul. I recognized I should have communicated more openly with the board about the deep church problems. I also should have viewed the board, the staff, and myself as teammates rather than opponents.

No one has ever seen those written words, but as I reread them now, I recognize how my journal became my therapist. Journaling allowed me to express unrighteous thoughts and feelings. In so doing, issues such as personal responsibility, forgiveness, acceptance, and trust floated to the surface.

The loss of my job demonstrated painfully to me that I’m not in control of my life—but I needed to control what I could. Because of the demands of ministry, I had been neglecting activities that I enjoyed.

A time of unemployment can be an opportunity to eat and exercise properly. Sharpening dormant skills, cultivating a hobby, and having fun aren’t sins during this kind of interim. Before our severance pay ran out, I tackled several woodworking projects that had been on hold. I built a new porch swing and picnic table. Our garage has never been more organized, and my wife’s fix-it list was finally fixed.

Not only did I spend more time with my family, I spent more time with God. After that terrible phone call, one of the first friends I had lunch with challenged me to draw closer to the Lord than I had ever been. “Just because you feel ostracized from the church at this time, doesn’t mean the Lord of the church isn’t still longing for your friendship,” he said.

That was good advice. I used the first hour of the day after our boys went to school to spend time with the Lord, and it proved to be a real gift. Rather than the quick ten- or fifteen-minute devotional time I always had at my office, I could now ask God questions and listen for answers; I read chapters instead of verses; I rediscovered the joy of using a hymnal to commune with God.

Focus on the family

My wife pointed out that when I, as a pastor, lost my job, we lost more than just a paycheck. We also lost our church family, the very community that others who are unemployed can still draw upon to find comfort, understanding, and encouragement.

Church attendance, then, was something we needed to confront. For the first six weeks after my termination, we had no desire to set foot in a church. We accepted our feelings and gave ourselves permission to treat Sunday just like our nonchurched neighbors. The only difference was that we had a time of family worship, either on Saturday evening or Sunday morning after breakfast. Then we used Sunday as a restful family day.

When we finally felt comfortable in attending a public worship service, we sought out one of the largest churches in the area, where we could be anonymous. That was a good idea. Both Suzanne and I cried our way through those initial worship services. I’m sure the people sitting around us wondered what our problem was, but at least they allowed us privacy.

Eventually we were ready to add a few personal relationships to our public worship experiences. That’s when we began attending a large church where we knew a few people. We stayed there, thankful to have found a church that allowed us the freedom to heal without any pressure to be involved.

To supplement our casual church attendance, though, we needed the support of Christian friends. My wife and I were invited to participate in two small groups. Although we declined to do so on a weekly basis, meeting with them occasionally was encouraging. We knew they prayed for us, and when we did attend, we felt unconditionally loved and accepted.

Though the last thing I felt like doing was rehashing my firing, this was not the time to become isolated. There were people in our former church, we discovered, who loved us and were hurt by my termination. They wanted to care for us, but they needed our permission to do so. We initiated contact with them and accepted their approaches toward us.

In the congregation I served, two other men had recently lost their jobs, and so I met regularly with them for mutual support and encouragement. When one of them found a new job, his success bolstered our confidence that we, too, would see God provide.

During the final weeks of the battle at our church, I had decided to leave pastoral ministry after my resignation. I concluded that “no job is worth this.”

My wife described best what I was feeling: “It feels as though our lives have been vandalized.”

It was like someone had crept into our lives, stealing our most precious possessions and damaging our values. Our trust in Christians evaporated, as did our love for giving and serving. Considering another church was impossible; we simply had nothing left to give.

In the weeks that followed my termination, however, the Lord challenged that conclusion. The first person he used was a seminary professor I happened to see. He mentioned he had heard the news of my termination. After consoling me for a few minutes, he said, “I hope you won’t leave the pastorate; the church needs pastors like you.”

“Perhaps you don’t understand what we’ve been through—all the pressures and demands of church ministry,” I replied. “It’s different than teaching in a seminary where everyone professes a significant measure of spiritual maturity.

“No job or ministry is worth all the hassle and heartache I have experienced the past year,” I continued. “There has to be another acceptable way for me to serve the Lord other than pastoring a local church.”

Time and again, however, the professor’s message was reiterated in different words from a variety of people who knew me well and had observed my ministry over the years. Talking with others familiar with my ministry refocused my calling. I had to overcome my fear of asking them for candid evaluations of my gifts, abilities, effectiveness, and calling.

Personality, temperament, and vocational testing were also helpful. My wife and I received this help at the retreat we attended in southwestern Colorado.

A probing question from a friend also aided my reevaluation. “What would you do for a living and a ministry,” he asked, “if you knew God would grant you the ability to do it and bless you with success?”

Each time I answered that question, being a pastor topped my list. The more time passed, the more I regained my perspective on the call God had placed on my life to serve as a pastor. Six months after my termination, I joined the staff as associate pastor at the church we were attending.

When I left the home of the couple who had lost their jobs, the wisdom I offered that evening was academic and untried. But not anymore. Today my life is forever changed. Unemployment, I’ve discovered, can be redeemed by God, helping one refocus on the most precious element of our relationship: God’s faithfulness.

Church conflict, I’ve come to realize, may be the most effective tool God has to shape our character. That is the thesis of this book. Both in the specific instance of my job termination and in the day-to-day conflict of pastoral ministry, I’ve discovered that God has changed me. I wouldn’t have chosen such a route, but the frustration and hurt and loneliness of conflict have been used by God to develop my soul.

Copyright © 1998 Gary D. Preston

Maintain the Value of Compliments

Compliments are so valuable they should be used sparingly in order to remain valuable. Nothing was more disturbing to me than to be paired in a round of golf with an overly courteous individual who complimented my every shot—good, bad, and mediocre. He insulted my intelligence, as if I didn’t know when I had made a good or bad shot.

Charles Pitts was an excellent golfer who complimented only “a golf shot.” I can remember well on the ninth hole when I hit a ball with an eight iron—high over a tree—that landed reasonably close to the pin. He walked across the fairway, shook hands with me, and said, “That’s a golf shot.” He knew how to keep his compliments valuable.

If we overcompliment, we not only become a Pollyanna, we lose our authority to praise. Praise should be earned. It should be specific and come from someone who knows what he’s complimenting. General Maxwell Taylor said that you can cheapen yourself if you are too quick to give compliments. Compliments remain valuable when they have integrity and are given at the right time for the right reason.

The Care of co*ckleburs

Someone said every dog needed a flea to remind him that he is a dog. Most organizations need what my mentor Maxey Jarman called “corporate co*ckleburs.”

