The Ecclesia Network

a missional church network

Ministry and Spiritual Life

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Called to Stay or Called to Go?

There’s one question that everyone in ministry will be faced with at one point or another: the question of whether to stay or go. It’s one I asked myself at various times after planting a church (around year 7-  stay for another season, around year 14- let go and let others lead), it’s one I’ve coached numerous other pastors through, and it’s one that if you aren’t asking right now, you probably will be at some point in the future.

The first thing to realize about the question of staying or going is that it’s a normal and even in some ways a necessary question. Like many things in life, ministry (and our growth in it) tends to happen in cycles. Around 7 years into a position, again at 14 years, and again at around 21 years, most people begin to feel the desire for something different, something new, something more (or sometimes less) challenging. As I’ve coached a number of others for whom this question was beginning to surface, I have sometimes detected a certain amount of guilt around even asking the question, as if simply by contemplating moving on, they were somehow being unfaithful to the community in which they were currently serving. It always comes as a relief to hear that it’s a natural part of our growth in ministry, and more, that it’s something we ought to be asking.

I say “ought” to be asking, because I know that if we’re not watchful and mindful of our own growth areas, and the needs of the community we are leading, we can end up trying to lead in a community that has (praise God!) grown beyond our capacity as a leader. At that point, the first challenge is to see what’s happening, and then decide if we have the capacity to learn, grow, and change our own leadership to meet the needs of the church, or if it’s time for someone who’s better equipped to step in. In the words of Marshall Goldsmith: “What got you here won’t get you there.”

Now, knowing the question itself is a natural and even necessary question to ask, the second thing we need to be mindful of in asking it is that answers to that question will come from many, many directions, and we need to be careful about which ones we listen to.

For instance, a tough season in ministry is not an indication that it’s time to go. If that tough season has been caused by your own shortcomings as a leader, it might mean it’s time for someone more up to the challenge to step in, but it also might be an opportunity for exactly the kind of growth in leadership you need. If it’s just been a tough season in general, beware of stepping away from the formation of a tough season and into the honeymoon phase of a new situation. The problem with tough seasons is that they always come around again. We may get temporary relief from a fresh start, but soon enough, we’ll be back in the thick of things.

This isn’t to say that a fresh start, a new beginning after a tough season is a bad thing- it’s simply to say that as we are listening to our own hearts, and even more so, for the voice of the Spirit, we often have a tendency to infer from hard seasons that which is not being implied- namely that it’s time to move on. Sometimes, hard seasons mean exactly the opposite: that we’ve finally broken through the “niceties” of church life and are beginning to see real growth, the kind that comes with growing pains and even opposition.

Some other voices to take with a grain of salt when considering a choice between staying or going:

1. Your critics- not that there’s not something to be learned from our critics, but we don’t let them steer our lives.

2. Your ambition- Be careful of wanting, and especially of feeling entitled to “more.”

3. Your tiredness- Being tired or burned out isn’t necessarily a sign you need to move on. It’s a sign that you don’t yet know how to do ministry in a sustainable way. Better to learn that lesson now, where you are, than putting it off with a move and having to face it again in a couple of years.

4. Your opportunities- not every open door is an invitation from God.

So, whose voice should you be listening to? Obviously, God’s, but not in the vacuum of our own minds where discerning the difference between “God wants” and “I want” is often made more difficult in times of stress and tiredness, or even boredom and mundanity. We listen for God’s voice, and we ask others to help us listen. We ask our spouse to pray and listen, we open up to some (or all) on our elder team and staff as to how we’re feeling (as scary as that sounds), and we ask them to help us discern.

It was a scary thing to ask my team of elders to let me know when I had tipped from an asset to the church I planted over into being a liability. But the funny thing is when they finally did tell me that, I had already been there for 6 months, and it came as a confirmation from some folks that I knew loved me. Because I invited that kind of feedback, I could welcome it when it came.

If you are in a season of discernment, widen your circle. Engage with a coach or a spiritual director. Take advantage of our Ecclesia staff- we’ve all been where you are and more, have observed and learned from many others who have navigated that same season. Lean on the wisdom and learn from the mistakes of others. Don’t make these kinds of decisions in a vacuum. Give your leaders and even your community as a whole (when it’s appropriate) a good model of how a follower of Jesus makes big decisions, in community and in dependence on the Spirit.

