AT TIMES I HAVE FELT that my work in ministry was wasted. My prayers did not appear to be answered. My sermons did not seem to change lives. My counseling did not appear to help people. My evangelism won no converts. My leadership initiatives were ignored. My discipling of others seemed to bring no growth. Even in the areas of my strongest gifting, my efforts have occasionally looked utterly ineffective.
At such times I identify with the apparent contradiction described in Isaiah 49:1-4. There God speaks of his high purpose for his people, comparing them to a sharpened sword and a polished arrow for divine use. “You are my servant, Israel,” the Lord concludes, “in whom I will display my splendor.”
But the servant of the Lord has quite a different feeling. “I have labored to no purpose;” he replies. “I have spent my strength in vain and for nothing. Yet what is due me is in the Lord’s hand, and my reward is with my God.” In apparent futility, the servant can only console himself with his ultimate reward from God.
Most who have ministered in churches for any length of time have known the servant’s paradoxical state: a stirring sense of call and a frequent sense of futility. We do the most important work in the world with the greatest resources imaginable, yet we sometimes feel as though we are accomplishing nothing. What gives?
As I have mulled over this paradox for several decades, I have come to some conclusions that help me to persevere with peace of mind even when tangible results are few and far between.
1. I can influence but I cannot control. Spiritual work has limits. The nature of these limits is illustrated by the difference between the work of a farmer and that of a cabinetmaker.
With tools like saws and routers, a cabinetmaker directly and immediately molds his product to conform to his vision. There is no delay between the push of the circular saw and the cut of the board, and if he pushes the saw to the left, it goes to the left. If he wants a half-inch-wide groove along the lower edge of the board, he uses a router or chisel to make one. Because the tools and wood have no life or will of their own, the results of the cabinetmaker’s work are primarily a function of his skill and diligence. In other words, a cabinetmaker enjoys almost complete control.
A farmer, on the other hand, has influence but no real control. He works in partnership with a host of other forces, resources, and living things: soil, sun, seed, weather, pests, fertilizer, and, ultimately, God. A farmer works indirectly with his crop, encouraging an environment for growth with fertilizer, weeding, and irrigation. Because he deals with living things, a farmer cannot directly shape his crops. And because living things require time to grow, a farmer must wait patiently for the process to be completed.
Jesus repeatedly used the farming analogy for good reason. Even he did not force people into the kingdom but only influenced them. I can pray for others, love them, teach them, challenge them, but I cannot make decisions for them.
In recent weeks I have been on-again-off-again frustrated with someone whom I am trying to help get on his feet as a Christian. He says he has committed his life to Christ but in six months has attended church only a few times and resists my efforts to disciple him one-on-one. He will not return my phone calls. When I do catch him at home, he says he is too busy to study the Bible together over the phone. A tentative appointment to talk yesterday went by the wayside. Last night, in frustration, I thought to myself, I’m going to quit pursuing him; I’ll pray for him but I’m going to wait for him to come to us.
No, I cannot do that, I told myself later. He is a baby Christian who needs a shepherd. His resistance should not surprise me, considering his life prior to his conversion. The truth is, I am frustrated—largely because I want control. I want A plus B to quickly equal C. I want to be able to employ techniques that yield results as directly as the cause-and-effect world of the cabinetmaker.
2. Any growth in righteousness is of infinite value. In the 1996 Summer Olympics, sprinter Michael Johnson set records in the 200- and 400-meter races. To do so he trained for some ten years to cut a mere second or two from his time. In Slaying the Dragon he writes,
Success is found in much smaller portions than most people realize. A hundredth of a second here or sometimes a tenth there can determine the fastest man in the world. At times we live our lives on a paper-thin edge that barely separates greatness from mediocrity and success from failure.1
Few people would suggest Michael Johnson had trained in vain, yet he toiled for a mere medal and title— passing glories. How much more valuable is the hard work pastors invest in others to produce even “small” gains in obedience to the will of God.
In fact, there is no such thing as minor repentance. Granted, in this fallen world, to help one person overcome a sinful habit, such as a critical spirit, can seem about as productive as cleaning one piece of gum from the sidewalk of a trash-laden ghetto. But to God, who is infinitely into the details, all righteousness matters, every effort counts.