Genesco had one of the best in Lou Sutley. Mr. Jarman put him on many of the operating committees just for his dissenting value. He was highly intelligent and saw the other side of most questions, which Maxey felt should be looked at even though doing so was unpleasant. Once I was chairing a meeting in which Lou punctured several sacred balloons. I became so frustrated that I went to see Mr. Jarman in a huff and threatened not to sit in another meeting with Lou. Mr. Jarman smiled and said, “He evidently is doing his job well. He’s the corporate co*cklebur. We need him.” Valuable co*ckleburs are scarce and should be carefully cultivated.

Intelligent opposition dedicated to the cause may by disagreeing with us energize an integrity and courage that we can use to accomplish the mandate for our organization.

Faith or Folly?

There is a marked difference between scriptural faith and foolish assumptions. Wise faith responds to the promises and principles of Scripture. Folly faith is fueled by human desire, generally rationalized by deceptive proof-texting.

A few years ago, I was teaching a Presbyterian Sunday school class on David. I pointed out that he carried the five stones because as a good entrepreneur he didn’t want to be undercapitalized. I opined that he knew if he missed Goliath with the first one, he certainly had a better than even chance of getting him with one out of the five, considering his skill. A dear lady confronted me after the class saying, “That can’t be right. You never fail when you’re working for God.”

“What about Stephen?” I asked. All the martyrs were working for God.

When we abuse prayer, we are practicing faith folly. Too often prayer does not enter into the setting of our goals nearly as much as it does in the attaining of them. Better to seek God’s will in the setting than to ask him to bless the accomplishment. We should pour prayer over our human efforts like sauce over meat.

Who Sets Our Priority?

Years ago, Dick Halverson, former Senate chaplain, and I conducted a retreat for laypeople. He gave me great freedom when he said, “Do you realize that Christ did not have a daily planner? He simply went about doing good. When the woman with the sickness stopped him as he was going to raise the dead, he simply took care of it. He didn’t say, ‘Wait a minute. I’m on my way to raise the dead and that’s more important than stopping your issue of blood.’ He simply used each opportunity to do good. When we believe that God engineers our circ*mstances, he sets our priority.”

As I get older I have come to a better perspective on how God engineers our circ*mstances. When I was young, I was a great planner. I still believe in planning organizational activities. However, I’ve learned to leave a flexibility in my spiritual service. Now I see instances that seemed insignificant at the time that were actually tremendously significant. A conversation with someone at the time might mean little yet might change a life.

I had breakfast with a young professional and gave him one thought, which he wrote down. Later he told me, “That re-vectored my life.”

Use and Abuse of Humor

For years I’ve studied the serious use of humor. I once asked Malcolm Muggeridge if there had ever been a book written about it and he said yes—there were two, and both were dreary because the men writing failed to have a sense of humor. Most books about humor end up as joke books and not about the use of humor.

We all recognize humor as a relief from hostility and rising tempers. Humor can be the softest of soft answers. Humor can be a coagulating agent for diverse groups in an audience. It is often used to give a psychological break when sustained thinking becomes tired.

There are many misuses of humor. I’ll mention only three. First is the person who tells a story as if it happened to him. Since most people in the audience have likely heard the story many times before from many different people, such a tack not only decreases the effect of the story but impinges on the integrity of the teller.

Second, using too much humor causes listeners to wait for the next laugh and thus ignore the serious part of the talk. Laughs generally are much more appreciated than thoughts by the average person. That is evidenced in our society being saturated with entertainment.

Third, our humor should be theologically correct. I doubt we should ever laugh about hell or immorality. I’ve seen cartoons in Christian publications that were contrary to their stated theological beliefs.

Humor should illustrate a basic principle more than it should be decorative. The more we see good humor in human situations, the more they serve as excellent illustrations. Another important use of humor is to lubricate the needle. Some are so gifted in the use of humor that several minutes after we are away from them, we realize we were inoculated by truth with a needle lubricated with healthy humor.

Consistency Is Vital

Followers basically want to align with their leader, but they must have a clear idea of how to do it. The leader’s consistency is the answer.

An inconsistent leader confuses his followers. This creates a vacuum of leadership in which the aggressive go off on their own while the majority become immobilized, not knowing what to do for fear of making a mistake. A psychiatrist told me, “Be sure your employees know what makes you smile and what makes you frown. Be consistent. Always smile at the same thing and frown at the same thing, so your people know how to make you smile and how to avoid your frown. Employees feel secure when they know they are helping the boss to smile.”

The False Test of Spiritual Endeavors

Recently I attended a Guideposts seminar on “The Power of Positive Thinking in Business.” One attendee was a bright executive, vice-president of a large corporation. During the break she wanted to visit with me, because she’d heard of my having mentored executives.

In our conversation, she mentioned, “I used to be a Methodist, but now I’m all-out New Age, and it works for me.” She said it with such emphasis, conviction, and triumph that I wanted to learn more of her story, but the break ended. Often I have heard leaders claim God’s blessings on their efforts because “it works.” Many times we rationalize a questionable method as practical because “it works.”

But is “working” the real test of spiritual endeavors?

A friend, Warren Hultgren, once pointed out to me that “working” isn’t the perfect test, for Moses struck the rock twice and it worked. That is, water came out—but he was kept from the Promised Land. Our nonscriptural human methods might work, but do they keep us from entering the “Promised Land” of peace and joy?

Sincerity in Communication

When we want to communicate, we must accept our responsibility to use language the other understands. Non-believers, particularly those without a Christian background in church or family, hear many of our revered standard phrases as pious babble. Even our tone of voice turns them off. We have adopted the seminary brogue so widely that when surfing the TV, we can tell a sermon by only a word or two.

Using “blessed hope” and “saved” means a lot to those who have it and are, but nothing to those outside the Christian community. We must have enough passion to communicate that we learn the language of those outside our ranks and then use it meaningfully. In Mexico, I find myself frustrated by the inability of its people to understand English rather than by my inability to speak Spanish. Comically, I find myself talking louder and repeating myself more as if repetition and volume could create understanding.

Within the Christian community, sincerity of communication must be a hallmark; we must be careful not to use our assumed personal connection with God as a persuasion tool.

Healthy Attrition

A certain attrition rate in aspiring leadership is healthy. The Army has 7 percent, the Marines 14, and some of the drill sergeants think it should be as high as 25. “Beware of him of whom all men speak well” should apply to our leadership—not that we go out to disqualify people, but we should not maintain people who disqualify themselves, either by lack of character or gifts.

