Our reputation must begin from the inside out.
— Knute Larson
I sat in the waiting area of a car wash, reading a newspaper, waiting for my car to move through the automated wash. Glancing sideways, I saw a pair of female legs in Bermuda shorts. I fought the urge to take a second look and buried my face in the newspaper. The woman stopped and dropped into the seat next to me.
“Well, did you run this morning?” she asked.
Surprised, I looked over. “Yes, I did.” I didn’t recognize her. “How did you know I run?”
“I attend the early service at The Chapel, and a couple of times you’ve mentioned your running.”
After she left, I shuddered at what might have been: had I taken a double-take at her legs and then met her eyes — that would have been a dumb misstep on my part.
I recently read a comment by an nba star who, when asked about the effect his immoral off-the-court behavior had on young admirers, said, “Hey, I didn’t ask to be a role model.” In one sense, we pastors have asked to be role models. How we act outside the church’s walls impacts our work as much as how we act inside them.
Maybe more! High visibility adds an extra pressure never to drop my guard, never to give in to temptation. God writes a strong standard for pastors in 1 Timothy 3, making the consequences of a pastor’s public failure even more painful. We never exit the public stage. While God looks on the heart and not on outward appearances, the people we lead and the community in which we serve have only our outward actions to gauge our character.
Reputation Tested
Living in this glass house is, however, only one aspect of the reputation pressures we face. Those pressures come in various settings and can either strengthen us or make us want to run.
• In intimate groups. I’ve met with a pastor friend regularly for over twenty-four years. We enjoy each other’s loyalty and talk about everything from our personal finances to our sex lives. Nothing we say is off limits; we’re never shocked at each other’s honesty.
But it’s a struggle to know how transparent to be with church members, even church leaders. When people in small group Bible studies take turns sharing their struggles, I can’t reveal just anything. If I was totally honest about every whim or thought, I would lose their respect: most people don’t really want to know that their pastor struggles with certain issues. At the same time, however, I like to relax and not pretend. I do want to lead by example. But by revealing too much, we can hobble our reputations, crippling our ability to effectively lead.
• When things aren’t going well. During my first five years of ministry at The Chapel, 300 to 500 people (about 10 percent of the church) left for “greener” pastures. Most of their reasons for leaving could be traced to me. They simply didn’t like me or the changes my arrival brought, or they believed rumors about supposed changes.
Few things are more threatening to a pastor than to have people leave the church. It makes some people question your effectiveness, and it tempts you either to act defensively or to blame yourself.
• When confidentiality is the issue. Once I had to release a staff member for breaking a clear staff policy and for refusing to stop. That was painful. And I chose to protect him and his family by not announcing the reason.
Tragically, a few weeks later, this man committed suicide. When the word got out that I had just let him go, some members wondered if my treatment had pushed him over the brink. They shared it liberally.
Later, while I was talking to some businessmen in a downtown hotel lobby, a man shouted across the lobby, “You killed Bill, and now you’re trying to kill Tony!” (alluding to another staff conflict). Still, I chose to maintain confidentiality and refused to divulge all that had gone on with the former staff member.
In certain circumstances, when we can’t or choose not to divulge confidential information, people will question our reputations. (What was it that Truman said about heat in the kitchen?)
• When you strive for excellence. Ironically, when we’re really concerned about the success of the church, it can inadvertently threaten our reputations.
Early in my ministry here at The Chapel, I probably wrote too many staff policies for too many things. I believed policies should not exist unless they were written and unambiguous. Things like office dress, weekly reports, moral code, unity goals, and definitions of acceptable conference or study leave — all these were put on paper. Much to the sorrow of some who work around me, I love charts and goals and reports.
So I wrote lots of memos, and we went over them in staff meetings. That seemed much more efficient to me than telling people these things face to face, one by one. I liked results, worked long hours, and expected the same from those I led.
To some of the staff, though, my drivenness for excellence came across as legalistic, impersonal, and oppressive. Since then, I’ve learned how to make changes more slowly and gracefully, caring more for people along the way.
I still bristle a little when I think about how “right” I was. I was the senior staff member, and policies do need to be clear and on paper. The “Aw, shucks” method does not work after the church grows to a certain size. But being right is not the only concern, especially when leading a team. Being careful is important. Taking your time is essential. Building relationships is primary. Then you write the policies together!