Therefore, all my discipling matters immensely. For example, if I preach to forty people and only one righteous deed results in the life of one person—a mother, perhaps, resists the temptation to lose her temper with her child—it is of eternal significance. Any conformity to the will of God is of infinite worth. If one sin—a bite from the forbidden fruit—could be so cataclysmic as to send Christ to the cross, then it is worth preventing even one sin. If one act of righteousness—Mary’s anointing of the body of Jesus—could lead to her story being told wherever the gospel is preached, then one act of obedience is of immense worth. If at the last judgment every careless word will be brought to account, every motive judged, and every good deed receive its reward, then everything in the realm of human conduct matters. In God’s eyes, the vileness of one sin or the eternal glory of one righteous act exceeds anything we can imagine.
Paul knew this, and this knowledge was the engine of his pastoral work. “We proclaim him,” he said, “admonishing and teaching everyone with all wisdom, so that we may present everyone perfect in Christ. To this end I labor, struggling with all his energy, which so powerfully works in me” (Col. 1:28). These words are not merely the Pharisaical personality distortion of an obsessive-compulsive perfectionist, but rather a true reflection of the value of each bit of repentance and growth in any person. Clearly Paul expresses the mind of Christ, who said, “Go and make disciples of all nations … teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you” (Matt. 28:19-20, emphasis mine).
What people do and think and say matter so much that to spend our entire lives on the growth of only one person is worthwhile, not in a fastidious spirit of Pharisaical legalism but in the freedom of those who have a joyful desire to please the one who loves righteousness.
Given this truth, I know I actually see few of the true results of my ministry, for I cannot follow people around in their daily lives to see how God is gradually changing them. After I preach, people walk away and their lives are changed in ways I cannot know now, but one day I will see it. Then I will realize that the results of my work far exceed the winning of even a hundred Olympic gold medals. I will know for a certainty that righteousness is real—that it has eternal significance.
3. Ministry is measured in many ways A year ago I received an evaluation form in the mail from my denominational superiors to be used in the annual review of my ministry at our church. The form asked for data on attendance, income, missions giving, and one or two other numerical criteria for the previous three years. After I completed the form, it seemed to me that the report did not tell the whole story, for by its measure little had happened during the previous year. And that was not the case, for in many critical intangibles good things were happening.
For this reason, I added an additional sheet in which I rated the strength of our church on a scale of one to ten in areas I felt were critical, such as the quality of our worship and our relationships, progress on our vision, our effectiveness in evangelism, our spirit of giving, the degree to which members responded to my leadership, the levels of unity, joy, faith, and morale among the congregation.
This was not merely an attempt to put a positive spin on a lackluster report. On some of the added criteria we fared well and on others poorly, but I felt the new-and-improved evaluation better pictured what was actually happening. By these measures, we were seeing results, the kind that I trust will eventually lead to tangible fruit.
4. Spiritual ministry requires faith from beginning to end. Salvation is not the only thing in the Christian life that depends on faith; so does Christian ministry. “We continually remember before our God and Father,” said Paul, “your work produced by faith” (1 Thess. 1:3). God delights in our faith too much to let ministry be based primarily on works. Consequently, if I am following his leading, I find that he often orders my ministry in the church in a way that requires my faith.
In practical terms, this means I often have less security and control than I would prefer. When fears arise and I wonder if God is really with me, I remind myself that on this earth kingdom ministry never graduates to a point where I no longer need faith.
This fact has huge implications for those concerned about results. I must see my faith as an end in itself, valuable in itself, a fruit of ministry as valid as conversions or numerical growth. All Job did was believe, in spite of everything, yet he pleased God greatly. Some pastors must plant themselves in a community—like Abraham in the Promised Land—and pray and believe for a season without tangible results because God delights in their faith in the same way he delighted in Abraham’s faith (which waited a long time before seeing results!). Like Paul, who delighted in hardships because Christ’s power rested on him at those times, I am learning to delight in situations that require faith, for then I know my heart pleases God.
