For two of the years I was in seminary, I pastored a tiny country church 175 miles east of Denver. For a year, Gail and I saved money by living in the church’s small parsonage. That meant on Tuesday at 4 a.m. I would leave the house and make a three-hour drive in our Volkswagen Beetle to Denver.
The drive along Route 36 from the Kansas border to Denver was almost a straight shot. As you looked westward to the horizon, you sensed that the car could go in any direction and never run into a barrier. It was smooth sailing.
Life is sometimes like that. No barriers. You feel, I can do anything I want if I am willing to work hard enough. And pray hard enough. And study hard enough. I once believed that myself.
But back to Route 36. Just beyond the town of Last Chance, Colorado, you suddenly see three mountain peaks on the horizon—Pike’s Peak to the south, Long’s Peak to the north, and Mount Evans directly to the west. Instantly the illusion of a barrierless journey is pricked by the realization that three solid and rather large obstacles represent a reduction in options.
Sometimes in ministry we also reach a “Last Chance.” The day comes when you discover personal barriers and limits: I cannot do this as well as … I don’t actually have the gift of … This task requires something that simply isn’t my strength.
Obligations are accrued. Perhaps a spouse. Maybe a child or two. Perhaps responsibilities to extended family members. They wouldn’t be complimented by being called barriers. But they nevertheless cut down on other options.
This can be a tough moment for some young leaders. The once dizzying dreams are slowly modified by reality. And little by little, we discover why we’re really in this “business” of serving God. We’re probably not going to be heroes, and the world is not going to beat a path to our door begging for our insights. And that’s okay.
But let me finish my parable.
On the trip to Denver, as you near the city, there comes a point where the long stretch of the Rocky Mountains rises up like an impenetrable wall. Where once only three barriers, evenly spaced apart, interrupted the horizon, now barriers fill your vision. You get the feeling you can’t go anywhere. You’re trapped! The illusion of barrierlessness is inverted.
That’s the perception of more than one midlifer in the ministry. The freshness is gone; the fears of mediocrity, of ineffectiveness, of being lost in the shuffle are malignant.
Penetrate the curtain of quiet thought of many forty- and fifty-year-old pastors, and you will find this wall is a very real perception: Where can I go? And who can I tell that I fear I can’t go anywhere? And why do I feel ashamed that I even worry about these things? Would my heroes, then and now, worry about walls? What’s wrong with me?
When you get to the “Denver” of my parable, you have three choices: (1) try going back to your point of origin, “youthfulness,” where the dream of no limits still exists, (2) try driving in circles, cursing the wall and moaning that it’s impossible to go back, or, and this is the important possibility, (3) try going up to the wall and find the passes or tunnels that lead to a healthy, spiritually vigorous, and personally effective last forty years of life.
I’m at the point in life where I’m traveling through the wall and enjoying the process! Now I know that life in the “barrierless” days was nice but terribly unrealistic.
No wonder that in those days the older men never sought me out for wisdom and counsel. They were kind to me, listened to my sermons, followed me when I had good ideas and enthusiasm. But now I know what they were thinking: He’s a good kid who needs to grow a little before he’s ready to know our hearts.
I took my turn driving in circles. In a moment of great personal failure and sadness, I had to drive in circles while Gail and I sought the voice of the Lord about our future—whether one actually existed or not. Some of the darkest days of my life. But days of unforgettable tenderness as God taught us some things through pain that we might not have learned otherwise.
Because God is a kind and gracious God, and because I was surrounded by some men and women who believed in restorative grace, I discovered the future up in the passes and tunnels that lead through the wall.
Elsewhere I’ve written about the day I was hit with the question: What kind of an old man do you want to be? And I opted for growth and grace as my old-age life style. I love the words of Tennyson in his poem “Ulysses.” He imagines the old, travelworn Ulysses brooding on what one might do for an encore after having seen the world:
Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal-temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
That spells it out for me—”strong in will to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.” Here’s an old man who has chosen growth for an old-aged life style when other old men were opting to go to Greece’s version of Florida and the shuffleboard courts.
Or perhaps I could have used Paul’s words—”Though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day” (2 Cor. 4:16 nkjv). Again, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race” (2 Tim. 4:7 nkjv). I love the enthusiasm of Tennyson’s Ulysses and Paul’s feistiness.