One last thought. My personal practice is to attempt as much as possible to give God the glory but take the blame for myself. In other words, the last thing I want to do is drop a life-changing announcement on folks and tag it with “God is leading me to…”

This kind of “God told me to” tends to invalidate the feelings of others, cut off any questions and discussion, and generally make people feel like God is doing something to them.

In situations like this, even when I feel like I have the leading of God’s Spirit, I try to preemptively take most of the blame. I will let people know about the prayer and discussion that preceded it, and the various factors that went into the decision, but ultimately, unless and until I can point to real, tangible, fruit, I want to avoid saying pinning the blame for something that I know will be difficult for some or many to hear on God.

Later, when we’re able to look back and see all that God has done, we can begin describing the leading we felt, the promptings of the Spirit we listened to, and give God the glory He deserves.

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What I Learned After Almost Pretending to Faint Just to Get Out of Preaching

I remember pretty vividly the morning when, as a 27 year old associate pastor getting ready to preach for the first time in my new church, I briefly contemplated pretending to faint.

Sitting in the front row of the church, I was feeling completely unprepared to speak the Gospel to a group of people I hardly knew, and to a larger crowd than I had ever spoken to before. Sure, I had dealt with nervousness before, but this was definitely a notch up from what I normally felt. Sick to my stomach, head in hands, I thought to myself “If I just fall over to the floor and don’t get up, what will they do? They can’t MAKE me preach… can they?”

Fortunately for everyone involved, that moment passed. I preached that morning and it was fine. Since then, I’ve felt twangs of stage fright occasionally, but thankfully, never to that extent. In fact, over the years, the nervousness has subsided, but it’s mostly what I’ve learned about preaching that has made me increasingly comfortable in the pulpit.

Here’s what I’ve realized.

First, preaching is a marathon, not a sprint. I think we overestimate what can happen to modern audiences in one morning, and completely underestimate what can happen in a community through years of faithful preaching. Ask a regular church goer what the best sermon they ever heard was. Now ask them for their second favorite. Then their third. This is about where things get fuzzy for most people, not because preaching doesn’t matter, but because it does its best work in the aggregate. It’s not what people hear on any given Sunday that is likely to change them, but what they hear in a year of Sundays that is likely to provide a catalyst for change.

For the individual preacher on a particular Sunday, that means focusing on the long game. Today is important, just not as important as we are likely to believe. Few people will remember what we preach today, but that doesn’t mean it’s not working- slowly but surely watering the seeds of change that the Holy Spirit is working in the lives of our hearers. This takes a lot of pressure off the time I spend in the pulpit, and puts it were it perhaps better belongs: planning, preparing and preaching. I now focus less on what I am going to say to my community this Sunday, and more on what I sense God wants us to say to the community this season, this year.

Second, I’ve realized it’s not about me. And if it seems like it’s becoming about me, I should change that. The real reason we become nervous is because we’ve become focused on ourselves. Our performance, our image, our job… We want to know we’re liked and are doing a good enough job that someone will keep paying us to do it. Fair enough.

But that’s not what preaching is about and we know it. We just need to remind ourselves that it’s not about us. Unfortunately, a generation of celebrity preachers- funny, charismatic, and engaging- have made us think that maybe it is about us, at least, a little bit. We love to listen to them. We want people to feel about us the way we and countless others feel about them, and hang on our words the way so many hang on theirs.

When I first realized this about myself, I knew I had to get off that particular hamster wheel of approval. I’m a decent preacher, but I’ll never be (fill in your favorite big name preacher here).

And neither will you. The vast majority of us are not called to speak before ever larger crowds, get book deals off our sermon series and get called on to speak at large conferences. We just aren’t. And the quicker we realize that, and let go of the fantasy version of our career trajectory, the quicker we’ll be able to get about being the man or woman God has called us to be in our own individual, mundane contexts, speaking to people who, though they number not in the thousands, still matter immensely to God. When I realize that this sermon I’m about to preach is more about Jesus and the people He loves than it is about what people think of me, about honing my skills, increasing my platform or anything other than cooperating with the Holy Spirit in moving the ball incrementally forward in the lives of the people sitting before me, the pressure falls away. And, if you’ll excuse the mixed metaphor, I don’t need to hit a home run every Sunday. Singles and doubles with the occasional triple are just fine. I just need to keep things moving. No pressure to knock it out of the park.

But even in that, I can feel some pressure, so it’s good that I realized it’s less about what I do or fail to do, and more about what the Spirit chooses to do.