The Ecclesia Network

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Good News for Imperfect Pastors

Years ago, I was talking over breakfast with a young man. Between bites of bacon and eggs, he was telling me about his disappointment with his dad.

Having had a dad who paid little attention to me, spent no time with me, and was really only “dad” in the strictest biological sense of the word, as I listened I struggled with how to respond. The complaints I was hearing sounded to me like the description of a normal human being trying his best to be dad; occasionally preoccupied, often not sensitive enough to his son’s needs, maybe not as spiritually dialed in as he could be…

I knew telling him my own story of a bad dad might help give him some perspective, but I didn’t want to make it a contest. At the core of his disappointment was the idea that his dad hadn’t modeled the loving character of God in quite the way he wished had been done. And as I looked down at my own plate of (quickly disappearing) bacon, something occurred to me.

“Well, it’s a good thing your dad wasn’t perfect. If he was, you wouldn’t have needed Jesus,” I said.

What followed was a good conversation on the way fathers (and others) point us to God both in their successes and failures in their roles.

I was thinking of this conversation recently as I reflected on a recurring theme among many of the pastors I coach. It probably won’t come as a surprise to anyone that pastors often struggle. They struggle with the things that every human struggles with, but added to that, they struggle with the odd idea that they shouldn’t encounter struggles at all as spiritual leaders- that by the time they reach a position of leadership, they ought to be beyond all that. And worse, because they aren’t beyond all that, they are somehow imposters or frauds who will eventually be outed as flawed and failing by people who expect… more.

While there are standards of ethics and conduct for ministry that are vitally important, most pastors I work with aren’t dealing with the kinds of sin that would disqualify someone from ministry, but rather the everyday ups and downs of following Jesus. Everyday ups and downs like spiritually dry spells, the very human struggle with lust, envy, ambition, worries about the future, and regrets about the past.

And to those leaders, I would say “It’s a good thing you aren’t perfect. If you were, nobody in your church would need Jesus.”

“Follow me as I follow Jesus” was written by a pastor who himself was not beyond the spiritual struggles of an imperfect human following Jesus. Those words weren’t meant to say “emulate my perfect spirituality,” but rather “emulate me in both my successes and my failures.” Follow me as I walk in the footsteps of Jesus AND as I deal through repentance with the times I stumble off the path. See me in both the highs and the lows, and in that be pointed to the ONLY one who ever did it perfectly.

Pastor, you do well when you allow others to see how you deepen and grow in your discipleship. You would do equally well to allow people to see the harder parts of that journey as well. You aren’t perfect, and no one (at least no one whose opinion you should care about) believes you are or even could be perfect.

We’ll settle for someone who’s trying– someone who shows us what it really looks like to follow Jesus.

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Disappointment and Christmas

Christmas is nearly here. And with it, for many people, the “Post-Christmas Letdown.”

Some of the strongest memories I have are of the two sides of Christmas- the first side being the anticipation- looking at all the gifts under the tree, wondering what could be in them, sneaking out early on Christmas morning to raid my stocking and shake presents trying to make a mental tally of the heavy ones which probably had something cool in them and the light ones that were more likely to be underwear or socks or something else that was so NOT a Christmas-y gift, but would get wrapped up anyway just to “up” the present count.

I loved it, and even though it was hard when I was younger, as I got older I eventually even learned to love stringing out the anticipation by stringing out the opening of presents. Some years it seemed to last most of the day- none of the everyone-tear-in-and-get-’em-opened-in-15-minutes-or-less stuff. Of course, I could never last quite as long as everyone else. So often, my grandparents would still be opening their last presents after dessert, at 7, 8 o’clock at night, while I just watched.

And that’s the second feeling I remember- not quite as nice as the first. The feeling, when it was all over of.. That’s all? That was pretty cool, but…

Anticipation. Disappointment. And if the disappointment didn’t come right away, it came eventually. As an only child, I almost ALWAYS got what I wanted, and more. But all of those things I was sure would complete me, make me into the kid I dreamed of being… all those things seemed a little less vital, a little more chintzy a day, a week, a month later.

What does that disappointment year after year, when we got what we wanted but then realized it was not quite as meaningful as maybe we thought- what does that tell us?

Something crucial.

There’s a story in the Gospel of Luke where Mary and Joseph take the newborn Jesus to the Temple for dedication. It says

At that time there was a man in Jerusalem named Simeon. He was righteous and devout and was eagerly waiting for the Messiah to come and rescue Israel. The Holy Spirit was upon him  and had revealed to him that he would not die until he had seen the Lord’s Messiah. That day the Spirit led him to the Temple. So when Mary and Joseph came to present the baby Jesus to the Lord as the law required, Simeon was there. He took the child in his arms and praised God, saying,

“Sovereign Lord, now let your servant die in peace,
    as you have promised. -Luke 2:27-29

What would it take to get you to say, “Now, I can die in peace”?