I started out as a voice student hoping to make the opera. Fortunately, I had an honest teacher who one morning after a lesson said, “Fred, you have everything to be a successful singer except talent. You can’t make it. Don’t waste your life trying.” He was so right and so courageous. He blessed me with his honesty. I went into business where I had a talent. Remember what Spurgeon told his young students: “Young man, if you can’t speak, you weren’t called to preach.”

Breaking Psychological Barriers

Roger Bannister did more than run the first four-minute mile in history. He broke a psychological barrier. Almost immediately, others started doing what had never been done before. They, too, ran the mile in under four minutes. Training couldn’t account for that; there wasn’t that much time between when he broke the record and when others also began running under four minutes.

Leaders need to recognize and break psychological barriers for their people. The greatest barrier I have seen in the church is: “The deeper life is not for me. Only a few are caught in the web of his grace.”

Successful Timing

Proper timing is part feel and part logic. I was walking through a West Coast manufacturing plant with the president when he surprised me by saying, “The most important ability of a leader is timing.”

Being in the right place at the right time often determines success. This isn’t just luck (particularly for Calvinists).

Our emotions have a lot to do with our timing. If we are too anxious, we may fire someone too early. If we are afraid, we wait too long. My experience is that many more miss proper timing by being late than by being early. Fear of making a mistake is the culprit.

Genesco was thinking to start a public-relations program in New York. Maxey Jarman and I were having dinner with the public-relations executives, listening to their proposition. Afterward, walking down Fifth Avenue, he asked me what I thought. I told him I felt I needed more information before making a decision. He said, “Specifically what information do you need? I think you’re just procrastinating.” I said, “You’re right. I’m scared of spending that much money.”

I never forgot the question Maxey asked me. I’ve re-worked it into three words: “Why not now?”

Listening to the Spirit

I was speaking one night at the Shrine Auditorium in Los Angeles to six thousand sales executives. I knew there was an hour-long co*cktail party beforehand, so I figured I would need a quick way to connect with the audience. I knew some wonderful stories, slightly off-color, that would grab the group’s attention and generate a big laugh. However, I didn’t feel comfortable using them.

As I paced my hotel room, I bowed my head and said, “Lord, I won’t do it, and if during my presentation the time seems right to give a witness I’ll do it.”

About halfway into my talk I sensed a little hiatus, a transition, a sense of “now.” I said only a few words about my faith, but a holy hush came over the crowd. I knew something had happened.

They stood and applauded and recalled me to the platform, but I didn’t feel worthy to go. I knew I hadn’t done it alone.

For the “Old Man” or the “New Man”

Sometimes Christians ask me if I think psychology can be used with integrity in Christian situations. My answer is yes, provided you start with a firm understanding of what the new birth is and what it means to be a new creature in Christ.

There should be a difference in the way a Christian and a non-Christian approach psychology. The overriding question for the Christian is whether psychology is being used to develop what the apostle Paul called the “new man” or whether it is being used to revitalize the “old man” and make him more comfortable.

People like to have the old man made comfortable. They receive comfort from hearing of a God of love, an em-pathetic, caring counselor kind of God, a Santa Claus God, a God to whom you can quote, “Ask whatever you want,” and get it. That is not prayer based on redemption but on greed.

When we make the old man comfortable, we deceive our listeners and sacrifice their welfare to our own desire for comfort.

Joy in Sacrifice

Christians should know the joy of giving as well as the need for giving. We give to satisfy our need to give, to respond to God for what he has given us. Giving cleanses our conscience.

I learned this lesson from my father, who was financially abused by the churches he served. He never made more than $3,000 a year, and yet he taught me to tithe. Not only did my dad tithe on his gross income, he gave a gift above the tithe. I’ve never forgotten his example. When I was making six dollars a week I tithed sixty cents. That made it easier to give when my income was in six figures.

There is a level beyond obedience in giving. It’s joy. Once we feel the joy of giving, we have received the blessing of giving. I can’t explain it, but there is a connection between joy and sacrifice.

Creating Thirst

Dr. Howard Rome, the psychiatrist, once told me, “You don’t understand motivation until you understand thirst. Motivation is satisfying a thirst.”

With this insight I began to observe that many pastors present water to nonthirsty members. The person who doesn’t want to understand Scripture doesn’t listen even to the best teaching. Horses that are not thirsty can’t be made to drink. Pastors who are thirsty to teach the Bible must find listeners who are thirsty to hear it. We must first recognize the lack of thirst and the need to create it before we give someone the satisfaction, which will then be gladly received.

Everyone is Motivated

We use the word “motivation” as if it were only forward motion at various speeds. This is a wrong understanding of motivation.

Those who are doing nothing are motivated to do nothing. Those who are active are motivated to be active. To motivate people who are motivated to do nothing, we have to overcome the first motivation in order to get them in a forward movement. I was told by a corporate president who manufactured railroad engines that the biggest problem was harnessing enough power to start the train rolling. Aircraft designers have to build enough power into plane engines to break the pull of gravity before they can power the flight itself.

As leaders we need to recognize that inertia is a motivation, not simply the lack of it.

Tongue Management

In Scripture the tongue is referred to as fire, one of the greatest discoveries of mankind. By it we do many things. Yet unmanaged it becomes one of the most destructive. The management of the tongue starts with the management of the heart, for out of the heart the tongue speaks.

For the tongue to have freedom, the soul must have purity. It must be purged of pride, greed, hostility, or the poison of the heart will come out of the mouth.

Harvesting Your Mental Activity

We would hardly think of growing wheat without garnering it or tending fruit trees without picking the fruit, yet so much of the harvest of our mental activity is lost because we lack a system for retaining it or warehousing it.

For many years, I have kept a dictation machine nearby, supplemented by pen and paper, to record what I see, hear, observe, think, and read. I record stories, phrases, metaphors, thoughts that need additional exploration, beautiful definitions, and well-turned phrases. I have been doing this for more than sixty years. I not only collect what I believe but what opposes my belief, for I think opposition is helpful to our thought processes. It is said that writers see more, I think perceive would be a better word, for perception comes in so many different ways.

Not only does recording assure retention, but it correctly remembers. Practice gives us the ability to see and hear much more accurately.

Former Senate chaplain Dick Halverson at the first of every year made fifty files for the Sundays he would preach. This meant he had someplace to file everything he ran across. He sorted once, not fifty times.

Treating the Wealthy With Love

The Book of James tells us not to treat the rich any differently than the poor, yet I’ll guarantee you a known millionaire can’t go to a church where he isn’t courted. Such attitudes coward money can seriously erode a leader’s integrity.

