Category Archives: Church and ministry

What math class taught me about pastoral ministry

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Show your work.  Process matters—it’s more important that you tried to solve the problem the right way than it is that you got the right result, because it’s more predictive of whether or not you’ll get the next answer right, and the one after that, and the one after that.  What matters isn’t coming to the right conclusion by whatever method works for you, but whether or not you understand the real problem and how it works; shortcuts may seem to work at first, but in the long run they just mess you up and put you behind.

Pastoral ministry likewise isn’t primarily about getting the “right answer” to produce the desired results; it isn’t about whatever seems to work.  Rather, it’s about all the things that lie behind that. Read more→

Pastoral subtext

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Of all of the workshops I attended at Calvin’s Worship Symposium this past January, my favorite was the one led by Craig Barnes, working out of material from his book The Pastor as Minor Poet:  Texts and Subtexts in the Pastoral Life.  I was glad, a week or so ago, to see the audio go up on the Symposium website; it’s from the Friday session, not the Saturday one which I attended, but that’s fine.  (Warning:  there are some glitches in the audio.)

The Rev. Dr. Barnes defines “subtext” this way:  “not the reality of what is said but the truth of what is meant”—the truth that lies beneath the surface, if you will.  There’s a lot in his talk, so I’m not going to try to post on all of it at once, because he looks at the movement from text to subtext in a few different (though connected) areas.

He starts off with the subtext of the pastor—the truths that lie beneath the surface of the pastoral life.  He uses the example of  the little Apostle Paul flannelgraph figure from his childhood Sunday school—worn from overuse, purple from Kool-Aid spilled on him, taped together after two kids, fighting over him, tore his head off—as a parable of sorts of how hard God can be on those he uses.

What I particularly appreciate about what he has to say here is that he sees meaning in this—which can be hard to do from the inside.  If the subtext of the call to be a pastor is, “You’re going to look purple and taped-together by your retirement party,” there’s a purpose to that:

That’s how you know how to do better ministry.  How could you possibly provide ministry to the subtext of people’s lives unless you knew about brokenness yourself? . . . God breaks apart his people by putting them into ministry, precisely so that they’ll be better pastors—if they respond well, as the invitation always is, if they respond well to that brokenness.

This is a profound truth about ministry, and one which has profound implications for every part of pastoral work and life (including, as he goes on to discuss, preaching).  One of the things I’ve been thinking about of late is how this fits together with Andrew Purves’ pastoral wisdom about the crucifixion of ministry, John Berntsen’s understanding that ministry must therefore necessarily be cross-shaped, and Steven Seamands’ insight that ministry is equally necessarily trinitarian in form; I have the sense that if you put all these concepts together, at the point where they cross, there’s something important about the nature of ministry and human brokenness, but I’m not quite sure what.

It seems clear that we must be broken if we are to minister—broken before God and before his people—and perhaps even that the awareness that we aren’t qualified to do the work is the first qualification we must have; it is, I think, the complete eversion of the kind of attitude Jared Wilson was talking about last week that sees pastoral ministry as a form of worldly achievement.  I think the key here is that ministry isn’t something we do, but rather a way that we live, and that in particular, it isn’t something we do to other people.

Instead, it seems to me that ministry is primarily a matter of identification—identifying with Christ, and particularly in his crucifixion, and with his people.  It requires the recognition that it is Christ who is qualified, it is Christ who is adequate, it is Christ who is capable; we aren’t any of those things, and it isn’t our job to be any of those things.  Our job is to be conduits of a sort, to be open to whatever God wants to do in us by his Holy Spirit, and to be open to our congregations to understand and identify with the subtext of their lives, the part they don’t want other people to see, so that Christ can exercise his ministry through us by the power of his Spirit.  It’s something we have to do to understand—it only makes sense when lived.

Franklin Graham likes Sarah Palin’s coattails

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I have an envelope sitting on my desk from Samaritan’s Purse, the organization founded by Franklin Graham; on the outside, the envelope references two of the many projects in which they’re involved:

Ministry in the Slums of Honduras

Feeding Families on the Alaska Frontier

Now, had you asked me in advance which of these two would get top billing, I would have figured from past experience that it would be Honduras, which sounds more exotic and a bigger deal.  Past fundraising appeals from Franklin Graham, whether for Samaritan’s Purse or for his father’s ministry, have featured evangelistic work in places like India for just that reason.  But no, Honduras is relegated to a small strip below the address window of the envelope.  Most of the front of the envelope is taken up with the mission to Alaska.

Why? My best guess in two words:  Sarah Palin.