So at midlife, I asked God for a rebirth of spirit and mind. And I found a wonderful liberation. Liberation from feeling that I always had to be right and to please everyone’s definition of orthodoxy; liberation from always having to be more successful this year than last year; liberation from fearing that some people wouldn’t like me; a slow and certain liberation that said, Be content to be a pleasure to Christ, a lover to your wife, a grandfather to your children’s children, a friend to those who want to share life with you, and a servant to your generation.
In part, that liberation came from the grace and kindness of Jesus and, also, from having to clean up after failure. Those who knew me now knew my worst moments, my most embarrassing failures. I was free now to open my life and be what I was: a sinner who survives only because of the charity of Christ.
Now there is freedom to talk about fears, doubts, disappointments, and weaknesses. Because anything good that comes from someone like me actually comes from God. Paul said it best: “When I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Cor. 12:10 nkjv).
So when you decide to go through the wall, where do you start?
My mission
I continued to wrestle with the question, What sort of an old man do you want to be? I looked around and discovered I didn’t know many old men who impressed me with the same traits mentioned by Tennyson’s Ulysses.
Why? Maybe because most men and women never build a growth plan for the old years. And if you don’t plan for the kind of man (or woman) you want to be when you are eighty (God willing) and begin building that when you are forty or fifty, it’s not likely to happen.
That’s what drove me to define my personal mission. Without a mission, people live by reaction rather than initiation. I’d written a few mission statements for organizations; why not one for myself?
Today my mission statement sits on page 2 of my journal where I read it each morning as I start my day. It defines my direction and channels my enthusiasm:
My life is focused on serving God’s purposes in my generation so that the kingdom of Christ might be more firmly established wherever I go. In my dealings with people, I want to be a source of hope, encouragement, enthusiasm, friendship, and service. As a man I seek the daily enlargement of my spirit so that it might be a dwelling place for Christ, a source of wisdom and holiness unto the Lord.
It is a functional statement, describing in broad, macro-terms what I want to do with my life. It calls for me to grow by being on a constant search for the purposes of God for the times in which I live. And it puts me squarely on a mission of kingdom building: calling people to the kingdom conditions in the world in which I live.
It is a statement of quality, reminding me every day of what kind of man I want to be, what I believe Jesus has called me to be: a servant. I know the words are lofty. They’re meant to be. A mission that isn’t lofty isn’t worth pursuing. I want my mind and spirit to be rechallenged every day with what Paul called “the high calling of God in Christ Jesus” (Phil. 3:14 kjv).
It is also a relational statement. It calls me to high standards as I interact with people, and it describes some of those standards. It outlines what I want to offer in my relationships. More than once I’ve awakened in a less-than-best mood and grumped a bit at Gail. And then, having successfully grumped, I have turned to my mission statement about hope, encouragement, enthusiasm, friendship, and service. Repentance usually follows.
I’ve heard people groan about mission statements. “Too managerial,” some say. “Not my temperament,” says another. “Too broad, too general, too ethereal.” But I’m fascinated by a little-known instruction in Deuteronomy 17 where Moses spoke of future kings. Kings, he said, should be careful to do certain things and not do other things (such as have many wives, acquire horses, accumulate gold and silver, or send people back to Egypt).
Then, having issued that warning, Moses said this: “When he takes the throne of his kingdom, he is to write for himself on a scroll a copy of this law, taken from that of the priests.… It is to be with him, and he is to read it all the days of his life so that he may learn to revere the Lord his God and follow carefully all the words of this law and these decrees” (Deut. 17:18-19 niv).
Isn’t that describing a mission statement? Interesting that he would say the king should “write for himself.” He is to read what he’s written every day. Why? Because a king’s life is open to all sorts of internal and external seductions and deceits. He needs reminders of where he’s supposed to be going and what he is to avoid. Both kings and Christian leaders should construct for themselves such a statement, a covenant of growth.
My sub-missions
But a mission statement may not be enough. Early in this quest, I began to think about “sub-missions,” equally lofty goals for each major area of my life. I identified seven areas needing discipline.
Physical: My sub-mission is to keep my body healthy, through good habits, regular exercise, prudent nutrition, and weight discipline.
