Going to Your Left

Strengths alone do not a ministry make.
—Kent Hughes

Most basketball players are right-handed. They find it easier to dribble to the right than to the left. Going to the left requires them to use their other hand, which isn’t natural. Only the best players are ambidextrous, able to play well with either hand.

Sometimes even pastors have to go to their left.

Soon after I became a Christian in high school, I was certain God wanted me to preach. But I had a problem: shyness. Even today, when I’m with new acquaintances, I’m not the type to assert myself. I’m perfectly happy to sit at the back and follow other people’s leads.

Since I had been called to preach, though, I knew I would have to deal with this weakness. So as a teenager, I intentionally took leadership positions: I was a student body officer in high school and a leader in my church youth group. In front of such groups, I felt terrified. At times I achieved the illusion of being a confident, articulate leader, but I wasn’t. Nothing I did was spontaneous. Even with announcements, I’d prepare a script.

As a seminarian, I remained nervous when up front. When I led devotions, I made sure not to look at my wife, because if I caught her eye I would be distracted by how I was doing. At times I’d get twithces in my cheek, my eyes would water, and I’d blush. Yet I still felt called to public ministry. Today people tell me I’m an accomplished preacher, and I’ve been a pastor so long they think I naturally fit the role. Many in my congregation would never suspect my basic shyness.

All this convinces me that pastoral ministry means more than using one’s strengths for Christ. In fact, I’ve come to believe that Christ uses our weaknesses in ministry as much as our strengths.

Some people wonder, Isn’t it poor stewardship to work on a weakness? Doesn’t God create us with strengths so we can major on them, and by doing so, work most efficiently and fruitfully for him? Others think, Doesn’t God want us to enjoy ministry? And won’t we receive the most joy in ministry when we go with the things we naturally do well?

These questions contain a kernel of truth, of course. But I’ve found that strengths are only part of the pastoral picture. To be effective, I’ve had to work out of my weaknesses too. Here’s what I’ve noticed along the way.

Strength’s downside

It’s fun to work in areas of strength. I find ministry less toilsome and more enjoyable when I do. But strengths have a downside.

I’ve seen many gifted high school athletes, for example, who quarterback the football team, pitch and hit superbly in baseball, or score high in basketball. Then they go to college, and I never hear of them again. Why? The gifted young athlete had become uncoachable. He was so confident in his abilities, he didn’t relish advice or practice. Soon he was passed by less gifted, more coachable athletes.

I’ve also known some gifted preachers who didn’t go far. It was apparent that even in seminary they knew how to use language. Their timing was superb, and there was a magnetism about their physique and bearing. But because they met so much early success, they stopped honing their preaching skills. They stopped studying. They wouldn’t take seriously others’ comments. Instead of relying on the Lord in prayer and working hard, they began to rely on clichés and technique. They calcified. Giftedness doesn’t last without effort.

We don’t have much problem giving our weaknesses to God. Since we don’t think we have much choice, it’s easy to tell God, “I’m not good in administration. Lord, help me.” The problem is giving him our strengths. Oswald Chambers says, “God can achieve his purpose either through the absence of human power and resources, or the abandonment of reliance on them. All through history God has chosen and used nobodies, because the unusual dependence on him made possible the unique display of his power and grace. He chose and used somebodies only when they renounced dependence on their natural abilities and resources.”

Of course, God has also chosen to use people with great gifts—Augustine and his intellect, Spurgeon and his eloquence—but only when they renounced dependence on their natural abilities and resources.

But strengths don’t lend themselves to such humility. In some ways, they make godly ministry more difficult. Up to this point I’ve used strengths and gifts as synonyms. Ultimately I know they are not. Some people are strong communicators but not gifted by the Spirit to preach. Others are efficient administrators, but they don’t have the gift of godly administration. The difference is simply this: a strength is something we do well or easily and enjoy doing. A gift is a skill, strong or weak, that God uses for bearing spiritual fruit.

I’m a good administrator, but I’m not naturally gifted in or motivated to do administration. I don’t find it enjoyable. The constant drudgery of the task makes it difficult to face. However, the daily discipline of intelligently attacking a task I naturally dislike has made me a competent administrator. In fact, my staff says I run a “tight ship,” and by God’s grace, lives have been blessed. I’ve overseen programs and guided staff people well enough to minister indirectly to others—many more than I could have through my direct contact.

But if early on I had determined that because of my lack of interest in administration I shouldn’t spend much time at it, I would have missed this God-given opportunity to minister.

