I was seduced before I even knew it.
The pleasure of her company was irresistible. She offered me everything I’d ever wanted: prestige, power, affluence, and self-esteem. My only reservation was my awareness of how many of my friends she had also enticed.
Her name? Ambition.
Frankly, I had no idea that I could be so easily tempted. I had entered the ministry with clear allegiance to Jesus Christ, which took precedence over every other realm. Bible passages had been memorized that assured me no temptation could approach me that could not be resisted. Certainly I had long since taken the measure of lying, stealing, and philandering. In fact, I was certain that entrance into the ranks of the professional clergy assured me of a haven from the allurements of the flesh. Ah, what naiveté!
I had not reckoned with the fact that entering the institutional ministry can be considerably different from giving one’s life in obedience and servitude to Christ. No one had told me about the “system” inside what we casually call church. I quickly learned it was not enough to be simply willing to burn out one’s life for Christ’s sake. No rewards or accolades were given for a willingness to lay down one’s life in personal sacrifice. Quite to the contrary, all of the symbols of success had to do with size, quantity, and upward mobility. Fellow clergy and church bureaucrats soon made it clear that personal commitment was acceptable, but not worth much when compared with such quantitative entities as the size of a congregation, increase in membership, and budget expansion.
Those insights brought me to my first encounter with the allurements of my seductress. She came clothed in all the adornment that contemporary society so admires. When I met Ambition, she flashed the medallion of success, and I tumbled.
It is rather painful to admit how subtly the affair began. Church officials and senior pastors had begun to assure me of my gifts and to instruct me on the possibilities of the road to success. They shared their tips on how to play the system, jockey for committee assignments, and calculate who had the real power. Before long I felt my zeal for reaching un-churched people slipping. In contrast, I had discovered that many viewed the church as a network of branch offices that were basically extensions of the main corporation. If I would be a good salesman and administrator, I could move in a steadily upward direction to bigger and bigger branch offices. As in any good business, the name of the game is to get to the home office or the biggest branch outlet.
Ambition had done her work. Without knowing it, my first love for Christ was challenged by a new affection. Ambition promised to meet my needs, even though I wasn’t completely clear about what that meant. Only later would I realize why I had been so susceptible and who it was I had come to love the most. How did it happen?
Once a year all of us young seminarians were gathered up and taken down to the corporate headquarters to meet the bishop, a shrewd, ecclesiastical politician who loved to hold court with “his” young men. Dangling his large bishop’s ring before our eyes, he shared with us the glorious values of power and authority. Once the potential pastors had met our leader, who could effectively intimidate any and all while reducing resistance to humiliation, we knew the promises of Ambition were for us. The opportunities of power were magnetic.
I found that Ambition thrived on authority and power much like an addict does on drugs. Why our craving? During those seminary years in the early sixties, none of us recognized the undefined need that was growing inside. Nevertheless, a crisis of authority was mounting that had already begun to severely challenge all external authority. The bishop’s directions for an easy path to fulfillment and self-aggrandizement were turning into a thorny, painful, labyrinth of confrontation. Wearing a stole around the neck no longer assured people that you were somebody not to be challenged.
When the general societal crisis of authority really hit the church a few years later, many, many clergy dropped out. Some turned to counseling to regain a one-to-one position of authority that couldn’t be commanded from a total congregation. Many went back to graduate school to get advanced degrees that would donate more prestige to their sagging dignity.
A group of us plunged into local ecclesiastical politics. If we couldn’t get respect on the outside, we’d make them fear us on the inside. Finally one evening after an important series of meetings to elect delegates to larger judicatories, I took a hard look at myself. I was heartsick and disgusted.
I had spent three days in as rugged a campaign as was ever fought in any political arena. Yet the hurt feelings, tarnished careers, and smudged integrity had all been spent on the relatively inane process of electing a few delegates to a national meeting. As I looked at my own motives, I was suspicious, disgusted, and dismayed. Ambition had done nothing more than reinforce my love for myself. This insight led me to other conclusions. Ecclesiastical Ambition is the complete antithesis of what Christ called his leaders to do in directing the church and building up the people of God. When pastoral ambition is contrasted with the Beatitudes, one must come away judged and condemned. There is no justification of self-promotion when Christ called us to be servants. What then is the measure of “authenticity? True biblical success is not calculated in the size of the staff nor the growth of the budget. The height of the steeple or the luxuriousness of the manse does not count. The commendation of Christ goes to those who have identified with the least of these and is given in proportion to one’s willingness to lay down one’s life in the quest for the kingdom. We have not been called to be corporate climbers, but selfsacrificers.
Here’s the good news! An escape does exist for those who seek it. I discovered I was surrounded by a host of people who had continued to base their lives on a quest for spiritual authority rather than an ecclesiastical or societal substitute. When the fragile pastors of the sixties were falling away, these individuals had simply dug in and sought the Holy Spirit’s authentication of their ministry. While many of these people were unheard of and commanded neither television ratings nor national platforms, they were touching multitudes of needy people. If I would be willing like them to go out on the edge where Christ was beckoning, healing, forgiveness, and renewal were promised.
Setting aside the possibilities that an upwardly mobile career suggested, my wife and I set out to begin a new congregation with only five people. Our only resources were God’s promises. In the process of killing my ambition, I found myself again. And because we put him first, God has blessed our ministry.
Chariots of Fire thrilled millions of movie goers because it gave them a portrait of a minister who reached for the higher calling. Rather than serve Ambition, Eric Liddell exemplified dedication. Shunning self-aggrandizement, he worked for God’s pleasure. Multitudes are looking for such people today. That leadership must be embodied in the pulpit before it will be emulated in the pew. Nobody wants a pastor who has been seduced. People are seeking leaders who are set apart.