Simeon had been waiting his whole life just to catch a glimpse of the salvation that God was sending- talk about anticipation. And when it came, he knew. He knew- this was it- the real thing.

I have seen your salvation,
which you have prepared for all people.
He is a light to reveal God to the nations,
    and he is the glory of your people Israel!” -Luke 2:30-32

I love that for Simeon, all the waiting, all the anticipation actually paid off. Why? Because he was waiting for the right thing.

All his waiting had led him to Jesus.

For us, at this time of year- disappointment is found mainly in two places- when we don’t get what we want- when things don’t turn out the way we had hoped- and when they do, and we’re still not quite satisfied, not quite happy, not quite filled.

Let me tell you two stories.

My dad died about a few years ago. We had a real rocky history- more of a non-history, really- He just wasn’t around. And he died and I never got what I wanted from him. That had always been a huge disappointment, a source of anger and discontent for me. I needed my dad and my dad was never there.

So, what do you do with something like that? It seems you can either let it make you more and more angry or sad, which will destroy you, especially after any hope that the situation might change is gone. You can just “get over it” which in some ways is to say “pretend it doesn’t bother you.”

Or… you can allow that kind of disappointment to point you towards something better.

Awhile after he died, I was meeting over breakfast with some guys I had breakfast with every couple of weeks, and I found myself feeling the craziest thing: gratitude for my dad. 

We were talking about various things God was doing, pushing or pulling us toward, and one guy was mentioning how grateful he was for having a wonderful dad. He loved his dad and tried to look past the one or two little things that really bothered him about their relationship because he knew his dad cared. But still, there were these one or two things that felt something like a wound…

As we talked about those one or two little things, my only thought, and what came out of my mouth was this: Well, thank God your dad isn’t perfect. Because if he was, you wouldn’t have needed Jesus.

It was a revelation to me when in High School someone told me my view of God was likely very much shaped by my view of my father. While the correlation wasn’t perfect, I could certainly see some of the ways it was true. 

We get angry when our parents fail us, or when our dad isn’t the loving, gracious, patient (fill in the adjective) father we want. We get even more angry when we realize they were meant to be a certain way, draw a certain picture… Our parents, and for the sake of this discussion, our fathers, are meant to point us to another Father.

But here’s the thing: more than meant to- they DO. Even the crappy ones. 

They point us to God in both what they do well and in what they do poorly. They point us to him when they succeed in loving us and when they fail to. 

How? How could they point us to Him even when they fail, when they disappoint us?

Because if they were perfect, did it ALL right, offered us unconditional love that was always patient, always wise, always nurturing and building into us… well, I guess we wouldn’t need God, right?

We’d be satisfied with that guy over there in the Lay-Z-Boy and completely miss the God of the Universe, the God who made us, pursues us, died for us. I had a choice of what to do with the disappointment left by my dad- and here’s what I chose: to be thankful for a dad who didn’t get much right (and that’s probably about the most generous assessment I’ve ever done of his fathering). I’m thankful because though he never pointed me to God intentionally, by his absence and indifference he drove me to lean all the more heavily on the God who is always present and never indifferent- the God who loves me, like the Psalmist says, with an everlasting love. 

I realize that may be an odd way to appreciate my dad, but it’s the truth. The disappointment he left me pointed me to something even better. And if that’s ALL my dad ever did for me, I think it’s enough. 

But sometimes- the problem isn’t that we don’t get what we want. It’s that we do- and it’s still not enough.

A few years ago I was living in the Netherlands, working as an associate pastor- doing mainly youth and worship and I had youth group at my house on Wednesday nights. I’d have 25, 30 kids in my house each Wednesday night, pack the place out, do a lot of crazy stuff, eat, sing, pray- it was a good time. And each week, after everyone would leave, I would spiral into a deep depression- some weeks actually crying. I had a house full of people- a ministry where kids were showing up, connecting to Jesus… and yet after each and every week I would nearly break down.