Relational: My sub-mission is to love my wife in the pattern of Christ’s love, to enjoy her friendship, and to make sure that her quality of life is the best I can make it. It is to be as faithful a family man as possible to my children and my grandchildren. And, finally, to be a vigorous friend to a small circle of men and women to whom I’m drawn in community. Beyond that I want to be a contributing member to my generation, always giving more to people than I take.
Intellectual: My sub-mission is to steepen my learning curve whenever possible through reading and exposure to the thinking people and disciplines of the day.
Financial: My sub-mission is to be generous, debt-free, moderate in expenditure, and careful to plan for the years of my life when income production may be difficult.
Vocational: My sub-mission is to represent the purposes of God for my generation and to teach/write as well as model all aspects of “quality of spirit.” I would like to make this happen both inside and outside the Christian community.
Spiritual: My sub-mission is to be a focused, holy, obedient, and reverential man before God and his world; to discipline my life so that it is controlled by the Spirit within me and so people are drawn one step closer to Christ because of me.
Recreational: My sub-mission is to seek restoration in this world by enjoying creation, caring for it, and seeking its reconciliation to the Creator.
I read these statements almost every morning as part of my personal meditations. Several comments about them:
First, they reflect what I personally think God wants from me. I don’t compare myself with the apostles and the heroes anymore. Their achievements were and are unique; but so are mine. My sub-missions excite me. I seek a certain nobility in them. They motivate me to a higher way of living.
Second, they represent a variety of dreams, reflecting my life as a whole person: in touch with my body, my friends, my mind, my skills, and my world.
Third, they’re flexible. Over the years, I’ve fine-tuned these statements as I’ve discovered new interests and abilities.
Finally, they’re not crippling dreams. They are open-ended. And they do not produce guilt when I slip backward a bit. But you can be sure that I’m sometimes chided and rebuked when I read them.
My journal
Over the years I’ve introduced several other activities to my spiritual disciplines. The first and foremost is journaling.
My journal carries a starting date somewhere in 1968. And since then I’ve managed to keep a record of almost every day of my life.
I began journaling because I discovered that many saints found it profitable. This is one of the times I copied my heroes. The saints and mystics lived without TV, phones, and all the other scintillating interruptions we’ve allowed into our lives. A commitment to keeping a journal forced me away from the distractions. And it pressed me to think, to evaluate, to reflect, and to remember. It provided a way to look at events and impressions and interpret the presence of God in it all.
Today I write my journal on a laptop computer, a concession to technology. It enables me to write more, do it faster, and to overcome my repugnance toward my own handwriting.
The journal becomes a tool for measuring short-term and long-term growth. The short-term measurements are daily. I frequently end a daily entry into the journal with: “Results today will be measured by …” And then I list the things I believe I should accomplish and what it would take to consider those accomplishments as finished. There is a sense of well-being when I go back to that list the next day and type in “done” after each one.
Sometimes I write simple goals like “Enjoy a great afternoon with Gail,” or “Review travel schedule, and make sure your calender is up to date.”
For long-term growth, I use the journal—using older language—to inquire of the state of the soul. What has Scripture been saying to me? What is God saying through my meditations? What feelings, themes, attitudes are predominant these days? Am I fearful, preoccupied, moody, angry? What sensitivities are being stimulated? What new thoughts, new concerns might be God’s way of directing my life? This stuff has got to be written down in my world, or it just sails right through the conscious mind and leaves, having no effect.
Then I use the journal approximately every four months to evaluate growth and progress. New Year’s Day, my birthday (in April), and the end of vacation (August 30) are usually times to look over the past months and ask the great Sabbath questions: Where have I been? And has the journey been fruitful? Where should I be going? And do I have the resources to get there?
After all these words about pursuing growth, I must admit there is no guarantee against failure. Some of the very best people in biblical history failed—terribly. What set them apart, more often than not, was not their great achievements but their repentant and broken spirits. And wasn’t it a broken spirit that God said he loved best?
I need to go one step further and note some things about personal growth that seem at first to be bleak. I’ve learned the hard way that having a mission statement, a series of sub-missions, a process of journaling and evaluation is not a promise of success. I know failure, and I’ve found no human way to ensure against it.
