Leadership Journal

During my second year of pastoral ministry, I attended a pastors' conference. Of the many speakers, I now recall only one, and all I remember is his conclusion. At the time he was the pastor of one of the largest churches in the nation, a successful author and renowned speaker. As he approached the end of his long ministry, his message was a reflection on his experiences.

He listed some of the benefits he had enjoyed as a pastor. He described the free suits one of the members of his church had purchased for him and the free car provided for his use. He mentioned the beautiful house in which he lived at the church's expense and the generous salary.

The list was long and impressive enough to make me, pastor of a small and struggling church, both envious and cynical.

I grew increasingly uncomfortable as he continued, because I knew where all this was heading. "What if I had not been given all these benefits?" he was going to ask. "Would I still serve my Lord?"

I knew what the answer would be. He would say, "I have searched my heart, and by God's grace, I would."

It was a muggy summer evening, and my clothes were limp from the heat. The auditorium was crowded with more than a thousand pastors, and I was feeling out of place, overwhelmed by the parade of celebrity speakers. I was wishing I hadn't come.

Things weren't going well in my church, and I had come to the conference harboring a secret hope that I'd make some connections that would open the door to a different place of ministry. The last thing I wanted to hear about was his large salary, free suits, free car, and beautiful manse.

Sure enough, the question came. "What if I had never been given all these things?" the speaker boomed. "Would I still serve my Lord?" I slumped lower in my seat. There was a long, long pause.

"I don't know. God help me," he said. Then he left the platform.

I was shocked.

I was devastated.

I was convicted.

I avoided the ice cream social afterward and went to my room. There I fell on my knees and begged God for help, because I knew he had spoken the truth about me, too. I wondered how I would ever make it to the end of my own course of ministry. I had just begun, and already I felt like I was faltering. What hope was there for me later on? How could I find my way?

That was nearly two decades ago. My ministry context has changed. But I still find that I must revisit these questions in those moments we all have when we wonder if we have lost our sense of direction. Over the years I have found four compass points that help me to reorient myself.

First and foremost is my sense of calling. I feel most confused when I am not sure that I am doing the right thing. Am I making the right choices? Am I investing myself in the most strategic areas of ministry? I am surrounded by people with diverse expectations, but what would God have me do? I need a sense of duty.

"What pastors do, or at least are called to do," Eugene Peterson writes, "is really quite simple. We say the word of ...