Better to say to the rich person, “I have a scriptural injunction not to be influenced by your wealth. I know that in all areas of life wealth is power. It receives respect. It is catered to, even in the church. But I know you want me to be a person of integrity, and if I am, then I’ve got to treat you as just another member. I’m interested in your soul much more than I am in your wealth. If you see me treating you differently than others, would you be kind enough to remind me of my responsibility to you?”

I must also say to this person, “Now, my treating you the same as every other member does not decrease your responsibility to give according to your wealth. If I preach tithing, I have to preach tithing to you.”

Before I could say such a thing, however, I would need to earn my right to talk to him. I would want him to know I’m interested in him as a person. Then I could say to him with integrity, “If you ever went broke, you would be just as important in the church as you are today. Your wealth does not display or affect God’s love for you.”

The wealthy person needs this kind of honesty and love.

The Value of “I Don’t Know”

Recently a wealthy young man came to me with some problems in an area beyond my expertise. After listening a bit, I said, “I have no experience with what you’re talking about.”

“You have an opinion, don’t you?” he responded. I said, “I would hope I’m considerate enough not to give you an opinion in an area in which I have no knowledge. I’d like my opinion to be worth something, and I have no opinion that is worth anything regarding your situation.”

He was disappointed, but I felt good about my response. I was afraid that if I gave him my opinion, because of his respect for me he would have taken it as advice.

There are times I say to myself, in effect, I don’t belong in this situation. I can’t let someone’s disappointment or my ego throw me off course. Integrity demands I stay with the things I can do and do well.

How many times have you asked directions from someone who didn’t know but wouldn’t admit he didn’t know? His ego and ignorance sent you on a wild goose chase.

Fred Smith, Sr., is a noted author, speaker, and management consultant who has been advising and mentoring leaders for sixty years. A recipient of the Lawrence Appley Award of the American Management Association, he has lectured internationally on the philosophy of leadership and has been awarded two honorary doctorates. He has served as chair of four national ministry boards, including Youth for Christ and Key Life.

Copyright © 1998 Fred Smith, Sr.

MENTORING IS BACK IN FAVOR AGAIN, like a wonderful old story that hasn’t been told for so long it sounds new. In some ways it has taken on the characteristics of a fad; if too much is expected too soon, it will fail.

Mentoring may seem new, but actually it is an update of one of the oldest and best methods of learning. In times before degrees were mandatory, the mentoring system was the accepted one, not only in manual skills but in the professions, such as in medicine and law.

I have heard respected pastors say they believe the apprentice system of pastoring would be more effective than most seminary programs. Ray Stedman, who pastored Peninsula Bible Church for many years, believed in and practiced the apprentice method. He always had a few young men on staff who would travel with him—together they would study, observe, and delineate the scriptural principles of life. These young men saw how the work was done successfully and how they could apply their learning in a practical way.

During the Second World War, industry discovered that when workers learned new skills, they did not retain the information unless they used it immediately. Simultaneous learning and doing is the secret of cooperative education. There are several types of mentoring. I will discuss three: role model, lifestyle, and, the more common, skills-art mentoring.

Role model

Role models personify whom we would like to become.

My wife, Mary Alice, had three women in her life who laid out the path she wanted to walk. The first was her high school teacher, Miss Brown, who was stately, dignified, totally ladylike. Mary Alice saw in her what she felt a southern lady should be, and she wanted to be that. Even today, after being away from Miss Brown for more than fifty years, she will refer to her as the perfect lady.

Next was her Bible teacher, Mrs. Keen, who taught a group of young mothers to understand the Scripture. Her cup overflowed with love and grace from the Lord to those in her class. Mary Alice would say of her, “She is what a Christian should be.”

Then there was Miss Gordon, a tiny, immaculate, white-haired woman in her eighties. She was raised in culture and wealth but spent a great deal other time reaching prisoners. On occasion we would take her to church, and other times we would simply visit. We were with her as Gert Behanna was with her Episcopal priest: we sat and warmed our hands in the warmth of her love. She personified the quiet power of victory. When she passed away, it was a short step from here to heaven.

Mary Alice found in these three women role models who mentored her adult life and vectored her lifestyle. They influenced her not by what they had but by who they were.

Observation and identification are the important elements in role-model mentoring. Often the role model is not conscious of his or her effect on another. Sometimes there is little personal contact between the two. Sometimes a role model will be a character from the Bible. Some say, “I’m like Peter” or “I resonate with Paul.” Another, “Mine is a quiet witness, like Andrew.”

We often look to historical figures for our models. As you know by now, Fenelon, the French priest, is my daily mentor. Though he lived and wrote three hundred years ago, he still speaks to me. He holds me just as accountable through my reading of his ancient writings as if we were talking on the phone.

Lifestyle mentoring

Another form of mentoring defines the principles of living. Recently I heard a young man say, “My grandfather was everything to me. He loved me, and he taught me how to live.” How fortunate to have an older person in one’s life about whom you can say that.

As we look at the Scripture for lifestyle mentoring, we immediately think of Paul and Timothy. From the text we don’t know how much technical skill as a missionary Paul gave Timothy, but we do know Paul was an excellent sponsor. We know he was a father in the faith. He let Timothy observe him at work. Paul promoted him to the churches. In the broad sense, we could call Paul a lifestyle mentor to Timothy.

This type of mentoring is a kind of parenting without the typical parental responsibilities. The real responsibility falls on the young person to absorb and to observe correctly.

For years Zig Ziglar and I have met to talk. Zig gets out his paper and pencil, even though he has a far better memory for material than most people. When he and I discussed this chapter, Zig said, “Be sure to tell the person being mentored to make notes. No one should trust his memory with anything this important.” Another friend, Dr. Ramesh Richard, will invariably put his electronic notetaker on the table as we begin to talk. He says he has a complete file of all our past conversations.

For over forty years in observing my mentor, Maxey Jar-man, I made notes of everything I saw him do or heard him say that I thought was meaningful. After he retired and I was in my sixties, I went alone to our place at the lake and transcribed all those notes. When I told him what I had done, his only remark was, “What a waste.” He didn’t see himself as a mentor in the normal sense. You had to watch to learn. When I asked him to review my notes, he offered to give me a memorandum amplifying anything he felt I had not seen fully. I put his sixteen-page memo with my hundreds of pages of notes and observations over the forty years of our friendship.

The responsibility of the lifestyle mentor is to be open, real, and to consistently personify who he is so the young person receives a clear signal. The mentor must provide a comfortable atmosphere in which the student feels free to ask any question he needs answered.

Sometimes it’s profitable for a young person to make a list of questions. One of the men I’ve worked with for several years is coming to Dallas with a list of questions he wants me to answer before I go into the senile eclipse. These may be questions about the older person’s life or questions the younger person is or will be facing. For example, the learner may wane to ask the mentor, “What were the major decisions in your life? What were the circ*mstances and what were the principles involved in your decision-making? How did you evaluate the outcome?” These questions help in forming a case study. The more probing the questions, the better the learning.