• At significant junctures. When I arrived at The Chapel, I wrestled with creating a larger vision for the church. I felt The Chapel’s large Sunday-morning gathering needed to be supplemented by medium-sized groups (40 to 80 people), to allow for relationships, pastoral care, and nurture.
When I began to try to enact this vision, I encountered opposition, and some of it came from the staff. I then realized how much was at stake. I was essentially hazarding my professional reputation on this new vision: if it failed, I failed.
Two years passed before even some of the staff got behind the vision. It was a long two years.
From the Inside Out
The French have a phrase, déformation professionnelle, which means “the unraveling of one’s job.” The idea is that over time it’s easy to stop enjoying your job, to do it with your hands but not your heart. A quarterback who has lost his desire to win, for example, is more apt to make mental mistakes, which sabotage his play and ensure that he won’t win.
The danger is extreme for pastors. So, monitoring our inner lives is critical. Having a reputation for being a caring and faithful pastor starts with being a caring and faithful person, inside. For me that amounts to two things.
• Stay close to Christ. During John Sununu’s tenure as President Bush’s chief of staff, I read an article in Time magazine describing Sununu as a “tiger in the White House.”
A reporter had asked, “Isn’t your job difficult?”
“No,” Sununu replied.
The reporter, thinking Sununu hadn’t understood his question, repeated it. Sununu replied, “No, my job isn’t difficult. I have only one constituent” — who, of course, was President Bush.
Ultimately, we too have only one constituent: Jesus Christ. Our relationship with him matters most. A growing, true, personal spiritual life with Christ is the cornerstone of building a public reputation. For me, that has meant, among other things, more self-control.
One of my passions is basketball, and twice a week I play pickup games in our church gym during lunch with a group of local businessmen. One of the rules is that the person who fouls calls the foul.
Once I was hammered hard while moving to my right for what would have been a great jump shot. One of my teammates started arguing with the guy who fouled me, saying, “You fouled Knute. You’ve got to call it!” The man who had fouled me didn’t reply. I decided not to say anything and continued play, heading for the other end of the floor.
After the game, this teammate, a high-powered lawyer, said, “Didn’t he foul you, Knute?”
“Yes,” I replied, “but you call your own fouls.”
Later, before leaving the locker room, this man stopped by and smiled, “You know, Knute, I’ve got to learn to have patience like you do.”
Basketball is a “contact sport,” contrary to what some think, but there are many things more important than correctly calling fouls: learning self-control and patience while playing, plus being a “light” to those who are watching you.
• Stay close to home. One of the nicest comments I’ve received came from one of my daughters: “You’re no different at home than you are at church, and we like that.” That meant a lot to me because it showed some integrity: who I was in my private world was consistent with the image I projected in public. That is a continuing goal.
But it’s never been easy. Nineteen years ago my wife hit me over the head with a two-by-eight when she said, “Knute, I think you’re doing a great job with the church, but I don’t think I know you.”
Ever since, we’ve gone out to breakfast most Thursdays and created a master schedule to monitor my time. I’ve also scheduled individual appointments with our two girls each week and tried to reserve Monday and Friday evenings for the entire family. It was the best way I could keep balance in my life and take my focus off of work, from which I draw immense satisfaction and energy.
External Impressions to Foster
After a friend of mine found out I had accepted the call to The Chapel, he phoned, saying, “Good luck on your suicide mission.” He had heard about the distinguished ministry of my predecessor, who had pastored there for twenty-five years, and his father, who had founded the church and ministered there twenty-five years previous to his son. Both were effective, successful leaders. My well-wisher thought my ministry would be only an “unintentional interim.” Ugh.
Ten years have passed, and I’ve discovered that this man’s death wish contained partial truth the first few years. Those transition days, good as they were in public, had me working with a staff I did not choose and who did not choose me (a few were very clear about that). I also grappled with the “good ghosts” of the past, which are sometimes worse than following “bad skeletons”!
My friend-adviser Lyle Schaller had told me on the phone, “Brace yourself, honor the past, be yourself, and do what’s right. The first years may feel unfair, but then it will get better.”
He was right. Whether making a single change or striving for a successful ministry, I’ve got to demonstrate that I am a trustworthy person. In that regard, there are many things to consider.
