I looked at the results of the spiritual gift inventory and gulped. The areas I’d scored highest in, preaching and discernment, came as little surprise; I enjoyed speaking and counseling. But way down the list were shepherding and mercy, two gifts associated with effective pastoring.
I had suspected for some time what the test confirmed. I was a good communicator, but I struggled with people skills. I lived for Sunday mornings but found visitation difficult to get motivated for.
But here I was, a pastor in a small church. The expectations leaned much more toward strong people skills and contact, and much less toward preaching and leadership. Why had God led me to such a position? What should I do? Should I stay in a job that seemed, by definition, to require a different person? Or was there room in the local church for pastors who weren’t first and foremost shepherds?
Over time I discovered there is room for pastors who don’t always fit the image of personable parson. But reaching it requires accepting some truths.
CANCEL RESERVATIONS FOR A GUILT TRIP
“Why don’t you spend more time showing attention to your own people?” an older member of the church angrily said over the phone. “You’re always interested in some new program or idea. Why don’t you just be a pastor?”
He had a point. I didn’t fit his idea of a pastor. I didn’t enjoy long hours over coffee in someone’s living room. I didn’t look for the next church supper. I didn’t attend every birthday or graduation party.
I carried guilt about that. I knew I fell short of the expectations of many people in the congregation. After all, my passions were for speaking, writing, innovation, and evangelism. But in a smaller church, those gifts were novelties, not necessities.
It took me several years to accept that there was nothing wrong with who I was. After all, it is God who chooses to give each of us gifts. Paul reminds us, “Now to each one the manifestation of the Spirit is given for the common good … and he gives them to each one, just as he determines” (1 Cor. 12:7-11). It is the Spirit of God who determines who gets what.
It slowly dawned on me that the expectations of others weren’t nearly as important as God’s expectations that I develop the gifts he had given me.
That self-acceptance didn’t come easily. I remember setting up a campaign one fall to visit every family in the congregation. I started out on my new crusade to be the pastor everyone wanted. I lined up several calls and started out after supper.
I knew I was in trouble during the first visit. I sat down in the living room as the entire family nervously took a seat across from me. For five or ten minutes, we made small talk, then one of the children got up to leave. Soon the other child left. Then the dad announced he was going to check on his son. The mother thought she had better check on the dad. Finally, she popped her head back in the living room and said, “There’s some cake in the kitchen if you want it. No one else liked it. I thought maybe you would.”
I canceled the rest of my every-house campaign. This was not me. My congregational members were no more comfortable with my new gift of visitation than I was. (Of course, I still made some house calls, but usually to shut-ins or the elderly.)
Those of us living in Chicago enjoy watching Michael Jordan perform his aerodynamic artistry on the basketball floor. For a season he decided he should be a professional baseball player. He put on the right uniform. He used the right equipment. He even was assigned to the right field. But watching Michael Jordan play baseball was not anything like watching Michael play basketball. Fly balls hit him in the chest. His swing lagged inches behind a fastball. He referred to the umpires as “referees.” He ended up being sent to a Birmingham minor league club.
In the same way, when I tried to play out of my league, the box score was a disaster. I had to accept that God made me who I was and learn to celebrate that fact rather than excoriate myself for it.
ONE SIZE DOESN’T FIT ALL
An individual once said to me in anger, “Why don’t you go back to where you grew up? Your cool, reserved style doesn’t fit in here.” Others in the congregation disagreed with her, but again, she may have had a point. When I did serve a congregation in the region I grew up in, the reception was entirely different. “We sense such great love from you, Pastor,” said a retired couple.
Amazing. In one region of the country, I was the Ice Man. In another I was Mr. Rogers. I guess it does depend on the neighborhood.
The point is, in one context a pastor’s gifts and talents may be considered out of place and unacceptable. Yet those same gifts in another church may be hailed as exactly what the church needs.
Another consideration is size. We know that depending on the size of the congregation, different styles of leadership are called for. In small churches, the pastor is considered a chaplain on call. In a church over 1,000, a pastor’s called on to be an executive and visionary.