A good mentor never ridicules a question. He may choose not to answer it, but he is careful never to ridicule, for questions are the pump that makes the answers flow.

I’m an inveterate notetaker. Rarely do I hear anything, read anything, or even think anything that I feel I should retain that I don’t commit to paper. I’ve been doing this now for fifty years.

Skills-Art mentoring

Role-model and lifestyle are unique forms of mentoring and certainly are in the minority of mentoring relationships. Mentoring normally is done to improve skills and the art of performance.

Increasingly churches are starting mentoring programs. I have participated in a few, and from my experience have come to believe that the concept of mentoring is not generally well understood. Often what it becomes is simply older men visiting with younger men without an agenda. These visits sometimes turn into Bible study or prayer rimes. These are excellent activities, but they are not mentoring.

Mentoring is a one-on-one relation between a mentor and mentoree for the specific and definable development of a skill or an art. One of my favorite mentoring stories is of the young pianist who came to Leonard Bernstein and asked to be mentored by him. Bernstein said, “Tell me what you want to do, and I will tell you whether or not you’re doing it.” When you analyze this, you realize Bernstein’s deep understanding of mentoring. The young man initiated the contact, he had a specific request, and he made the request of an authority—not that he might get rich as a concert pianist or famous like Bernstein, but that he might become a better pianist.

Bernstein essentially said to the young man, “You’re responsible for your playing and your practice. The one thing you can’t do is hear yourself as a great pianist hears you. That I can do and will do for you.”

The study of mentoring can be organized, but not the application of it. Effective mentoring has no set formula. It’s a living relationship and progresses in fits and starts. It can involve a specific area or several areas. For example, one big area of need is the improvement of decision-making. Goal-setting is another. However, these must be specific. The goal may be broad, but in skills-art mentoring it must be specific.

I’ve discovered it is not difficult to make a list of desired characteristics in a mentor. However, like characteristics of a leader, they are in combination and not equally balanced. To some degree, however, each of these qualities should be in a mentor:

1. The two must share a compatible philosophy. Our goals and methods are really an expression of our philosophy. If the goal is to be Christian, the philosophy must be built on divine principles. To me, wisdom is the knowledge and application of scriptural principles; not the citing of verses or telling of stories, but the definition of the principles. I usually illustrate this by the biblical principle: “God will not do for you what you can do for yourself, nor will he let you do for yourself what only he can do.”

It is wrong to pray for a miracle, for instance, when God has given us the mental ability, opportunity, and facilities to accomplish what we should do. To ask for a miracle is to ask God to be redundant. But he will not let us do for ourselves what only he can do. For example, he will not let us gain our salvation by works; it is only by his grace.

On the other hand, if the goal is based on humanistic values, then the result will be cultural, not Christian. Human philosophy often exploits our greed and selfishness. Human philosophy promotes self-love and self-aggrandizement. Recently a young man came to me asking that I help him “make a million dollars.” That was his life’s goal. He has a materialistic, humanistic philosophy.

I told him chat we did not agree on philosophy; therefore, I would not be a good mentor for him.

2. The mentor should be knowledgeable in the subject and objective in his criticism. The mentor who simply says what the other wants to hear is irresponsible. He should not counsel in matters in which he is not an expert or pass judgment in subjects beyond his limitation. The young pianist was right in going to Bernstein, because he was an authority, a knowledgeable expert, and an objective critic for the young pianist.

It is important that the mentor on occasion admit, “I don’t know. I’ve had no experience with that.” It is good when he has a broad network of knowledgeable friends who might be helpful on occasion. That is one of the strengths of Mayo Clinic. It can call in experts when an individual doctor gets beyond his or her expertise.

Once a young, brash president of a growing corporation was being dangerously extravagant. Though I was on the board, he wasn’t accepting my authority on the subject. I got him an appointment with the ceo of a major corporation, who successfully warned him and possibly saved the company.

3. The mentor must genuinely believe in the potential of the mentoree. A mentor cannot do serious thinking about the needs of the learner or spend the necessary time with him without believing in his potential. A mentor isn’t doing what he’s doing to be a nice guy. Then there may be times when the learner loses confidence in himself, particularly after a failure, and he will need the mentor to restore his confidence.

I had breakfast with a young executive in Dallas, and I asked him to tell me his story. He said, “Until early in my twenties, I amounted to nothing. I think that was due to the face that I was raised in a fundamentalist family who believed it was wrong to say anything good about anyone that might stir up his pride. I felt there was nothing special about me until my Sunday school teacher put his arm around my shoulders and said, ‘I believe in you.’ “

Gradually this young man began to believe in himself. From that time, he started to climb the executive ladder.

4. A good mentor helps define the vision, the goal, and the plan. So many young men I calk to have several options for their life, and they are not equipped to choose the right one. They hesitate at the thought of giving up the others.

Recently I had lunch with a young man who graduated from a prestigious European university with high marks and told me he had “tested genius in thirteen areas.” Yet he had done nothing, though he was in his early thirties. I was talking to another man in the same general circ*mstances, and I said, “You could have married six or eight girls, but you chose one. You will have to do the same with your goal.”

Choosing a specific goal is the key to many other activities. The goal defines the discipline, creates the energy, and gives the measure of progress.

Clarifying the goal is a crucial step in the mentoring process. It controls so many other elements. I try to find whether the individual’s goal is formed by outside or inside influences. Is his accomplishment to please or impress others or to satisfy himself? The image of success has become prevalent in our society. I want to know what gives him his deepest satisfaction. What, to him, has meaning? What does he do easily? What does he learn quickly and remember clearly? Is the goal realistic, considering his talent, opportunities, and facilities?

Sometimes a person will say, “I know where I want to go, but I don’t know how to get there.” I have found it much easier to work out the map once you know the destination. Be sure the plan is as simple as it can be. Elaborate plans seldom get carried out. Too often, complicated plans are a subconscious attempt to avoid doing.

Paul J. Meyer, creator of Sales Motivation Institute, spent the day with me when he was a young salesman going over the four-step program he had for his life. I was so impressed I asked him for a copy, and he gave me the original, written on a piece of yellow paper, which I still have in my files. In our original conversation, he said that after you set the specific goal, you work the plan, then forget the goal, and develop enthusiasm for the plan, knowing that if you work the plan, you will reach the goal.