Most of the right side of the front of the envelope, somewhere between a quarter and a third of the total space, is occupied by a picture of Graham standing next to Gov. Palin, both grinning (he looks very like his father in this shot), handing out a big box of food.  The picture dominates the envelope; the eye goes first to Graham, looking down into the box, then moves immediately to the Governor, because she’s dressed in red and so stands out from the rest of the colors in the picture.  The message in this one is very clear:  Franklin Graham is allied with Sarah Palin—they’re working together to minister to the people of Alaska.

Lest you think I’m overemphasizing this, I’m not.  Open the envelope and pull out the letter, the first thing you see is a different photo, filling the top half of the page, of Graham and Gov. Palin giving away another large box of food; the only major difference in composition is that Graham is significantly closer to the camera and therefore looms larger.  Gov. Palin is still dead-center in the shot, and her red still draws the eye.  The caption, at the top of the page, reads, “EMERGENCY FOOD:  Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin and I delivered much-needed boxes of food to native families in the wilderness of western Alaska.”  In the text of the letter, the governor’s office is mentioned in the second paragraph, she’s mentioned by name—and praised in strong terms—in the third, and the entire fourth paragraph is her praise of Samaritan’s Purse.

In other words, one of the main things this letter wants you to take away is that Gov. Palin loves Franklin Graham and Samaritan’s Purse, and that they’re allies in ministry.  This is, of course, a fundraising letter, so what this tells you is that Graham and his staff think that invoking her name is a good way to get people to give money—and that’s no small judgment, because these folks are past masters at this craft.  When most folks think of Billy Graham, they don’t think of him as a fundraiser, but all those crusades cost a great deal of money; who exactly was responsible for raising it initially I don’t know, but over the years, that’s one of the areas at which the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association has gotten very, very good.  If they think Gov. Palin’s picture and imprimatur will help them raise money from the sort of folks who support them, they’re no doubt right.

Why does this matter?  Well, besides the fact that Samaritan’s Purse is a good ministry that will do a great deal of good work with that money, it also matters because those same folks make up a sizable chunk of the Republican base—and for that matter, the Blue Dog wing of Democratic voters, many of whom now self-identify as Palin Democrats.  The calculation of Franklin Graham and the development folks at Samaritan’s Purse with regard to Gov. Palin’s probable effect on their fundraising isn’t a political one, but it has political implications; at its root, it’s the same calculation Saxby Chambliss made when he invited Gov. Palin to be the closer for his campaign in the runoff election for Senate in Georgia:  Sarah Palin has big coattails.  She inspires a lot of people across this country, and if she supports someone or something, that will encourage many, many other folks to do the same—with votes, time, money, whatever.  Whether it’s “Vote for Saxby” or “give money to Samaritan’s Purse,” if she says it, millions of people take it a lot more seriously than if someone else says it.  That matters.  It matters a lot.

This also matters because it’s a good gauge that all the Democratic efforts to smear this woman aren’t really working.  Sure, they’re no doubt serving to fire up the Party faithful, but outside of the elite echo chambers where people pull out lines to convinced each other of things of which they’re both already convinced, when it comes to actually changing the minds of the citizenry, they aren’t taking root.  For all the work the Democrat smear machine is putting into breaking her image as someone of high morals and ethics, that’s clearly how most people in this country think of her, or else her support wouldn’t be this useful to an evangelical ministry like Samaritan’s Purse; they clearly don’t see her as damaged goods, or they wouldn’t be parading her support the way they are.

One might also point out that it matters because it means that Graham and his staff have a better feel for the political realities in this country right now, even without trying, than the Republican National Committee, the National Republican Senatorial Committee, the National Republican Congressional Committee, and the various other party organs that exist inside that great echo chamber of the DC-NY corridor.  Were that not the case, the NRSC and NRCC would have hung on and waited for her to agree to attend their event (as she probably would have done) when she could do so at an appropriate point, rather than turning to Newt Gingrich as a speaker.

The bottom line is that this fundraising letter is just one more piece of evidence of Sarah Palin’s extraordinary appeal and connection to a vast swath of the American populace; Palin Power is a very real thing, and the folks at Samaritan’s Purse clearly judged it well worth their while to make a deliberate and intentional effort to tap into it.  (Which, since she supports and appreciates their efforts, was an entirely appropriate and valid thing for them to do.)  The sooner the national GOP starts doing so as well in an intelligent way—namely, without asking her to tap-dance to their tune for the privilege—the better off they’ll be.

Update:  When I posted this, I was so focused on the letter that I wasn’t thinking about the trip it recounts, so I didn’t link to the post Joseph Russo put up on that trip at the time.  That omission is now corrected.  It’s particularly significant because that post sparked people to donate to Samaritan’s Purse in honor of Gov. Palin, which probably contributed to their decision to highlight the trip.

