A Heart Close to God

At the heart of ministry is a heart close to God.
—Maxie Dunnam

After I finished seminary in the late 1950s, I organized a new church in Gulfport, Mississippi. From one perspective, it was a huge success. With rapid growth, a new building, and suburban prosperity, the church was the Cinderella of our conference.

But increasingly I was miserable. I felt like an organization man, not a man of God. In the midst of a thriving church setting, I felt far from God. For a while I thought seriously about leaving the ministry. In retrospect, I see I was running on my own power, relying on my own resources. But I didn’t know how to do otherwise. There was no question about my commitment to Christ or my call to preach. It was a matter of power, spiritual power: the inner resources for living with a strength not my own. My relationship with God was hardly more than a formality.

Few things are as hollow as a relationship intended for passion that instead is marked by mere duty. When the heat of a couple’s romance and honeymoon is cooled by concerns over mortgage payments, child raising, and household chores, the relationship becomes drudgery: husband and wife don’t kiss each other at the door; they make love as a matter of routine; they stare past their dinner plates with nothing to talk about.

So it is in ministry. A love relationship, which is what God intends us to have with him, is necessary for a vital ministry. At the heart of ministry is a heart close to God.

More than a feeling

While serving the church in Mississippi, my spiritual rebuilding began. A major step in my pilgrimage came several years later when I found myself with another dilemma—and an opportunity to get closer to God.

I was in California, pastoring another church. I was increasingly getting invitations from across the country to lead conferences and retreats on the subject of spirituality. Then I received two invitations, each to join a parachurch ministry, one as the leader of a retreat center and the other as a staff member of a mission organization. I found myself perplexed: Should I remain in pastoral ministry or move into the parachurch service? What would I do with the rest of my life? I took a retreat to pray through and find direction.

The result was as dramatic as my conversion experience: I felt the Lord telling me to stay put, to remain a pastor. With as much confidence as I’ve had about anything, I refused both invitations and continued pastoring the California church. In that period, I felt as close to God and as centered in his will as I’ve ever felt. It illustrates what it means to me to be close to God: at the core, it means having an internal sense of harmony with what God wants me to do.

Early in my spiritual journey (and to some degree now), I depended on the feeling of God’s nearness. Though feelings are wonderful and beneficial, I don’t want to be dependent on them. Instead of considering how I feel at the moment, I try to discern how centered I am in God’s leading. For example, when I pastored in Memphis we elected our first black mayor. Unfortunately, people voted along racial lines, Memphis being 52 percent black. To help unify our city, I felt the white community needed to show our support for our newly elected mayor. So I persuaded the pastors of some of the largest white churches in town to pay for and sign an open letter of support in the local newspaper.

We took some heat for doing that. A few members resigned from my congregation, and the mail and calls from outside my church were pretty tough. That dampened my emotions. Frankly, I didn’t feel particularly close to the Lord at the time. I knew, however, I was doing what was right. That certainty assured me that I was with God even though I did not feel close.

Even when I don’t know God’s will, if I’m at least seeking it earnestly, that is enough. A man and woman who struggle to “get on the same page” often feel closer after they’ve worked through their difficulties. Waiting on God does the same for me.

I identify with a friend who, after being asked to consider becoming a candidate for bishop in the Methodist church, said, “I’m in the middle of that decision right now, and I’m not getting any direction, but I’m feeling close to the Lord because I’m struggling. I’m dependent. I feel in resonance with the Spirit; while I don’t have an answer, I’m where God wants me to be because I’m focused on him.”

Distant warning

If feeling close to God is not a sure indicator of one’s closeness, neither is a feeling of distance to be equated with a poor relationship with God. So I must have some other signs that signal the strength of our relationship. Here, for me, are some signs the relationship needs help.

I have no heart for ministry. This is key for me. In fact, I’m more concerned about losing my appetite for ministry than I am about burnout; loss of heart can be so spiritually deceptive. A pastor who has lost appetite may perform well, do everything required with finesse and professional skill, and succeed at keeping the church going. But there’s no excitement. There’s no sitting on the edge of one’s seat to share something great God has done recently.

Furthermore, there’s no heart for doing the hard thing and no burning concern for missions or outreach, unless the church rolls start to suffer. The void in the pastor’s heart may not even be perceived and certainly not confessed.

My church members in Mississippi thought everything was tremendous—after all, we were the fastest growing church in the local Methodist conference. Because the church was doing well, they thought I was doing well. With all the “success” surrounding me, I was tempted sometimes to ignore my inner warning signals and assume that was as good as ministry was going to get.

Although this is perhaps the largest and brightest warning light we should notice, others less ominous are worthy of our attention.

I feel depressed about my spirituality for a significant period of time. In late 1991, I was confronted with a major decision about the course of my ministry. Although I spent extended time daily in prayer and Scripture reading, for two months I was unable to sense any direction from God. I finally got to the point where I was simply numb, unable to progress in my thinking about the decision. I knew then that something was wrong.