5. The chemistry must be good. The first evidence of this is clear communication. Each must clearly and easily understand the other. Before I start to work with someone, I check this out by calking for a few minutes and then asking the person to repeat what I’ve said. Sometimes I’m amazed at what I hear. It’s difficult to work well together unless each communicates well with the other.

Intuition—a feeling of the spirit of each other—is also important. When our spirits are in harmony, then we can work until our communications are clear. We won’t jump to conclusions or get carried off into prejudices. I find this particularly true when working between races.

Often our communications are controlled by certain grids. For example, our value system is a grid. If someone said to me, “I don’t believe the Bible,” that would immediately get stopped by my value grid. I would find myself subconsciously devaluing what that person said. There are several grids through which our communications must go.

Communication, to me, is understanding, not agreement. I hear people say that their problem is a lack of communication, when it may actually be genuine difference of opinion. No amount of communication will change that.

6. The mentor needs the experience and originality to develop options rather than decisions. Often individuals with whom I work initially become frustrated that I will not give them advice but rather options from which they can choose. If I give advice, then I’m taking over responsibility for their decision-making, and that is not my function. Furthermore, how a decision is carried out is as important as the decision, and the mentor can’t control the carrying out.

The mentor must never take over the decision-making responsibility for the individual. After the mentor has given options and ramifications, an intelligent learner will generally select the correct one, the one he believes in most and therefore the one that will get his best effort. A good mentor is not a quick-fix artist.

7. The mentor must be able to commit to a person and to a situation. Once I was involved in a land development requiring large amounts of money from a New England bank. The loan officer was careful in exploring all the details. He explained, “Don’t think I’m being too careful. I don’t want to get you halfway across the river.” When we commit to a mentor, we commit to the person all the way across. That will take time and thinking. I must be willing to take a phone call any time it comes from a mentoree in stress.

8. The mentor must be given the responsibility to hold the mentoree accountable. That the mentoree gives this responsibility to the mentor is important, because this avoids his becoming resentful or quietly rebellious or hostile. Accountability is a major feature of mentoring.

I tell one of my mentorees that my accountability factor is like the tail on a kite—it keeps it from darting around. Accountability is not control. In mentoring it is pointing out objectively what is happening and asking if that is what the mentoree wants. At no time should the mentor take control over the other’s life. The mentor is a counselor, not a boss.

Accountability is confined to the area of mentoring. It is not open season on all areas of a person’s life. If we are mentoring in professional matters, it doesn’t give us the right to invade family matters.

Traits of a good mentoree

There are also certain traits essential to an effective mentoree. Some may have to be developed more as the relationship develops.

1. The mentoree must be honest with himself. Effective mentoring must be based on reality. To me, two of the most important words in life are “current reality.” That means being committed to things as they are, not as we wish they were. We may want them to be different and be willing to work to make them different, but for the present we have to deal with things as they are. I am particularly sensitive to what the psychologists call “transference.” The mentoree must own the situation before he can correct it or develop it.

Recently I stopped working with a young man because he had been dishonest about his financial situation. He admitted he was in debt but said that it was his wife’s fault, which he couldn’t control. A prominent psychiatrist once told me that America’s second greatest sin, after refusing to delay gratification, is transference, at the heart of so much of the victim syndrome. Those who feel they are victims generally expect more than they are due.

I applaud the individual who is handicapped in some way (mentally, socially, physically) but has accepted it as a challenge and no longer sees himself as a victim but as a victor. It’s easy to work a little harder and a little longer with people who think that way. An executive I’ve admired for years had an eye put out when he was a small boy. When he entered an Ivy League school, he checked the records and found that no one had ever made straight As and four letters in athletics. He did it, with one eye. He later became vice-president of a major corporation. He was a winner, not a victim.

2. A mentoree must be a good student. A truly good student enjoys the growth process as well as the reward. When I became intrigued with golf, I thoroughly enjoyed the practice and the study of the game. Great teachers want to find great students. With my mentor I tried to be a good student. That entailed several things for me:

First, I never tried to impress him with my knowledge. I always exposed to him my ignorance. To hide my ignorance from a teacher is as foolish as hiding my sickness from a doctor. A humble person is always conscious of his ignorance more than his knowledge.

Dr. Walter Hearn, who was a biochemist at Yale University, surprised me once by saying, “Fred, every night when you go to bed you ought to be more ignorant than you were when you woke up.” I took this facetiously until he explained that if I thought of my knowledge as a balloon and every day that balloon increased in size, it would touch more and more ignorance on the periphery. Therefore my knowledge brought me into contact with my greater ignorance. The arrogant are proud of their knowledge; the humble are acquainted with their ignorance.

A good student never tries to “use” his mentor. A person with a well-known mentor can be tempted to refer to him in ways that really use him, particularly in quoting him out of context. The mentor is for progress, not ego satisfaction. On a few occasions I have been abused by someone claiming me as his mentor when there was no relation.

A good student works to ask the right questions. Right questions come from thought, analysis, and discernment. He never asks an idle or careless question. It is demeaning to the mentor. There is power in a good question. Recently a young professor told me how following an awards program he asked a prominent man two questions, and the man concentrated on answering only those two questions to the disregard of all those trying to shake hands with him. I have found writing out my questions beforehand helpful in minimizing the verbiage.

A good student does his homework. In dealing with my two mentors, I never called them unless I had written down on paper what I wanted to talk to them about. When we met, I had organized my questions; I knew it was not a social situation. If later we wanted to spend some social time together, that would be up to them, not me.

In fact, I never walked into their office and sat down until I was invited to sit down. They had to know I was not going to waste their time.

3. The mentoree must show reasonable progress. Progress is the pay the mentoree gives the mentor. Currently I spend at least 50 percent of my time mentoring talented individuals. I make no charge. But I get amply paid by the vicarious accomplishments of these individuals. Putting our lives into the lives of others is the best way to attain human immortality.

In the New York obituary of my mentor, it said, “The awesome intellect of him is gone.” I can refute that, for as long as I and others whom he mentored live, he lives.

4. The mentoree needs to develop disciplines to maintain his gains. Discipline always starts with a habit, and when the habit is practiced enough it turns into a reflex, and then it doesn’t have to be consciously done anymore.

Our disciplines should be more positive than negative. The only reason we employ negative disciplines is to help us perform the positive ones. Unfortunately, in Christian circles a lot of people practice negative disciplines and consider this Christianity. They don’t realize the negatives are practiced in order to release time, energy, and resources to do the positive.

Let me show you what I mean with a silly illustration: Your wife sends your son to the grocery store for a loaf of bread. She gives him the money, asks him to hurry, not to stop and play with his friends, not to get dirty, and not to lose the money. He hurries off and comes back without the bread. When she questions him, he says, “You told me to hurry. I did. You told me not to stop to play. I didn’t. You said not to get dirty. I didn’t. You said not to lose the money, and I didn’t. I didn’t do what you told me not to do.”