 

In defense of the church, part VI: We need each other

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Therefore, brothers, since we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way that he opened for us through the curtain, that is, through his flesh, and since we have a great priest over the house of God, let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water. Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.

—Hebrews 10:19-25 (ESV)

On a nobler and more elevated note than the previous post . . .

I started doing this series over a year ago now, carried on for a while, and then some time last August, had my attention fixed firmly enough in another direction that I forgot completely about it.  (Gee, I wonder what could have done that?)  I don’t want to just let it go, though, because this is too important for that.

I’ve talked about various aspects of the church—the value of preaching, the realistic necessity of the institution, and so on—and about the fact that Jesus loves the church, whether we like it or not; I think it also needs to be said, as the authors of Hebrews do, that whether we like the church or not, we need it.  If we’re going to be faithful disciples of Christ, we need to be a part of the church, and we need to be involved.

Part of this is that, as David Wood argues, we need spiritual friendship in order to live as Christ calls us to live.  Not even Jesus tried to live the godly life on his own—he surrounded himself with good friends who went with him everywhere.  The Rev. Wood makes this point in the course of talking about the pastoral life and pastoral excellence, but if it’s more critical for pastors, that’s only because we serve as leaders and exemplars for the church; this is necessary for pastors because it’s necessary for all Christians if we’re actually going to live as Christians.

This is how God wired us:  for friendship, relationship, community, to lean on each other and depend on each other to be strong where and when we ourselves are weak.  We need others who know us well enough that they can help us see ourselves more clearly and accurately than we can through our own eyes, and whom we can trust to rebuke and correct us when we’re going awry.  And let’s face it, resisting temptation is a lot less fun in the moment than giving in to it; we need people whose company we enjoy with whom we can go find something else to do.  “Just say no” only works for so long—we need something better to which we can say “yes” instead.

This is well illustrated by an old story, which has been told in many variations, of a young man who was feeling spiritually dry and cold, and so went to see one of the great old saints of the church to seek advice.  He poured out his heart to the old saint, told him of his problem, and asked what he might do about the dryness and coldness of his spiritual life.  The old man didn’t say a word, but picked up the fireplace tongs and used them to reach into the fire and pluck out a coal, which he set on the hearth.  The coal immediately began to fade, first from bright cherry-red to dull red, to orange, and ultimately to black.  After a little while, the old saint leaned forward, picked up the coal with his hand, and tossed it back into the fire, where it was soon burning merrily once again.  The young man, with a thoughtful look on his face, thanked the old man and took his leave.

It’s not just about what we get out of being a part of the church, though—we also need the church for what we can give to it.  For our own growth, we need the opportunity to serve others as they serve us.  This helps us develop our gifts, stretching us to take risks and try new things.  More importantly, it draws us out of ourselves and teaches us to value and care for others.  We can’t become loving people without actually loving people—and the people who are the hardest to love are often the most important for us in that respect, for it’s in loving the unlovable that we come closest to Christ’s love for us.

Finally, of course, the fact that the church needs us matters in and of itself, too.  God calls us to serve him, and part of that is participating in and serving his body, his people, the church.  Yes, this means setting aside some of what we want; it means making compromises, and putting other people ahead of ourselves.  This too, of course, is part of our spiritual growth, but it’s also the recognition that the call of God on our lives isn’t just about us, about fulfilling our needs and giving us what we want—it’s also about others, and how we can be of use to bless them.

Now, I’m not so foolish as to think that this will necessarily come easily; I’m a pastor, I know better.  But what I said in the first post in this series still holds true:

I don’t stay in the church because I have found it to be a wonderful place and a wonderful experience; taken all in all, I’ve found it quite uneven. Rather, I stay in the church as an act of faith that God meant what he said when he called us his people, his family, his body, and promised that not even the gates of Hell would prevail against us—and I say that as one who knows full well that those gates threaten us from within as well as from without. However ambivalent I may sometimes be, it remains true through all that Jesus loves the church, and died for her, and that we are called to follow his lead.

All of which is to say, as much as I understand the stones people throw at the church (having fired off a few myself at times), I do believe the church needs to be defended; and I say that not because I’m in the business, of the guild, as it were, but rather despite that fact. However badly we screw it up, as we often do, this is still something God has ordained, and it’s still important that we gather together in worship and fellowship and ministry. Yes, that means friction, which is unpleasant; but that friction is one of the things God uses to sand away our rough edges and polish our strengths. True community—where, as Kurt Vonnegut beautifully said, “the terrible disease of loneliness can be cured”—is not an easy thing, which is why far too many churches don’t try all that hard to create it; but for all that, it’s important for our well-being, and if we will commit to it, it’s a beautiful gift of God.