My decisions are not well thought through. In this regard, my wife serves as a barometer of my relationship with God. She has an uncanny way of asking the questions that show I’ve not given enough thought and prayer to certain decisions. She also shows me how I take a simple decision and complicate it, sometimes because I’m seeking to evade God’s way of doing something.

My emotions are on edge, inappropriate. I’ve discovered that the way I respond to telephone calls can be a signal. When I begin to think, Oh no, another phone call, or start procrastinating returning phone calls, it’s time to stop and assess what’s going on. It’s likely I no longer have the spiritual resources to meet the demands of my calling.

I have a chronic problem with sleeplessness. Sometimes sleeplessness is God’s way of getting our attention. I have been awakened by God to receive some message that I haven’t received during my working day. Some of my most meaningful times of prayer and spiritual reflection have come in the early hours of the morning.

But chronic sleeplessness is often a sign to me that I’m not only overworked but also working on my own steam, without depending on God’s power.

One recent month was particularly hectic. I spent ten days in Russia, followed by three days at home—one of them a Sunday with full preaching responsibilities—and then two weeks in a demanding denominational General Conference. Though in the weeks following I had time to recover physically, I was still waking up in the middle of the night. That signaled my busyness had affected me spiritually.

Role danger

Just as marriage can both enhance and detract from the romantic passion between a man and a woman, so the pastoral role is both a boon and a bane to spirituality. We are wise to be alert to its possibilities. Being a pastor hinders closeness to God in at least two ways.

First, busyness. Shopkeeping chores, as Eugene Peterson so aptly describes church administrative tasks, and constant interaction with people, all to keep an organization humming, take time, attention, and enormous amounts of energy. That often leaves us little concentrated time to spend with God. If we do attend to the spiritual disciplines in such a ministry, we often do so less because we desire closeness with God and more because we are supposed to: it’s our job, all duty and no delight. We can conduct spiritual disciplines like a factory worker punches the clock. We pursue spirituality as a military man pursues stripes on his uniform.

Second, the professional side to ministry. Pastors, in order to do their jobs well, need to learn certain professional skills: how to conduct meetings, how to be diplomatic in all kinds of situations, how to juggle family and ministry, how and when to take community responsibilities. In addition, if we seek to expand our ministry by serving larger and larger parishes and provide increased security for our family, we have to build relationships in the denomination and, probably, attain another advanced degree.

In the process of jumping through all the hoops toward becoming a “professional,” though, we may begin losing our passion for prayer. Although no one makes a deliberate decision to eliminate prayer or to stop depending on the Holy Spirit, walking on the path of pastoral professionalism has a way of making us feel less dependent on God.

Hazardous tools

Some of the benefits associated with being a pastor can enhance our relationship with God—or, if misused, can actually damage it. For instance:

Scheduling freedom. Pastors, more than most professions, have the ability to set their own schedules. Except for Sunday morning worship and the monthly board meeting, our time is pretty much ours to manage.

In some church settings, if we are content to do so, a pastor can cover the required bases without working especially hard. Pastoral ministry can be the most demanding work or the most cushy work on earth, depending on what we make of it.

Lots of affirmation. When we do our jobs well, especially when we respond with compassion to our people, they will affirm us lavishly. But the amazing thing is we often don’t have to do well for people to praise us. No matter how poorly we do, in fact, there are always some kindhearted souls in the congregation who will tell us we’re doing great. Whether the praise is due or not, if we hear enough of it, we may assume that we’re God’s person, that all is well with us, when nothing could be farther from the truth.

Regular contact with the sacred. Whether it’s leading a Bible study or preaching a sermon, opening a meeting in prayer or closing worship with a benediction, baptizing people or serving Communion, we’re constantly handling holy things. But continual absorption in spiritual things breeds a dullness toward the sacred. Unless we are humble and pay full attention to what we are saying and doing, the holy can become routine, and that can lead to a spiritual dullness that is hard to sharpen.

Relationship builders

Fortunately these spiritual hazards are balanced by the unique opportunities ministry offers to the spiritual life.

We are regularly confronted with our need for God. My daughter is a hospital chaplain. She became well acquainted with an older woman who was a cancer patient. One day my daughter went into her room and sensed she was near death. At a loss what to do, she sat beside the woman’s bed and prayed silently for her. Almost unconsciously she began to caress the woman’s hair. After a while she started singing to her, singing an old lullaby my wife and I sang to our children when putting them to bed.

In the middle of her singing, my daughter felt a presence in the room and assumed someone had come in the room behind her. She was embarrassed about her singing and hesitated to turn around, but when she did, nobody was there. Kim quickly realized she had sensed the presence of Christ.

