Taming Ambition

We are not tempted to do bad things as much as we are tempted to try things God has not called us to do.
— Richard Exley

In August of 1976, a jury found the Reverend Charles Blair, pastor of the 6,000-member Calvary Temple in Denver, Colorado, guilty of seventeen counts of fraud and illegal sale of securities. Blair had raised $14 million from about 3,400 investors to finance the church’s ill-fated geriatric center.

Blair was fined $12,750 and placed on five years probation, but he was allowed to remain as pastor of Calvary Temple. Under his leadership the church was able to repay the investors according to a plan approved by the bankruptcy court.

From all reports, Charles Blair is a man of integrity, a conclusion reinforced by his commitment to repay every investor. No evidence suggests he, or his family, benefited in any way from the illegal sale of securities. Though Blair knowingly allowed financially troubled investors to invest in the Life Center, nothing suggests he intended to defraud them.

All of which makes this scenario more troubling: this is not the story of an evil man reaping the wages of sin but the tragic account of a good man whose vision exceeded his judgment.

In reflecting on the testimony about Blair’s financial and religious empire, Gerald H. Quick, one of the twelve jurors who found him guilty, said, “Maybe the Rev. Charles Blair should stick to preaching and stay out of the securities business.… Maybe ambition got in the way of his common sense.”

Was ambition, the drive to succeed, the culprit? Perhaps. Yet without ambition nothing of significance is ever achieved. How can we make ambition our servant rather than our master? Or as one person put it, how can we tame our “drum-major instincts”?

What’s the Source?

In his book, The Man Who Could Do No Wrong, Blair candidly confesses his mistakes and their source. Growing up during the Great Depression left him with a deep-seated self-doubt and a burning desire to succeed. No one would ever again look down on him, he determined, nor would his children ever endure the bitter humiliation that characterized his childhood. Consequently he was ever conscious of his public image. He drove the right kind of car, wore the best suits, and fraternized with the right people.

This inordinate concern for his public image, coupled with his enormous success, made it nearly impossible for him to distinguish between the voice of God and his own subconscious ego needs. While his desire to provide a center for the handicapped and the aged was noble, it was not necessarily birthed by God.

Herein lies the difference between godly and human ambition: godly ambition originates in the heart of the Father and is fueled by a sincere desire to please him; human ambition originates in the heart of people and is driven by their own ego needs.

A classic example of well-intended but misguided human ambition is found in 2 Samuel 7. King David had finally established his throne in Jerusalem and was, at long last, free from military conflict. One day he said to Nathan the prophet, “‘Here I am, living in a palace of cedar, while the ark of God remains in a tent.’ Nathan replied to the king, ‘Whatever you have in mind, go ahead and do it, for the Lord is with you'” (2 Sam. 7:2-3).

Unfortunately neither David nor Nathan had sought the counsel of the Lord. Apparently they did not think it was necessary. Building a temple seemed only logical. And herein lies a great danger to the man or woman of God: we are not tempted to do bad things as much as we are tempted to try things God has not called us to do.

Still, if we are sensitive to the Holy Spirit, the Lord will “check” us before we get in over our heads. That’s what God did for King David. According to 2 Samuel 7:4, the word of the Lord came to Nathan that very night, telling David not to build the temple. Following this divine revelation, Nathan faced that moment dreaded by all advisers to powerful men — to stand in opposition to David’s plan. His initial support of David’s desire only complicated matters.

Had Nathan been more self-serving and less obedient, he might have ignored this word and let David go ahead with his plans. By the same token, had David been more ambitious, he might have resented Nathan’s counsel and rejected it to his own sorrow. He was spared the painful humiliation that befalls so many spiritual leaders who ignore the counsel of wise friends.

Blair admits he dismissed the warning signals, seeing them as obstacles to be overcome by faith. For example, he ignored the concerns expressed by his wife, Betty; they were not one in heart and mind. He said he never submitted his dream to the counsel of others, so he could never say, “It seemed good to the Holy Spirit and to us” (Acts 15:28).

Though we can never be absolutely sure a vision we pursue is from God, we can minimize the risk of making a mistake. First, we can practice a ruthless honesty with ourselves, daily admitting our ambition, reminding ourselves that we must not make important decisions without others’ counsel.

Second, we can become skeptical of our motives. I’ve developed the practice of asking myself some hard questions:

1. Have I fully surrendered this desire to the Lord?

2. Is this truly God’s plan or just my own ambition?

3. Am I waiting for the Lord to “open the door” or am I impatiently forcing things to happen?

4. Am I resorting to human methods in an attempt to accomplish God’s plan?

5. Am I attempting this because God has called me to do it or because I am driven to succeed?

Admittedly, these are subjective questions, but with steady attention to our souls, we can grow in our ability to discern our motives. Still, even if I satisfactorily answer these questions, I do not trust my conclusions. Jeremiah said, “The heart is deceitful above all things.… Who can understand it?” (Jeremiah 17:9). Spiritual guidance, whether it comes in the form of an inner witness or through a personal vision, is simply too subjective to be left to my judgment. I must submit my vision to the scrutiny of godly advisers. Only if it passes muster with them can I move ahead with confidence.