Another shameless plug

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I’ve been working for a while now on a new website for our church, and now we’re all set up and going.  I’m sure I’ll be tweaking things for a while, and that others here will be doing so as well, but as a beginning, I’m happy with it.  Wander over and check it out, if you would, and if you have any suggestions for improvement, leave a comment on this post—I’m always glad for a good idea or two.  And if you happen to be in the area of a Sunday morning, drop in and say hi—we’d love to have you join us.

Do we need to have it all figured out?

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Bruce Reyes-Chow, an occasional blog correspondent, a pastor in the San Francisco area, and the current Moderator of the General Assembly of  the Presbyterian Church (USA), has a wonderful blog post up on “The pastoral secret that everyone already knows, but pastors keep trying to hide”:  namely, as Bruce puts it, that

pastors don’t really know what the heck they are doing.There I said it “out loud”. We all think it, know it and hard as we try to hide it, most of the folks we attempt to lead, pastor and influence know it too. We don’t really know what we are doing.I have always felt like somewhat of an impostor when it comes to this amazing role that I play in the life of a so many: my family, the congregation I serve or the denomination that I am part of. It is such an honor to be called pastor, but if we are not careful, we begin to believe our own hype and then driven by an insidious need for success, we get into trouble.

Lest anyone think otherwise, Bruce isn’t just speaking for himself or talking through his hat here; I don’t know that all pastors think this (there are bound to be some who feel they have a pretty good handle on what they’re doing and mostly believe they have everything figured out), but judging from the conversations I’ve had with colleagues (including some who’ve been pastoring churches longer than I’ve been alive), he speaks for many of us.  In fact, I just had this conversation recently with a few folks whom I respect greatly—when I expressed this sense to them, they told me not only that they feel much the same way, but in fact said they felt like they know less now than they did when they were young in ministry.The question is, is this a bad thing?I’m not at all sure it is (and again, I’m not alone in this).  When we think we know what we’re doing, we think we’re the ones doing it—and that we’re capable of pulling it off.  Truth is, we aren’t; our work matters as part of the process, but it’s the Holy Spirit who builds the church.  If we know what we’re doing and how we’re doing it, that means we’ve found something we can do in our own strength that “works”—which means in turn that we’re the ones doing the building.  That doesn’t necessarily rule out that the Spirit is also at work, because we can never really tell God what he can and can’t do, but in general, organizations that are built that way, while they may be wonderful organizations, aren’t great churches.None of this, of course, is to rule out the importance of giving God our best; he commands and calls us to do so, and he uses what we give him, and it does matter.  It would be just as wrong to use “trusting God” as an excuse for slacking as it is to try to build the church ourselves because we don’t trust God to do it right (i.e., our way).  But it is to say that God doesn’t ask or expect or even want us to understand everything and have it all figured out and all together.  Rather, what he wants from us, I think, is simply to serve him as faithfully as we can see to serve him in our given situation, in our given moment, and to trust him for the rest.  As Bruce says,

I firmly believe that we must all live in this tension between God’s yearning for us to simply embrace our BEING and the gifts that God gives us to get out there and do some serious DOING. Neither posture is better then the other, but must always be held in tension; for if we sway too much to one side, we lose out on the opportunities that the other may provide.So what do we do to balance this BEING and DOING that God demands and Christ’s calling requires?We listen, we pray, we discern, we act, we reflect and then we do it all over again and again and again and again.

And again and again and again, being faithful day by day by day, until Christ gathers us home.  The faithfulness is our work.  The rest is God’s.

Programming note

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I’ve been behind on posting sermons over on my sermon blog—I’d wanted to edit a couple of them from the audio to reflect changes in the preaching (something I don’t ordinarily do), but I haven’t managed to lay my hands on the recordings yet, so I figured I’d do better to just go ahead and post them as is.  I’m hoping to be able to post the audio as well soon, so perhaps I’ll just let that be enough.  In any case, I’m now caught up on the current sermon series; I’m not done with 2008, since I still have only one sermon up from the first series of last year, Being Church, but I hope to get the rest of those up soon.(Cross-posted at Of a Sunday)