• Work hard. Not long ago, in a Bible study I was attending with younger men — men in their thirties and forties — a well-respected older gentleman remarked, “You guys work too hard. You ought to stop worrying about your reputation and how hard you work; turn your business over to God.”
I couldn’t resist objecting: “But Dutch, could you have done that before you were sixty? Do you think any of these guys can do it in their thirties?” Part of the drivenness in our early years, I believe, is positive. We can’t expect to be successful — can’t expect to be respected by our congregations — if we haven’t paid our dues. And one of those dues is hard work.
• Work smart. Many corporate business leaders attend our church and understand the challenge of leading a church as large as The Chapel. They expect not only that I work hard but that I wisely use my time.
I frequently get input from these business and spiritual leaders. I meet with three small groups of men, have breakfast and lunch appointments almost every weekday, and use advisers regularly. I try to ensure my time is well-utilized.
• Don’t answer the unanswerable. Shortly after my sister’s death at age 14, a woman said to my mother, “Your daughter’s death was for a purpose. Maybe she would have grown up to be a prostitute.”
This person’s insensitivity was the result of her feeling compelled to give an answer for everything. I think that admitting we don’t know the reason for this baby’s death or that person’s cancer is often difficult, but to do otherwise makes us appear indifferent to people’s suffering.
One of my favorite cartoons is of a man standing on a mountain and speaking to God, saying, “Tell me why.”
The voice out of heaven replies, “Okay, I’ll tell you why.”
The man, cheered by this response, awaits eagerly for the divine reason, but the answer he gets from God is, “Just because.”
Just because — sometimes there are no explainable reasons. Often the only thing our people need to see from us is our humanness, our limited and broken understanding. By confessing our ignorance of God’s ways, we can actually lend credibility to our ministry.
• Care for the community. On Wednesday evenings, I work through supper and often make a window stop at McDonald’s for a chicken fajita. I’ve gotten to know an employee who’s been working each Wednesday I stop there.
During that quick stop, I’ve learned about her recent hospital stay, her poor family, her concerns about her future, her ulcers. I’ve told her I would pray for her. Only recently has she found out that I’m a pastor at The Chapel.
My goal is to reach out to everyone I brush up against in the community. I want to get to know the city. I attend cocktail parties (though I sip only diet cola), pray at public events, and, when asked, lead devotions for the local professional sports teams.
• Be professional. If you asked several of my staff members about my desire to dress right, they’d probably quip, “Knute only loosens his tie when he goes to bed at night.” I say I’m tempted to mow my lawn with my tie on just in case someone from the church drives by.
Like it or not, though, dressing impacts how we’re perceived. By our appearance, we project an image about our competence. In the culture where The Chapel is located, professionals dress in suit and tie, so I’ve made wearing a tie to the office a standard for all of our staff. Outside of the office, I expect them to dress appropriate to the occasion.
• Demonstrate love. Whether conscious or not, people want leaders who know where they are going and who love people. In writing about the love pastors need to show their people, many have noted the importance of “perceived love” — public actions that symbolize love to the congregation. On the surface, perceived love sounds hypocritical, but the point is that we must overtly make sure those we love know we love them. I do this differently with the different groups in the church.
1. Lay leaders and staff. Besides learning to communicate more personally with staff, I’ve also painfully learned the art of disagreement. At first I náively thought that because I desired open and honest disagreement in meetings, staff members and lay leaders would feel free to air their concerns. Therefore I assumed silence meant consent. I was wrong.
Often the staff would nod in apparent agreement. Later, however, I would sometimes discover their disagreements through other sources. Perhaps my reactions or defensiveness in staff meetings showed too much, discouraging free discussion. Today I encourage a variety of opinions, wait more patiently for all sides to speak up, and thank people for healthy give and take.
I work hard at being open and human, and I’m “Knute” with the staff and leaders I work with. It’s not that hard to say, “I don’t know,” anymore or even, “I love you and appreciate your honesty” (or “insight” or “enthusiasm” or whatever).
2. The congregation. I grew up in a divorced home and, though my parents loved me, I never heard them say to me, “I love you” until I was an adult.
Around his fiftieth year, my father began telling me he loved me, but only after I would say, “I love you,” first. About a year ago, at age 76, my father died of a sudden heart attack on Father’s Day. The night prior to his death, I had called him, and before we hung up, for the first time he was the first to say, “I love you.” He wasn’t aware of my tears, but I sensed he could feel my joy.