Another danger of focusing on strengths is procrastination, personal and corporate. I often hear that a church should wait for the gifted, meaning those with natural talent, to come forth before it undertakes a ministry. Again, there’s a measure of truth in that logic, but it can be turned the wrong way: if such-and-such isn’t my gift, then I have no responsibility to get involved. I’ve been in too many situations, however, where waiting for talented people to come forth led to procrastination of obedience to Christ.

There are too many needful things to be done to wait around for someone to feel gifted. In fact, I’ve noticed that when some things need doing—like cleaning up after Sunday school or doing dishes after a church dinner or putting away chairs or repainting the choir room—there is an acute shortage of people who feel gifted! Nonetheless such things need to be done.

Strengths alone, then, do not a ministry make.

Needs first

I’ve found it much more helpful first to determine not my strengths but rather the areas of greatest need in the church and community. When I do that, I’ve noticed that much more of Christ’s work gets done.

The most obvious case in point is the need for people to hear about Christ. Evangelism has never come easily for me. But in each of my ministry settings, I’ve made it a point to evangelize and to train others to do it.

When I was a youth pastor, I’d take my kids with me when I would preach on the streets. Such preaching was hard for me, but I knew I was called to do it. In my last church, I taught Evangelism Explosion and then regularly went calling with people. In homes I would sit, sometimes so nervous I’d be sick to my stomach, and talk to people about their souls.

In both cases, evangelism needed to be done. I didn’t feel I could wait until people who thought they had the gift of evangelism came along to lead us. I was the pastor, so I was responsible for leading in evangelism.

Now if it’s not my strength, I may not make a lifetime commitment to train people in Evangelism Explosion. But strength or not, I may have to commit three, four, or five years of time and energy to get the ministry started. In this context, I often think of Mother Teresa. I doubt if she thinks of herself as gifted at changing bedpans. I doubt she finds that fun, but she’s called to meet the needs of the dying, so she does what needs to be done.

Ministry is like war, and ministers like platoon leaders. Sometimes platoon leaders give orders; sometimes they fire on the enemy; sometimes they clear minefields; sometimes they carry the wounded; sometimes they bolster the frightened with horseplay. Platoon leaders don’t spend a lot of time deciding if they’re talented at shooting or good at carrying the wounded or gifted at finding mines. Likewise, when you’re fighting principalities and powers in high places, it’s usually more productive for the kingdom to do things that need doing when they need doing, regardless of one’s strengths.

Renaissance pastor

Almost all pastors have to give leadership in more areas than they can possibly have strengths. To be an effective pastor, then, I must be a Renaissance pastor: I have to be an administrator, managing well the life and business of the church; a communicator, teaching my people the good news; a visionary, leading people to new vistas; a contemplative, listening to the voice of God; a compassionate person, hearing the hurts of people; a decision maker, making the many hard choices of church life.

If I were to concentrate my ministry in one or two areas of strength, I think my ministry would become flat. I’ve known ministers who think of themselves as primarily communicators. The problem is, when they are away from a pulpit or lectern, they are not very interesting people. They are even less effective pastors. Because ministry for me is an occupation that demands my attention in many areas, it stretches me—about as much as I can be stretched!

In addition, I’ve found that working on one skill often improves another. For example, I wouldn’t say I have the gift of mercy. I don’t enjoy, as some do, going from room to room in a hospital, ministering to the ill. But I regularly do hospital visitation, though I could easily delegate the entire task to the rest of my staff.

And I’ve never regretted going. First, I get to know my people. And second, by knowing my people, I’ve become a better preacher, one who can connect with their real struggles.

A Renaissance pastor is not only a more interesting person, but a better pastor.

Weakness strengthening

If needs come before strengths for the Renaissance pastor, it means weaknesses need to be attended to. But how do we improve our inadequacies? Here’s what I’ve done.

Solicit honest feedback. A turning point in my ministry occurred one Sunday afternoon when I was in my early thirties. I wasn’t feeling good about my sermon. So I asked my wife, “What did you think of the sermon?”

She began to tell me, and I didn’t like what I was hearing. So I started arguing with her. She was small of stature but forceful in her response: “If you want my opinion, don’t argue with me when I give it. If you don’t want it, please don’t ask me.”

I was steamed. It took me half a week to come to grips with what she said. I finally told her I did indeed want her feedback. Since then my wife tells me the absolute truth, both good and bad, about how I do in the pulpit and in the ministry. By God’s grace she’s not a critical person, and we know not to discuss the bad report when I’m already feeling down!

