Right in the middle of our putting this issue on success together, we received a letter from Bill De Leo of Maryland which said, among other things: “I’m a tragedy. I have such a bundle of feelings inside it’s difficult to express them.
“I read avidly. I read searching to find a place for me in the center ring. Reading LEADERSHIP frustrates the daylights out of me. My head spins after each issue. The answers are inspired- too inspired.
“My Sunday morning Bible study is the most eventful thing in my life. The people there have made dramatic steps forward in their Christian walks. And I know LEADERSHIP’s writers would tell me this is the heart of a satisfying ministry. But it isn’t enough for me.
“There are a lot of beautiful, committed, unsuccessful people ministering out here. And, like me, they’re not likely to find a place of recognition in the church world.
“I first awakened to my agony of thwarted ambition late one evening last summer. My heart throbbed with every thump of my running shoes on the beaten path out behind our military living quarters. Earlier that day I’d been told I had been passed over for selection to Major in the United States Army Chaplaincy. As I ran, sweat and tears mingled together on my cheeks.
“Poor baby or no, I was shattered. My question was ‘How hard do I have to work and how good do I have to be to be considered capable of handling a promotion? A lot of civilian ministers ask the same question of their superiors who seek others for the preferred churches. Success seems to go to the beautiful.
“The process brought me through bitterness, anger, coolness, disappointment. I lost nearly every possibility of becoming humanly successful in my life’s ambition. I didn’t let down. I worked hard and longer and better. But that didn’t change the reality of shattered dreams and false hopes. …
“I’m sorry. I got carried away. Like I was saying. I was reading LEADERSHIP, and the greatness I felt within me brought tears to my eyes because I knew that no one would ever notice.”
Bill’s last paragraph strikes me as particularly true to the human condition. Made in God’s image, called to “create” with him, we long to express our unique gifts. We are to offer them to God, but we look for human feedback to “see how we’re doing”-and sometimes all we get is a yawn.
It’s easy to criticize Bill for wanting “a place in the centerring.” But sometimes such critiques don’t really help, especially when they come from “successful” people. Two examples from the last two weeks come to mind. First, for our problems column, we were working on a letter from a pastor locked into a discouraging rural setting. After reviewing reams of our good advice, I wondered how much help our successful, thoughtful panel would be to this man. Second, for the letter we actually used (see page 10) for this issue, we wrote, rewrote, added, subtracted; but we still didn’t have the answers. Sometimes there simply are no pragmatic, fix-it solutions.
Whether it’s the highly placed who straight-arm the newcomer or lack of ability, life is essentially unfair. Even if someone has great talent, “the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong . . . but time and chance happen to them all” (Ecc. 9:11). We’ve seen from interviews that magazines and seminars in which “successful” people tell the “unsuccessful” how to do it can become an especial irritant to those who struggle in the shadows. Those who most need affirming often get the least.
Yet, for all this on the human level, the ultimate release comes in such statements as from Thomas a Kempis, “Love to be unknown in the world,” and Jesus’ reversal of the idea of greatness: “He who is least among you. … ” We become leaders, in
Jesus’ steps, by becoming servant of all. When we were developing names for this journal, the only other one under serious discussion was “Servant.” If we are to lead, we must humbly (and therefore joyfully) serve.
Yes, some will appear more successful than others. But that is an earthly judgment. We need human feedback to improve ourselves, but when we fear the critique of man, we worship man instead of God. When man rejects, we cringe. When man applauds, we become conceited.
We all-as Paul Tournier points out so well in his article-struggle in much the same way. The successful want more success. One step up whets the appetite for the next.
Francis Schaeffer, in his book No Little People, says this:
Jesus commands Christians to seek consciously the lowest room. All of us . . . are tempted to say, ‘I will take the larger place because it will give me more influence for Jesus Christ.’ We fall prey to the temptation of rationalizing this way as we build bigger and bigger empires. But according to the Scripture this is backwards. We should consciously take the lowest place unless the Lord himself extrudes us into a greater one.
“The word extrude is important here. To be extruded is to be forced out under pressure into a desired shape. Picture a huge press jamming soft metal at high pressure through a die so the metal comes out in a certain shape. This is the way of the Christian: He should choose the lesser place until God extrudes him into a position of more responsibility and authority.”
Tough advice? Yes. But when we truly see ourselves-all of us-on the same level before the Cross, we see the ultimate irrelevance of man’s “success” and “failure.”
Harold L. Myra President, Christianity Today, Inc.
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