No other redeemer

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“You are my witnesses,” declares the Lord, “and my servant whom I have chosen,
that you may know and believe me and understand that I am he.
Before me no god was formed, nor shall there be any after me.
I, I am the Lord, and besides me there is no savior.”—Isaiah 43:10-11 (ESV)Then Peter, filled with the Holy Spirit, said to them, “Rulers of the people and elders, if we are being examined today concerning a good deed done to a crippled man, by what means this man has been healed, let it be known to all of you and to all the people of Israel that by the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, whom you crucified, whom God raised from the dead—by him this man is standing before you well. This Jesus is the stone that was rejected by you, the builders, which has become the cornerstone. And there is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among humanity
by which we must be saved.”—Acts 4:8-12 (ESV, alt.)This is the church’s message, it’s the word God has given us:  there is no other god in heaven and no other redeemer on this earth; there is no other name in heaven or on earth or under the earth by which anyone may be saved. There is no one else in whom we can put our hope and faith and trust. There is no other. Period, full stop, end of sentence.  That’s our message, to each other and to the world—and make no mistake, we always need to begin by reminding ourselves of that, because it’s so easy to get off into putting our trust in other things. We always need to make sure that we’re really living in the good news ourselves before we try to share it with others.It can be difficult to keep that focus, whether in hard times or in easy ones; but I do think that hard times like the ones we’re experiencing now are particularly opportune times to preach this good news.  Anyone who reads the headlines and watches the news has figured out something they might not have figured out before: they’ve come to the realization that the economy isn’t going to save them. Their jobs, their resumés, their paychecks, aren’t going to save them. The banks aren’t going to save them, and if they have any investments, those aren’t going to save them either.They’ve figured out that Congress isn’t going to save them; and judging by the opinion polls, folks are starting to figure out that the president isn’t going to save them either. With some of the rhetoric that got thrown around last year, I think a lot of people really believed we’d elected a new messiah; I think it’s starting to register that all we did was all we ever do, which is elect another politician. Which is something we should also remember two years from now, and four years from now—even if we end up with a new president and a whole new Congress, they aren’t going to save us either.  Regardless of party, politicians are still politicians—even the best of them.What’s more, we aren’t going to save ourselves. Our plans won’t save us. Our possessions won’t save us. Our big ideas won’t save us, and neither will our little ones. Our inspirations won’t save us, and our inventions won’t do the trick either, even if we can come up with any. All these are good things, and necessary; none of them are enough, even if we put them all together. We cannot save ourselves, and we cannot save each other; and none of the things we value can save us either. There is only one Savior, and he is Jesus Christ the Son of the Living God; there is only one God who redeems, and there is hope for the future—and for the present, for that matter—in nothing and no one else. This is the message God has given us for the world; our call is to share it freely.Interestingly, the importance of this was made clear recently by the great stage magician and avowed atheist Penn Jillette, of Penn & Teller.  I agree wholeheartedly with what the Anchoress had to say when she posted this clip last December:

With some understandable reservation, I have always liked Penn Jillette. Intelligence sizzles off of him the way I imagine it did with John Quincy Adams. He is articulate, urbane, insightful, mischievous and acerbically funny, and he manages to be all of those things without going into the condescension, dismissiveness and arrogance that some (think: Bill Maher) latch onto in college and extend into a sort of perpetually adolescent sneer-and-kneejerk.He is also, clearly, a guy who thinks—you cannot come up with an act like Penn & Teller with a closed mind—and, perhaps because his schtick is all about illusion and unreality, one gets the impression that Penn Jillette does work to keep the world around him, and himself, “real” by his own lights.So it is interesting, and moving, to watch this gifted man struggle to bring words and context to something that surprised him—to keep things as “real” as he can, while engaged in mild (but also real) wonder and awe.I like this video because it is a rare thing to see any man or woman expose themselves in this way—in a way that says, “I had a wow-experience and I am not afraid to tell you about it, even though half of you may say I’m a sentimental chump and the other half of you will say I’m hell-bound chum.” I like it because even though he resolutely insists that he’s still a good atheist, he is not too proud to say he was moved by a “good man” who believes very differently. I like it because he is not afraid of a fight, or to show us a moment where his intellect and his heart are engaged in a bit of a tussle.That’s courageous. It’s rare. Left or right, believer or atheist, it’s rare, and so I admire it.There is a message to Christians, here; two, actually. The first is passive: make note of the fact that it was a gentle Christian who was willing to accept Jillette where he was, as he was, with openness and a positive mien, who was able to touch him. Aggressiveness and negativity won’t get you there, which is why Christ eschewed it.The second message is as far from passive as you can get, and it comes from Jillette himself: “How much do you have to hate somebody to believe that everlasting life is possible, and not tell them that?”

Penn’s right. If we really believe this, we need to act like it.(Excerpted, edited, from “No Other Redeemer”)