Nor did he get the bread. The negatives were to promote him in the positive of getting the bread. He avoided the negatives but didn’t complete the positive. Too often we police people with the negatives rather than inspire them with the positives.

5. The mentoree must possess vision and commitment. As a mentoree, the two most important elements are vision and commitment. A clear vision and unconditional commitment are absolutely necessary. History is replete with illustrations of great accomplishments by ordinary individuals with extraordinary vision and commitment.

I vaguely recall a story about an ancient philosopher who when asked by a young man how he could get wisdom, took the young man down to the stream and held his head under the water until he nearly drowned. When he let the young man up, the philosopher said, “Long for wisdom like you longed for air, and you will get it.”

There must be desire and passion for accomplishment—definable accomplishment.

I do not know how to instill passion in a mentoree. As a mentor, I try to channel it. I have found that continually reviewing the vision renews the passion. The passion works the plan, overcoming disappointments, and the plan accomplishes the goal.

Ten principles of a fruitful relationship

To close this chapter, let me mention several additional mentoring principles:

First, in a healthy mentoring relationship, all the cards are on the table. That involves crust between the two. I am careful not to tell my wife confidential matters that are told to me. Anything given in confidence should be held in confidence.

Second, though I have been mentoring actively for more than forty years, I cannot claim any success in improving character in adults. I have become convinced that the only improvement in character in adults is through spiritual experience, not through mentoring. Sophisticated individuals may learn to mask or hide their character flaws, but under excessive pressure they will fail. Character failures come at the most crucial time, when they can least be afforded. Dishonesty, laziness, anger, greed, selfishness, uncooperativeness—all are character failures.

Third, we progress by climbing, then plateauing for assimilation, then climbing again, plateauing again—repeating the process as long as we live. Unfortunately, many people reach a comfortable plateau and stop. They become seduced by comfort and routine. It is the mentor’s challenge to see in the mentoree a potential he does not see and to motivate him to make another climb and another plateau, and then another and another, until his full talent is developed.

Fourth, not everyone can be a mentor, just as many superior performers cannot coach. Skill in performing and skill in coaching are very different. Most successful leaders have had good mentors, just as successful athletes have had good coaches.

Fifth, every good man should be good at something. Helping to develop this good is the mentor’s responsibility. Management expert Peter Drucker has the correct idea of mentoring. When someone says of another, “He is a good man,” Peter asks, “Good for what?”

Sixth, a mentor has accomplished great good when he has taught the individual the joy of accomplishment. I learned this from my mentor, Maxey Jarman. It has become so much a part of my life that when I get low, I immediately start to do something that I feel will be worthwhile. The joy of living returns.

The great opera diva Beverly Sills personified this philosophy when one afternoon at a co*cktail party in her apartment one guest said, “We’d better leave, Beverly has to sing tonight.” She protested, “No, I don’t have to sing tonight. I get to sing tonight.”

Seventh, as we progress in our relationship we should come to the place where we need no preface or qualification. My two great mentors never prefaced with me. At first that seemed rather discourteous, and then I realized they were paying me the ultimate compliment of saying that I wanted to know truth and they didn’t have to adjust it or varnish it.

Eighth, the mentor has a responsibility to create an atmosphere in which the learner can be honest and still respected. In good communication we need to avoid two disruptions: Never show shock at anything anyone says, for in showing shock we are setting our value structure against theirs. Instead of verbalizing shock, I like to say something neutral or noncommittal. If appropriate, I will even try to say something humorous to prevent ill feelings.

Never show curiosity. Curiosity hurts good communication. I think we all would like for people to be interested in us but not curious about us. Curiosity is an invasion of our privacy and generally comes out of a question that has nothing to do with the main purpose of the communication. For example, if someone cold me he was having an affair, I would never ask with whom. If he wants to tell me, that is his call.

Ninth, I make the mentoree responsible for all contact. The individual must set up the appointment, make the calls, and so forth. I do this for a reason: I want the mentoree to know that he can break off the relationship any time he wants to simply by not contacting me. He controls the continuation of the relationship. I will never question why. Sometimes a mentoring relationship becomes nonproductive and should end. I accept this as normal.

Tenth, mutual respect is crucial. I have never had any success helping anyone I did not respect. I’ve tried but failed miserably.

Joy of mentoring

My favorite title is “mentor.” Zig Ziglar flattered me, after years of publicly referring to me as his mentor, by dedicating Over the Top to me. I shouldn’t repeat it, but since I’m over the hill rather than over the top, here is what he wrote:

“To my friend and mentor Fred Smith, Sr., who is fun and inspiring. He is also the wisest and most effective teacher I’ve ever had.”

I hope you sense the seriousness and joy I feel in mentoring.

Copyright © 1998 Fred Smith, Sr.

MONEY IS AN IMPORTANT SCRIPTURAL CONCERN. It shapes life in America as much as or more than any other single item. An amazing amount of wealth is coming out of today’s stock market and booming economy. The best-selling book The Millionaire Next Door is not a fable, it represents fact. More and more people are asking financial advice, but are they getting the necessary spiritual advice they need?

It is the spiritual leader’s responsibility to get involved in the financial lives of those for whom he is responsible. That does not solely mean speaking about the amount they give to the budget but helping them develop a philosophy of getting, keeping, and giving. For too long pastors have been self-conscious, trying to avoid the “money-grubbing syndrome.”

Here are several principles to consider when helping the people you lead to handle their money with integrity:

1. Giving may be harder than earning. I cannot imagine a more difficult or dangerous way of life than to spend the bulk of my time giving away my money to worthy causes, especially Christian causes. I say difficult, for profitable stewardship requires a new and more strenuous discipline than making the money. I say dangerous because of the temptations confronting those with money to give.

2. Giving must move from duty to joy. The sheer administrative monotony can turn the joy of giving into dull duty. A. T. Cushman, the past chairman of Sears, told me years ago, “Fred, the art of administration is constant checking.” But when done right, giving moves people from duty to joy.

A psychiatrist specializing in alcohol abuse reported, “We now know why some individuals after staying sober for years return to drink while others never go back. Those who labor every day, vowing not to drink today, may become overwhelmed with the onerous burden and start drinking again. On the other hand, those who move from the vow of sobriety to the joy of sobriety never go back.”

Freedom comes in crossing the line from duty to joy. Theologically, freedom comes in moving from works to grace.