If God wants to bear the fruit of hundreds of conversions through me, I will thank him for it. If God wants to produce faith in me in the face of few tangible results, I will believe him for the coming of his kingdom in people’s lives—sooner, or later.
Naturally there is an aberration of this kind of faith. Faith must not become a rationale for laziness or passivity, a failure to do my part in the divine-human partnership called ministry. I am careful to prayerfully think through the ministries of our church to be sure we have biblical purposes and effective strategies to fulfill them.
5. Spiritual seeds have enduring power. On September 6, 1622, the Spanish galleon Atocha, bristling with bronze cannons and laden with gold and silver, served as the rear guard of a twenty-eight vessel flotilla in the Gulf of Mexico. A hurricane struck, and the Atocha sank near the Marquesas Keys of the Florida coast, where it remained for 365 years.
In the 1980s a treasure hunter and a college professor who had pored over Spanish documents of the voyage found the Atocha. Among those who examined the boat’s contents was an archaeologist, and in the sand that had served as its ballast he found something of special interest: seeds. To keep them from drying out he put the seeds in cups of fresh water. Nine days later as he checked the water level in the cups, he made a surprising discovery: “Suddenly, I saw leaves sticking up,” he says. To his astonishment, four of the seeds had sprouted.
As this account verifies, the seeds of this natural world are miracles endued by God with the power of life. Can the seeds of the spiritual world be any less powerful? Indeed, they have greater staying power.
In an important parable about seeds that gets less attention than the familiar parable of the four soils, Jesus described this power:
This is what the kingdom of God is like. A man scatters seed on the ground. Night and day, whether he sleeps or gets up, the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not know how. All by itself the soil produces grain—first the stalk, then the head, then the full kernel in the head. (Mark 4:26-28)
God’s Word has power long after we sow it. Ideas, principles, beliefs, and insights based on Scripture have staying power. While the soil may be hostile to their growth now, while birds may carry some seeds away, in many people the seeds will someday germinate and take root. Because I believe in the enduring power in the seeds of truth, I can endure even in the seasons when I see little or no results.
Several months ago the church in Chicago where I previously served as pastor asked me to preach on a Sunday night. Because ten years had passed since my ministry there I did not expect to see many familiar faces. At the church dinner before the meeting, however, I found otherwise. The room was filled with people whom I knew well. My greatest surprise—and joy—was to see many people who had not been regulars of the church during my time: non-Christians whom we had tried to bring to Christ or immature believers struggling to escape the allure of the world. While some were still in-and-out, others had become regular churchgoers and church workers with Christian families.
I was especially gratified to see one young man. During my time in the pastorate, he had not attended with his mother; and in the months before my resignation, he had fallen into gang trouble and been locked away in prison. I had visited him at the Cook County jail and encouraged him to reach out to the Lord and trust in Christ for salvation. I also visited his wife, who started coming to church irregularly. Eventually he went to the penitentiary. But he had served his time, and I saw him at the church dinner with his wife and young children—a family man and a believer in Jesus Christ.
I was deeply moved with a sense that my ministry with the people in this church had mattered greatly. Now, with a long-term perspective, I saw more results from my ministry than I had seen before. The seeds of truth and love keep working long after they are sown. There is no way around it; spiritual ministry takes time.
The evening at my old church encouraged me to continue the simple method of the apostle Paul: “By setting forth the truth plainly,” he said, “we commend ourselves to every man’s conscience in the sight of God” (2 Cor. 4:2). In other words, sow the seeds and patiently, prayerfully watch God work on a person’s conscience. This holds true not only in evangelism but in discipleship and church leadership. My responsibility is simply to love people, present the truth, give understanding, appeal to people to move into God’s will, pray for them—and watch the kingdom come. Sooner or later the results God intends will spring forth.
6. Each step people make in God’s direction should be celebrated. Our church worships in the second-floor conference room of the ibm building in downtown Chicago, overlooking the Chicago River. During the summer months, we see through the full-length windows the raising of the cantilever bridges, which work like a pair of opposing drawbridges to allow sailboats to pass on their way to Lake Michigan. Any boat coming from the south branch of the river must pass through a bridge nearly every block—some ten of them.