“Nothing is more dangerous,” writes Richard Foster, “than leaders accountable to no one. We all need others who can laugh at our pomposity and prod us into new forms of obedience. Power is just too dangerous a thing for any of us to face alone.”

Called or Driven?

While serving as pastor of Christian Chapel, I oversaw the field education of several seminarians who served our congregation. Well do I remember the day one of them shared a paper on ministry. In it he referred to Jesus as a “driven man,” consumed with his ministry. A truly committed minister, according to this student’s thinking, would be a “driven man,” willing to sacrifice everything on the altar of “his” ministry.

As he read his paper, alarm bells went off in my head. When he finished, he looked up for my response.

“Dave, I don’t think Jesus was a driven man,” I said carefully. “I believe the Scriptures portray him as a called man. A driven man is consumed with his own needs and desires. A called man is committed to the Father. A driven man is ambitious. A called man is obedient.”

The expression on his face suggested this was a new thought for him. He had been reared on slogans like, “Make no small plans here,” and “Nothing succeeds like success!”

I picked a dog-eared copy of Gordon MacDonald’s Ordering Your Private World from my bookcase and read him MacDonald’s list of eight characteristics of driven people:

“1. A driven person is most often gratified only by accomplishment.… He becomes the sort of person who is always reading books and attending seminars that promise to help him to use what time he has even more effectively. Why? So that he can produce more accomplishments, which in turn will provide greater gratification.

“2. A driven person is preoccupied with the symbols of accomplishment.… That means that he will be aware of the symbols of status: titles, office size and location, positions on organizational charts, and special privileges.

“3. A driven person is usually caught in the uncontrolled pursuit of expansion. Driven people like to be a part of something that is getting bigger and more successful.… They rarely have any time to appreciate the achievements to date.

“4. Driven people tend to have a limited regard for integrity.… Shortcuts to success become a way of life. Because the goal is so important, they drift into ethical shabbiness. Driven people become frighteningly pragmatic.

“5. Driven people often possess limited or undeveloped people skills.… There is usually a ‘trail of bodies’ in the wake of the driven person. Of this person we are most likely to find ourselves saying, ‘He is miserable to work with, but he certainly gets things done.’

“6. Driven people tend to be highly competitive.… Thus, he is likely to see others as competitors or as enemies who must be beaten — perhaps even humiliated — in the process.

“7. A driven person often possesses a volcanic force of anger.

“8. Driven people are usually abnormally busy. They are usually too busy for the pursuit of ordinary relationships in marriage, family, or friendship … not to speak of one with God.”

This is not what Jesus was like, nor is it the kind of minister any of us want to become. Yet the ministry is filled with these kind of people. Most, I believe, entered ministry with pure motives, but in the course of time, ambition, often disguised as a godly vision, became their master.

We’ve all read fictitious accounts of people who made a pact with the devil, who in a moment sold him their souls in return for personal success. Reality is seldom like that: we lose our soul day by day, one piece at a time. We don’t realize what is happening until it’s too late. Selfish ambition eats away at us like unseen cancer, until one day we discover we’ve succumbed to the malignancy of ambition.

The Secret of Service

In his book, It Doesn’t Take a Hero, General H. Norman Schwarzkopf, writes, “The Army, with its emphasis on rank and medals and efficiency reports, is the easiest institution in the world in which to get consumed with ambition. Some officers spend all their time currying favor and worrying about the next promotion — a miserable way to live. But West Point saved me from that by instilling the ideal of service above self — to do my duty for my country even if it brought no gain at all. It gave me far more than a military career — it gave me a calling.”

Service above self — that’s the secret of taming our ambition.

I learned this early in my ministry. The first congregation I served was small and riddled with petty jealousies. Like many small churches in rural areas, it was comprised of family members — parents and grandparents; children and grandchildren; aunts, uncles, and cousins. They didn’t consider themselves cliquish and seemed anxious for the church to grow. But they were content with the status quo and resented the changes new families brought to the church.

Instead of reaching out to new converts, they were critical and judgmental, not only of new members but also of me. After my first year, things reached a boiling point. They accused me of ruining their church. Before I arrived, divorced people and single parents had not been a part of the church. Now they attended, and the established members didn’t like it. There was talk about circulating a petition demanding my resignation.

At the time, I felt threatened and betrayed. I unwittingly raised the level of hostility; since I felt a personal responsibility to disciple the new converts, I spent most of my time ministering to them. The charter members felt ignored.

When things became desperate, I cried out to the Lord. Over a three-week period, I became convinced God was directing me to conduct an old-fashioned, foot-washing service. It made no sense to me, but my inner promptings seemed to grow stronger by the day.

The following Sunday morning, I announced that the evening service would be for men only. I immediately sensed the congregation grow uneasy. By the time I reached the parsonage after the service, the phone was ringing. It was Brother Hoover, an 84-year-old, long-time member of the church. He informed me that his wife had been attending church with him for more than sixty years and that if she was not welcome in the service, then he wasn’t coming either.