3. Generous giving is a lifestyle. That involves more than money or appreciated assets or techniques and programs. It involves our spiritual maturity. How often am I willing to pray, “Lord, prosper me financially in proportion to my spiritual maturity”? What a snare it is if we try to bribe God with financial gifts to rationalize our failure to offer him our spiritual gifts.

4. Motive is imperative. Biblical wisdom tells us, “Out of the heart are the issues of life.” In the New Testament, Ananias and Sapphira wanted the full credit for giving while only giving partially. Their greed for reputation cost them their lives. In praising the widow’s gift of a mite, Christ showed he is more interested in motive than amount.

Here are several common motives for giving:

Tax deductions. Many prefer to give to the church rather than to the government. Charitable organizations are anxious to protect the tax deduction, believing it produces gifts.

Peer pressure. A ceo of a large corporation had a reputation as a great fund-raiser. In actuality, he “suggested” that those doing business with him contribute specified amounts. He was a fund-raiser, but not a giver.

Many charitable and religious institutions send me lists of their donors by classification. That is peer pressure. Some fund-raisers urge ministries to create annual, even semi-annual, emergencies, knowing that people give to emergencies. I have been chairman of several national ministries and know from experience that a great many of the emergencies are contrived or exist due to poor management.

Again, pressure is often put on wealthy people to create human immortality by grants and buildings that perpetuate their name.

Obedience. Obedience is an excellent motivation if done out of respect, not fear. A successful businessman without deep religious convictions was told by his relatives chat unless he contributed liberally to the church, God would take away his wealth. That is just as wrong as telling people that if they will give. God will increase their wealth. I know many devoted Christians, cithers and also givers, who are and will remain perpetually poor.

I was leading a retreat for wealthy entrepreneurs when the subject of giving came up. I told them that I thought the New Testament taught proportional giving, certainly not less than the tithe. Suddenly I heard myself say, “Tithing is an Old Testament scheme to help the rich get out of giving.” One of the men who had just given $4 million with great publicity laughed out loud. He recognized that he could spill more than he had given and not miss it, yet he had been given such high praise for his gift.

Obedient giving is not to obligate God but to obey him.

Gratitude and love. Christian giving should reflect our gratitude and love for the Lord. Hans Selye, the Nobel Prize winner and authority on emotional stress, said that gratitude is the most healthy of all emotions. I also find it the most fragile, with the shortest shelf life. Christian gratitude, beginning at Calvary, should show itself in our love, and love is extravagant.

God’s glory. What promotes God’s glory? Do our gifts make others think of him and not us? Is it a witness to our belief in his grace and immortality? When we give for his glory, we must be careful not to try to share the glory, because God says he will not share his glory with us.

Three types of gifts

Giving is more than turning over ownership of an asset. Let’s consider three situations, which may all be termed “gifts.” They may not vary by the amount, but they vary greatly by the motive, effect, and reward:

1. The gift. The purest is the anonymous gift. The gift becomes known but not the giver—or at least the giver does not let it be advertised to his glory. The widow’s mite was known but not because she rang the bell with the gift. She quietly demonstrated her faith with her sacrifice not knowing anyone would notice. For us, it may be easy to be an anonymous small giver but far more difficult to be an anonymous large giver. Maxey Jarman told me a funny story of a New York fund-raising dinner with people standing up identifying themselves and making pledges to the charitable cause. One man rose, gave his name, his wife’s name, his business, its location and merchandise, and then loudly announced that they wanted to give $5,000 anonymously!

When people give anonymously only to keep from being known as a giver and to keep their name off the many lists of givers, they are not giving anonymously for the right reason. Maybe it is difficult to truly give anonymously because in our heart of hearts we do not yet believe we are giving to God and that he sees and is pleased and will reward us as he sees fit.

2. A purchase posing as a gift. Here the giver buys a reward, which is generally recognition or social position. One of the most effective fund-raisers in Dallas is a wonderful lady who has a club, and in order to belong you must give at least $10,000 each year. It is well publicized. Your “gift” purchases you a reputation. It would be more accurate to classify this “giving” as an expense. It is the price of admission. When we give for any reason other than as a gift to God, we receive our reward here. As Scripture says of the Pharisees, “They have their reward.” It does not say the reward is wrong or inappropriate, it simply says when you give for human reasons you get human rewards. If you want the reward here you get it here … but there is no reward in heaven. You can enjoy the reputation as a great philanthropist, but you cannot earn sainthood. We all know we can purchase a position in an organization with the right-sized gift. Sometimes, we are purchasing power.

I have a wealthy friend who is very generous, yet he admits that he is involved in the spending of the money to the point of total control of the ministry. The control is the benefit he buys with the money. Yet Scripture warns repeatedly not to treat the rich any better (or worse) than the poor. I’ve seen people who have discovered the power of being a potential major donor and receive all the benefits and privileges of those who give without actually giving themselves. The ministry does not want to discourage their implied future gifts.

Another friend promised a ministry $20 million in stock but kept the stock in order to retain the voting power it gave him with the corporation. He believed he knew what was best for the ministry. In the end, the value of the stock went from above $50 per share to $1.

3. Giving as investment. Giving as investment is particularly attractive to those who are acquisitive and concerned more with leverage and return than with gratitude and love. They believe they are protecting God from others’ misuse of money. I once asked a friend with this profile to give to a struggling minister doing an excellent (but small) work in the inner city. He quickly informed me that he did not give to small things. He gave only to those who had the capacity to change the whole system.

An example of another type of investment giving is the young man who was a significant contributor to hospitals. His friends told me he gave in order to get preferential treatment should he ever need it. Investors give for returns and, ideally for them, the return will be greater than the gift. A highly successful Christian entrepreneur recently sold his business for an enormous sum. In the paper he reported, “I am going to give a lot of it away. My parents told us we could not outgive God and that whatever we gave away would come back multiplied.”

That is not giving but investing. It is not just a reward but a return on investment that is expected. It is less gratitude than greed.

Ultimate reward

The ultimate reward for the profitable servant is to hear the Master say, “Well done, enter into my joy.” To desire to be a profitable servant requires a great deal more humility than most people possess. Money makes it more attractive and tempting to play the master. In the parable, the Master did not ask the servant how well-known he was, what his standing was in the community, how he enjoyed himself, or what his future plans were. He simply asked, “How were you profitable to me?” In the humblest terms, a profitable servant is like the ox who grinds out the corn. He doesn’t own the corn. Nor does he get much of it to eat. But he does fulfill his purpose in life.

When we help others to fulfill their purpose completely, they can expect the joy of the Lord. Profitability to the Master out of love and gratitude is a great and proper calling.

Copyright © 1998 Fred Smith, Sr.