But her honest feedback has remarkably improved my ministry, especially my preaching. Consequently, I’ve expanded my feedback pool over the years. Our staff now evaluates weekly the Sunday morning service. I encourage new staff members to question why we do what we do in the service so we won’t fall into empty worship routines. And I try to foster an atmosphere where we can freely say when we think an idea won’t work. Sometimes the atmosphere gets thick with disagreement, but that’s okay.

On occasion I also solicit feedback from my staff about the sermon. I know they are careful about what they say, so I have to read more between the lines, but they too have helped me learn and grow.

Getting feedback isn’t always pleasant, especially when I’m seeking to improve a weakness—after all, it’s going to be weak, especially at the beginning of the process. But it’s never going to improve if I don’t know the truth.

Delegate and train. I was a youth pastor for nine years, and if you can’t do funny things with a banana, there’s little hope for you in youth ministry. But I’m not a funny person. I don’t know how to make people laugh spontaneously, which may explain why I like zany people and comedians like John Cleese. (Maybe I’m gifted at laughing.)

So what did I do? I began developing some of the high schoolers who were funny. I’d also find other adults who could do the zany stuff well and simply delegate that part of the meeting. Naturally, there were many other factors in the success of the youth ministry, but if we hadn’t been able to make youth laugh part of the night, I don’t think ninety to one hundred kids would have kept coming every Wednesday night for years.

Use strong resources. Today entertainment so pervades our culture, sermons must not only be interesting but captivating. Consequently, stories and humor are essential. At a minimum, they keep people interested, and at their best, they drive home serious points. But I’m not a natural storyteller. So I compensate by drawing on strong resources—that is, material that is genuinely engaging.

After I was in youth ministry for about five years, I began receiving invitations to speak at youth conferences. That didn’t happen because I had suddenly been transformed into a funny person; I had simply learned to make use of good material. I used to tell the story about Jonah getting spit out on the seashore, and I’d tie in the kids’ beach experiences (getting greased up with cocoa butter, having sand stick to your body), and allude to Jonah’s likely aroma, texture, and appearance. No wonder people repented! Not a lot of that shtick was original—most of it was material I’d heard here and there and pieced together. But it worked to make youth groups laugh.

For my sermons, I memorize good stories, knowing that otherwise I’ll forget key parts. In fact, if you ask me to relate the humor or story I told in a sermon from two days earlier, I can’t remember it. But, when practiced for timing and delivery, stories work beautifully in a sermon when the material itself is good.

Deal quickly with what you hate. I hate confronting people. While some people thrive on that sort of encounter, exhortation is plainly not my strength. Nonetheless, when I must confront, I find it best to attend to the matter as soon as possible. If I procrastinate, the situation only becomes worse, and since I’m not particularly gifted at it, the encounter also becomes worse.

A couple of times in the past, I’ve delayed confronting staff members who weren’t performing well. For instance, once I failed to convey adequately to a staff person the intensity of what was being said about him—how much people were dissatisfied with his inability to follow through on assignments.

Because I let my dislike for confrontation dictate relative inaction, it became worse for everybody. A little dissatisfaction slowly grew into a mushroom cloud of frustration for many people—members became more angry, and I finally had to let the staff member go—which was utterly distasteful to me. Had I confronted my colleague with more specifics, he would have had a chance to improve or bow out before the situation became so painful. Not only that, our relationship would not have undergone increasing strain.

Now when a small concern presents itself, I immediately see the person in question. That way little things don’t build and become even harder to deal with.

Practice makes much better. If a man of moderate athletic ability shot five hundred free throws every lunch hour, he’d get better at free throws. If he hired a coach to critique his technique, he’d get even better. Because this hypothetical man is not particularly gifted, he will never be as proficient as Michael Jordan, but he’ll be very good.

I know lots of pastors who are effective communicators. They’re not particularly gifted—not in the same league as Billy Graham or Chuck Swindoll—but they have exercised a profound dependence on God. In addition, they’ve asked for critiques of their preaching; they’ve written out their sermons to avoid clichés; they’ve memorized their transitions; they’ve attended preaching clinics. As a result, they’re able to engage their listeners and drive home the Christian message.

Practice may never make us perfect, but it certainly makes us much, much better.

Certainly there is a place to talk about the effective use of our God-given strengths. But in my ministry, it’s been equally vital to work on my weaknesses. When Paul talked about God using our weaknesses, I’m sure he meant that in our weaknesses we tend to depend more on God, allowing God to work more through us. Without denying that, I would also add that by God’s grace, our weaknesses can be improved and be used effectively by him.