The city does not stop traffic for stray boats, nor do they raise all the bridges at once. Doing so would almost completely cut off automobile traffic into the Loop from the north and west. Instead, one bridge is raised at a time while a cluster of six to eight sailboats passes through. These wait, then, for the next bridge to rise. Step by step the boats eventually reach beautiful Lake Michigan.
Like these sailboats, individuals usually move closer to the Lord one commitment at a time, and the church moves toward greater fruitfulness one step at a time. If I save my sense of satisfaction until the ultimate goal is reached, I will be a frustrated man. I have learned instead to celebrate every bridge we pass through.
Several weeks ago, for instance, I rejoiced with the leaders of our small groups at the progress of a well-educated young man. When he first came to our church, he was emotionally distraught over a divorce and attended our meetings regularly for a few weeks until his feet were back on the ground. But then his attendance trailed off, and we would see him at a worship service only once every few months. We encouraged him to join a small group and he tried this, but soon he became irregular there, as well. It seemed he would never get on track.
But then about two months ago things suddenly changed. He started attending his small group regularly and has attended Sunday worship several times. When I talk to him, I get the feeling his faith is taking hold, that he is stabilizing. He still has a long way to go, but he has passed through a bridge or two, and we are celebrating.
7. Spiritual ministry is a mixture of muddle and glory. I enjoy watching most sports, but above all I enjoy playoff hockey. Sometimes I wonder why I do, because most of the game is a muddle of misplays. Rarely do players make more than three consecutive passes before their team loses the puck because of a bad pass, poor stickhandling, a steal, or a check from an opposing player. One team has the puck for a few seconds, and then the other. When a player does come free to shoot at the goal, the goalie almost always stops it. If I were looking for results—goals scored—90 percent of the time a hockey game is an exercise in futility. But now and then, like the sun briefly piercing through the clouds on an overcast day, out of the muddle something right suddenly happens for the offensive team. In the blink of an eye, someone makes a brilliant pass and an offensive player comes open with the puck in front of the goalie. He lets fly, and the puck sinks into the net. The players celebrate as if they had just entered heaven itself.
In my experience, pastoral ministry is like this. Like hockey, ministry does not appear to be a thing of order and well-scripted results (like football) but rather of mistakes and frustration. There is a lot of muddle. Occasionally, though, I see moments of glory so joyful they make the muddle worthwhile. Someone commits his or her life to Christ. A marriage is saved. Someone becomes a truly sacrificing servant of the church. The purpose of it all is realized.
Why do I like hockey so much? Perhaps because I played on frozen creeks as a kid and took frozen pucks off my shins; perhaps because I grew up loving the Chicago Blackhawks, in awe of their star Bobby Hull. But it may be, too, that I am wired by God to enjoy something that requires persevering through much grind and seeming futility to know those occasional moments of overwhelming, euphoric joy. In short, I am called to ministry.
In “Total Eclipse” Annie Dillard writes,
The Ring Nebula, in the constellation Lyra, looks, through binoculars, like a smoke ring. It is a star in the process of exploding. Light from its explosion first reached the earth in 1054; it was a supernova then, and so bright it shone in the daytime. Now it is not so bright but it is still exploding. It expands at the rate of seventy million miles a day. It is interesting to look through binoculars at something expanding at this rate: it does not budge. Its apparent size does not increase. Photographs of the Ring Nebula taken fifteen years ago seem identical to photographs taken of it yesterday.2
The Ring Nebula teaches us that huge happenings are not always apparent to the naked eye, and that is especially true in the spiritual realm. If I could see from heaven’s perspective, I would know that in the spiritual realm when progress appears slowest, kingdom movement is actually occurring—perhaps even at the rate of seventy million miles a day.
Michael Johnson, Slaying the Dragon (New York: Harper-Collins, 1996).
Annie Dillard, “Total Eclipse,” The Annie Dillard Reader (New York: Harper-Collins, 1994), 11-12.
Copyright © 1998 Craig Brian Larson