Consequently, I’ve made it a point with those I love to say, “I love you,” though it doesn’t come naturally for me. I even do this regularly with my congregation, saying, “I just want to remind you how much you all mean to me and the staff. I love you.”
Guarding Your Reputation
Only one serious misstep is needed to damage what has taken years to create. Here are four areas I monitor to ensure my reputation is always above board.
1. The opposite sex. One time a woman in the church wanted to thank me for the help I’d given to a local ministry in Akron.
“May I give you a hug before I leave?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said. I then called my secretary into my office and said, “This woman would like to give me a hug. Come on in.” A polite hug followed.
Several staff guidelines monitor relationships with the opposite sex. No staff member, for example, is permitted to meet alone with the opposite sex. Nor is any staff member permitted to be alone in a car with someone other than his or her spouse. Nor can staff members do sustained counseling with members of the opposite sex.
The best defense is a good offense. We’d rather aggressively seek out ways to stave off potential temptations than to deal with the aftermath of rumors or a fallen comrade.
Obviously, only I can guard my heart and thoughts. Any of us could lie to our accountability groups. My friend Jerry asks, “How’s your sex life?” or “Are you praying?” — and I ask him the same and harder. But we must stay with the truth and guard our own spirits. “Take heed to your spirit,” Malachi said.
2. The tongue. I shifted back and forth as I waited impatiently in the checkout line. I was becoming increasingly annoyed. I was in a hurry, and the woman in front of me acted as if she had all day to pay for her parcels. Leisurely she made small talk with the cashier — something about her kids’ plans for the summer. Inside I groaned, Why does this always happen to me?
When she finally headed for the door, I slid my items in front of the cashier. I felt like saying something sarcastic, to show the cashier my irritation. But I held my tongue, smiled, and, when my groceries were totaled, wrote a check for the amount.
“Oh, Knute Larson!” gushed the cashier after she looked at my check. “I listen to you on the radio every day. You’ve really helped me.”
“Uh, thank you,” I mumbled. I grabbed my grocery bags and stumbled out of the store, thanking the Lord for the good sense not to spout off to this cashier.
I don’t think I’ve ever gotten used to the fact that my words are often public domain. I sometimes feel my ministry is always a comment away from disaster.
3. Money. I’ve made a conscious attempt to distance myself from money. As with the opposite sex, the best offense is good defense. So I never handle church money. Period. If someone tries to hand me an offering envelope, I don’t accept it; I direct the giver to one of our ushers or financial deacons.
4. Opponents. Even after carefully building and guarding our reputations, sometimes the pastor’s name will be unfairly dragged through the mud. I heard about one pastor who, after a false accusation of sexual abuse, was forced to leave his church.
I’ve felt such attacks myself. A woman who, before her conversion, participated in a satanic cult, told me she and her fellow Satan worshipers had prayed that I would fall morally. Needless to say, such incidents frighten me, so prayer about such matters is a regular part of staff prayer times.
Aside from prayer, there is not much we can do to squelch rumors. When I’ve heard rumors circulating about certain actions I’ve taken, occasionally I’ve taken aside the leaders and staff and said, “You may hear such and such, but this is the truth.”
Obviously, I believe there is no sense addressing such things in worship services and spreading the rumors further!
All in all, I resist answering my critics. No need to return evil for evil. I want to be known as someone who can handle pressure and pain. At some point, when we’re under fire, the only thing we can do is go home each evening, go to bed, and trust that, given enough time, the truth will win out.
Honor from Above
Through the years, I’ve learned that what some people think really doesn’t matter. On one occasion, when my wife and I were having a late breakfast at a local restaurant on a Thursday morning, a man from our church stopped at our table, looked at his watch, and said, “Having breakfast at 10:15. Must be nice.”
Earlier that morning — 1:30 a.m. — I had been called to the hospital because of a car accident. Still I had made it to my 6:30 a.m. radio program and taken my children to school.
Resisting my first thought, to toss my hot tea at him, I said with a smile, “Yes, it really is nice.”
No matter what your reputation, you can’t please everyone. But the positives of being “on stage,” for me, have always outweighed the negatives. The greatest reward, however, will come at the finish line with our Savior. To those who run his way, he will say, “Well done, my good and faithful servant.”
Copyright © 1993 by Christianity Today