Without giving me a chance to reply, he hung up. I was sick at heart. The Hoovers were one of the few families who weren’t opposing me. Now I had offended them!

But it was too late to change my mind. That evening nine men sat on metal folding chairs, facing each other. They sat quietly, occasionally glancing toward the Communion table where I stood. I started the service by instructing the men to remove their shoes and socks. They looked at each other as if to say, This kid has really lost his mind this time (I was only 21). Still, they did as I requested, and in a matter of minutes two rows of barefooted men faced each other.

While the men were removing their shoes and socks, I took off my coat and rolled up my shirt sleeves. Picking up a basin of water and a towel, I faced them.

“Some of you feel I’ve played favorites,” I said, “that I haven’t ministered to your families as I should. You are justified in your feelings. But I want you to know any time I wronged you, I did it ignorantly, out of inexperience, never maliciously. As a demonstration of my sincere desire to serve you, in any way, great or small, I’m going to wash your feet.”

I knelt before the man nearest me and said, “I apologize for any wrong I have done you, and I ask your forgiveness.” Then I washed his feet. I repeated that act before each man.

During that simple ritual, something almost miraculous took place. By taking a towel and a basin of water, by getting down on my knees, by washing their feet and apologizing, I had disarmed those men. I defused their anger. When I made myself vulnerable, when I placed myself in their hands, at their mercy, I appealed to the love and goodness in their hearts.

That experience also radically changed me. Until that service, I had assumed ministers, especially evangelists, were sanctified celebrities. The church existed to fulfill our agendas. As a result, I noticed every slight, however insignificant. I felt unappreciated and was constantly unhappy.

God’s answer for my ambition was a basin of water and a towel, especially the attitude of loving service to others.

Holy Ambition

For years I found myself trapped in the vicious cycle of competition. My predominant concern was “How can I build a bigger church?” rather than “How can I be a more faithful minister of Jesus Christ?” The determining factor in my decision making was not, “Is this God’s will?” but “How will this look on my resume?”

I sincerely cared about the people God had entrusted to my care, and I endeavored to be a good pastor. But always lurking in the shadows of my soul was my personal ambition.

But I was frustrated because I knew I couldn’t compete. In a system in which a minister’s value was measured by the numbers — baptisms, budget, and buildings — I was outclassed. For the first fourteen years of ministry, I served small churches (under 100 members) in remote rural areas. Nothing I accomplished could compare with the success of city pastors.

In addition, it seemed I was always looking up to see some minister whiz by in the fast lane. His achievements dwarfed mine, making mine seem despairingly insignificant.

I managed to deal with my relative insignificance as long as I remained isolated in my own pastorate. I became troubled, however, whenever I attended a district meeting or a national conference. The featured speakers were always “successful” pastors. In their presence, I felt like a nobody. I often found their achievements intimidating rather than inspiring.

Since most of them were several years my senior, I rationalized that by the time I reached their age I would be equally successful. I was jealous when a classmate or someone younger than me was the featured speaker.

At one General Council of my denomination, a peer of mine was a featured speaker. I had to admit he was committed, gifted, and articulate. Still I picked his message apart while 14,000 worshipers hung on his every word. Inwardly I seethed. The better he preached the more jealous I became.

For weeks afterward, I alternated between anger and depression. Envy was eating a hole in my soul. Jealousy was making me sick. Finally I confessed to God my sinful feelings and my inability to subdue them. I confessed my feelings of failure and inadequacy. Gently the Lord comforted me.

Slowly I learned a new way of determining my self-worth. I didn’t have to measure myself against the achievements of more successful ministers. Instead of the numbers game, over which I had only the slightest control, I learned to base my success on my relationship with Jesus. With God’s help I set new goals — character and spiritual goals. From that day forward, I determined to measure my success only by my obedience to Jesus Christ and my willingness to allow the Holy Spirit to conform me to the image of God’s Son.

For the first time in my life, I felt liberated. The work of the ministry still needed to be done, but now it was the by-product of my relationship with the Lord, an expression of who I was in him, rather than an attempt to prove my worth. I felt content, rather than competitive, and for the first time rejoiced genuinely in the achievements of my peers.

While I served Christian Chapel in Tulsa, Oklahoma, the church experienced significant growth. I began to feel smug. God confronted me by impressing upon my heart this truth: “Richard, if you couldn’t build your self-worth on the size of your congregation when it numbered less than 100 people, you can’t do it now.”

Such an attitude isn’t easy and doesn’t come naturally to me. I constantly battle against selfish ambition. Over and over I must submit myself to the sanctifying work of the Spirit.

I constantly aim to be what God has called me to be; that way I’m assured of accomplishing what God has called me to do. I’m discovering that human ambition, tamed and transformed, can become godly ambition. As we daily submit to the Lord in all things, we will grow in grace until “the things of earth grow strangely dim in the light of his glory and grace.”