The answer is to seek a setting that appreciates our gifts as assets, rather than depreciates them as liabilities. I know one man who left a church of nearly 2,000 people for a congregation half that size; he was delighted with the results. A misfit in one situation could be ideal in another.
A WELL-EXECUTED HAND-OFF
I don’t think it’s wise to stand up and say, “Folks, I don’t think I have the gift of shepherding. So don’t expect me to act like a shepherd. I’m a preacher. So I’m just going to give myself to preaching.”
Chances are, if you say something like that, your Christmas bonus will include a gift certificate from Allied Van Lines.
Instead, you need to find individuals who love doing the things you find difficult. One of the wisest things I did in a small church that expected pastoral visitation was to recruit a retired missionary. He lived for spending time with other people. I gave him the title “Minister of Visitation” and had a business card printed for him. I ran into him several years later, and he produced his business card with a proud smile.
Did I give up visitation entirely? Of course not. But I let the volunteer clue me in on who desperately needed to be seen. He felt fulfilled; I felt relieved.
We can never abdicate our responsibilities in areas we don’t particularly like or flourish in, but we can minimize the amount of time we spend in them.
STICK WITH YOUR “A” GIFTS
Part of my theology of spiritual gifts includes the idea of “A,” “B,” and “C” gifts. “A” gifts are things I do best. I receive affirmation from others when I exercise those gifts. I find energy and refreshment in performing tasks in those areas.
For example, I love preaching. No one has to put a gun to my head and say, “Okay, buddy, head for the pulpit or else.” It’s the one hour of the week I enjoy most.
Usually, people can tell if you enjoy what you’re doing. I walked into a service station one day to pay for gasoline I had pumped. The woman behind the counter ignored me. I waited an appropriate amount of time, then said, “Excuse me, could I pay for my gas?”
“I see you,” she snapped back. No one else was in the station. The woman behind the counter continued to do her inventory.
“Excuse, me,” I said again, “but I’m running late for a meeting.”
She looked at me, cigarette dangling out of her mouth like the Marlboro woman, and said, “That’s your problem, not mine.” She went back to her inventory.
Obviously, meeting the public was not her “A” gift, unless “A” stands for an “attitude.”
The next category is “B” gifts. Those are talents we have aptitude for, but are not necessarily strengths. While I didn’t want to perform them on a daily basis, I did find performing funerals fulfilling. I even had one man remark, “Pastor, I hope I die while you’re still here. You do a good funeral.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. Somehow, it didn’t seem quite right to say, “Jim, I hope you die while I’m here too.” But I knew what he meant. He was affirming a “B” gift.
“C” gifts are gifts it’s a stretch to call a gift. Let me illustrate the difference.
My wife would often stand next to me in the receiving line following a Sunday morning service. I would shake hands with Elma, a dear woman from the church, and then she would move on to shake hands with my wife. On the way home, the conversation would often go like this:
“Bob, did you know Elma’s grandson is having surgery on Monday?”
“You’re kidding. She never said anything about it to me.”
“And did you know her landlord raised the rent on her for the third straight month?”
“No, she never mentioned it.”
“She must have told you she’s going to New Jersey for Christmas.”
“Uh, I think she might have.”
“And she had to have her cat put to sleep because it had an anxiety disorder?”
“Come to think of it, I believe she did.”
Obviously, my wife had an ability to get people to share hurts that I didn’t have. When I would ask Elma how she was, she would simply say, “Fine, Pastor.”
The lesson I learned: Spend most of your time using your best gifts. Spend some of your time using your so-so gifts. Spend as little time as possible using your weakest gifts. There’s an argument for trying to improve weaknesses, but the simple truth is: You may teach a dog to ride a pony, but it’s never going to win a rodeo.
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Bob Moeller is interim pastor of First Baptist Church of Elmhurst, Illinois, and a contributing editor of Leadership.
1996 Christianity Today/LEADERSHIP Journal