It took me awhile to figure out why that was. I was really lonely while I was there. I was about 27, 28 and the whole church consisted of people aged 0-18 and late thirties on up. I was in this gap with ten years on either side of me, not married, in a foreign country… and I started to look forward to filling my house with people. Not because I wanted to help these kids know more about Jesus, though I DID want that- but more and more I realized, I wasn’t trying to fill my house, but my soul- something was missing and I was asking these kids to fill in me a social and spiritual need that they just couldn’t. And the real tragedy is, I feel like because of that, I actually missed out on simply enjoying what was. They were great kids, it was a great time of ministry… but I was asking it to do something for me it couldn’t. And it wasn’t until I began to look somewhere besides people for that sense of love and affirmation, that I was even able even to begin to relate to people in the right way.

Our problem isn’t so much that we don’t get what we want- especially around the holidays- we often do! It’s just that we ask those things to do for us what they simply can’t. And so we’re disappointed again, and again, and again. We hope that this year will be different- that the family dinner will be perfect, that the opening of presents will be just so, that everyone will love exactly what we got them, no one will fight… and what we find is that it rarely happens exactly that way and we’re disappointed.

Or worse, it happens exactly that way and still, somehow, it’s not quite enough…

Simeon was satisfied, because he was looking to and for the right thing.

But before you think he was just a wild-eyed dreamer, look again. He was pretty realistic about the trouble this Savior would bring. Look what he said next.

Jesus’ parents were amazed at what was being said about him. Then Simeon blessed them, and he said to Mary, the baby’s mother, “This child is destined to cause many in Israel to fall, and many others to rise. He has been sent as a sign from God, but many will oppose him.  As a result, the deepest thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your very soul.”- Luke 2:33-35

Simeon prophesied that Jesus would have a confrontational effect on the world around Him. He’d cause many to fall, but would be a joy to others. Sent as a sign from God, and yet… opposed. Like so much in life, how Jesus impacts you depends on how you take Him. And as a result of that dynamic, we can say along with Simeon that Jesus reveals the deepest thoughts of our hearts. How?

Just by showing up. Just by being the presence of God to us, the salvation that God has been promising since the beginning. Christmas… Christ, reveals the deepest thoughts of our hearts by breaking into our world and claiming our allegiance. By saying: Here is salvation, and nowhere else. Not in your family, your job or career, your artistic pursuits, not in your 401k. Not in getting what you want, no matter how good what you want may be.

I love that for Simeon, who had waited all his life, Advent was no disappointment. Why? Because it revealed the deepest thoughts, hopes, dreams, and aspirations of his heart. And that heart was set on something real, something deep- something that wouldn’t disappoint. What He was waiting for was Jesus. And Jesus is who showed up.

What’s the deepest part of you? What do you worship? What do you rest all your hopes of happiness and fulfillment on?

Jesus, as the angels sang, the Savior, Christ the LORD, by showing up and claiming our worship, reveals where we place that worship, what our hearts are resting on.

And no matter what it is we put our hearts on, it will always come up short. Just try it. Try looking to your spouse to make you happy. Your kids. Your anything… anything but Him. Whatever it is, no matter how great, just like unwrapping that thing we so thought we wanted, when we actually get it, we find, it doesn’t do quite all we had hoped it would do for us. No- nothing wrong with family, job, career, 401k… But don’t ask it to do for you what only Jesus can.

Satisfy.

Bring lasting peace…. Save you.

Every year we have in Christmas a beautiful reminder: A reminder that God has shown up on the scene, become Immanuel, God With Us, to be our salvation, our peace, our joy. AND a built in-reminder when we stare at the pile of torn wrapping paper and presents we’re thinking about returning… that nothing else can fill that place for us.

So- this year- enjoy Christmas. Enjoy the presents, the family, all the trappings of the Season. There’s nothing wrong with that. But remember- when you inevitably feel a twinge when it’s not exactly like you hoped it would be, when even should you get everything on your list, you find that there’s still something missing, something not quite there… that is, in a sense, Christmas doing its best possible work: Pointing you to your need for something deeper, pointing out where you are putting your hopes for happiness, on people, on presents and things, and pointing you towards something, Someone, that truly can bring peace, Jesus.

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What Do You REALLY Want?

An interesting thing happened to me on the way to church planting: I got offered a 70k a year job out of the blue.

In 2003, before we felt drawn (or pushed… pushed probably fits better!) to plant a new community in Portland, OR. I had been sending out a lot of resumes. I knew it was time to get out of the media job I had been doing at a large church and back into pastoral ministry, and to that end I was putting out the feelers far and wide. But… I kept being number 2. It came down time and again to me and someone else, and yet in the end- always someone else.

At about that time, God really grabbed my attention. I was told my media job would be ending, and I’d have 3 months to figure out what came next. We had just bought a house, gotten pregnant… mild panic began to set in. 

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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.