Such life-and-death situations, in which human limitations are so apparent, remind us of our utter dependence on God and our need for prayer.

Constant contact with the holy. This, as I mentioned, can be a challenge, but it is also a blessing when approached in the right attitude. For me that means humility.

Take my preaching, for instance, an opportunity to study God’s Word and proclaim it to others. To keep this holy event from becoming routine, I’m intentional about being confessional in my preaching. I have found that if publicly I’m fairly vulnerable about my shortcomings and my desires to walk more fully in God’s will, that puts demands on me to follow through.

Interaction with “saints.” I regularly call on several people in our church for prayer and advice; I especially value their spiritual insights and discernment. One is an older woman with a vocation of intercession. Another is a young couple with a special freshness about their walk with God. In many ways I look to these people as models of spiritual maturity. In my role as pastor, I am privileged to speak with such people often, and that only encourages my spirituality.

Drawing nearer

I have found six things especially helpful in keeping me close to God. Granted, we are each different when it comes to spirituality, but here is what has worked for me.

Attend to the emotional. Pastors can be hindered spiritually by emotional and personality hang-ups. For example, when I first moved to California, I became increasingly insecure about myself. Having been raised in poverty, I felt I lacked education and sufficient exposure to the finer things of life. I felt inferior to others, and that hampered me both emotionally and spiritually. Eventually, I sought a professional counselor and attended a therapy group, which turned things around for me. Getting my emotions straightened out really helped me spiritually: I was able, for instance, to accept God’s acceptance of me, no matter my background, and that freed me to start using the gifts I did have for his service.

Practice spiritual disciplines. I often find it helpful to hear how others do this so that I can fine-tune my approach. Here’s my procedure: I get up at 6 a.m., put on a pot of coffee (the first discipline!), and go to my study, which is in my home. I begin with intercession for those on my prayer list. Devotional reading follows; often I use a devotional guide along with the Scriptures. Then I spend time in reflection, pondering what I’ve read, examining my life, listening to the Lord.

Naturally, sometimes this morning time is tremendously rewarding and exciting, with things popping off the page and insights coming left and right. At other times it’s dry and seemingly fruitless. But overall, it’s worked for me.

Retreats. I schedule two personal retreats a year as “regular maintenance” for my soul, one around my birthday, and another about six months later. In addition, I sometimes need an unscheduled time away to break through a prolonged dry period. Short retreats of one day are usually sufficient.

Practice the presence. When I don’t feel God’s presence, I’ve learned the importance of practicing God’s presence. For me this most often means sharing God’s presence—his love and goodness—with someone else.

A woman in our church was admitted to the Mayo Clinic to await a liver transplant. I wanted to convey the presence of God to her, but I hesitated at first because at the time I wasn’t feeling God’s presence in my own life. I didn’t want to sound artificial to her. But I decided not to wait until I was “in the mood,” and I deliberately phoned her to assure her of God’s presence in her situation. I practiced God’s presence by reaching out to someone else.

John Wesley encouraged Christians to practice “acts of mercy” partly because in many ways we act our way into Christlikeness more than we pray, study, or worship our way into Christlikeness. So by practicing the presence, I incorporate it into my life.

Keep stretched. After preaching and administrating a church for a few years, I face the danger of feeling I’m in control, that I can through mere technique bring about effectiveness and success. To counteract that, I welcome ministries that take me out of my control zone.

On Sunday nights our church holds healing services, where we partake of Communion, anoint people with oil, and pray for them. It’s something that has not been usual in my tradition, so I’m on a learning curve as to how to minister through it effectively. Besides, when praying for the sick, I can’t feel anything but dependent on God.

Nurture relationships. John Wesley used the term conferencing to describe intentional reflection and sharing with others about what God is doing in your life. The most important person with whom I do this is my wife, but I also conference regularly with others.

Two questions I find helpful when meeting with others are: (1) When this week did you feel closest to God? and (2) When did you have a discipleship opportunity, the chance to experience growth yourself or to help others grow, but ignored it? The first question leads to a greater awareness of our experience and relationship with God, and the second sensitizes us to opportunities for growth.

Once in a while I ask my family and fellow workers for feedback. I ask what, in their view, is going well with me and what things I should be cautioned about. Especially when I’m making decisions about God’s direction for my life, consulting others helps me accurately hear from God. With big decisions, I can easily get sidetracked by my emotions and desires. In the throes of one major decision, I called a friend and during our conversation asked, “Do you think I’ll be happy if I do this?”

“You don’t have any right to ask that question,” he replied.

That shocked me. But the more I thought about it, the more I saw his point; the question was not happiness but rather fruitfulness and meaning and obedience. I needed to hear that.

I’m happy when the church I serve grows, when ministry expands, when what I do is “successful.” But I’ve learned to see that as secondary. What really sustains my life and ministry is God. The closer I am to him, the more fruitful and satisfying my work is for him.