The older I become the more I realize my condition as a barbarian loved by my Father. And this may be the most important insight that comes with aging. Almost all old people who are growing have certain common traits. One of them is that they know without equivocation that they are sinners. And they’ve come to appreciate the central importance of grace.
I once had a friendship with a man in his seventies and eighties. Lee was a godly man who brought the most unusual people to Jesus.
One day we were having breakfast, and Lee began to tell me about a recent trip he’d taken to Boston. “As I drove toward the city,” Lee said, “I realized that I was going to be parking my car and walking through the combat zone (Boston’s notorious redlight district). So I pulled into a rest stop and had a time of prayer so I could ask God to protect me from temptation when I walked past all those pornography stores and massage parlors.”
“Wait a minute, Lee,” I interrupted. “I don’t want to offend you, but you’re seventy-eight years old. Are you telling me that you’re concerned about sexual temptation at your age and after all these years of following the Lord?”
Lee looked at me with an intensity. “Son, just because I’m old doesn’t mean the blood doesn’t flow through my veins. The difference between us old men and you young men is this: we know we’re sinners. We’ve had plenty of experience. You kids haven’t figured that out yet.”
Now, years later, I understand a bit of what the old man was saying. And I understand why old men and women who are growing are among the most gracious and forgiving people there are.
Growth cannot happen without a powerful respect for the reality of indwelling evil and its insidious work through self-deceit. It leads us to lie to God, ourselves, and one another. The spiritual disciplines are designed not only to lead us into the presence of the Father but to sensitize us to the lies we can find so easy to believe.
The leader is constantly the target of the temptations to deceit. We are never far from the statement King Nebuchadnezzar made on the walls of Babylon when he said, “Is not this the great Babylon I have built as the royal residence, by my mighty power and for the glory of my majesty?” (Dan. 4:30 niv). Look around at some who have been deceived by the success of media ministry, success in fund-raising, the sensation found in fast-growing institutions, or the money capable of being accumulated through large fees and “love offerings.”
My questions
Growth cannot happen when the success is superficial and the heart is deceived. In the Bible, deceit was almost always challenged by the power of hard questions. To Cain: “Why is your face downcast?” (Gen. 4:6 niv). To Hezekiah: “What have [the Babylonians] seen in your house?” (2 Kings 20:15 nkjv). To Judas: “Why are you here?” To Ananias and Sapphira: “Why have you lied to the Holy Spirit?”
Gail and I have compiled some tough questions to ask ourselves when we think about growth. Questions like:
1. Am I too defensive when asked questions about the use of my time and the consistency of my spiritual disciplines?
2. Have I locked myself into a schedule that provides for no rest or fun times with friends and family?
3. What does my Daytimer say about time for study, general reading, and bodily exercise?
4. What of the quality of my speech? Am I whining and complaining? Am I frequently critical of people, of institutions, of those who clearly do not like me?
5. Am I drawn to TV shows or entertainment that do not reflect my desired spiritual culture?
6. Am I tempted to stretch the truth, enlarge numbers that are favorable to me, or tell stories that make me look good?
7. Am I blaming others for things that are my own fault, the result of my own choices?
8. Is my spirit in a state of quiet so I can hear God speak?
In Rebuilding Your Broken World, I recounted the story of Matthias Rust, the young German who piloted a rental plane into the heart of the former Soviet Union and landed in Moscow’s Red Square. I’ve always thought that to be an apt illustration of what can happen to any Christian leader at any time.
The Soviets were sure they had the best systems of air defense in the world. And a teenager penetrated their airspace and taxied up to the front door of the Kremlin. No Christ-following man or woman can feel the confidence that they are growing if they are not living in a perpetual repentance, a holy sorrow that acknowledges that, apart from the power and grace of Christ, we will succumb to the evil that abides within until the day Christ returns.
Mastering pastoral growth depends largely not on our measuring ourselves against the saints and heroes. There is value in learning from their lives and witness. But they are among the cloud of witnesses about whom the writer in Hebrews spoke. They remain in the stands as we run our leg of the race.
We cannot match ourselves against their performances. Rather, our eyes are to be upon the One who runs with us. Thanks be to God who is alongside when we run, who hoists us back up when we fall, who redefines direction when we are lost, who cheers us on when we grow fatigued, and who presents us to the Father when we finish the race.
Copyright © 1996 by Christianity Today/Leadership
