ERNIE BANKS, THE CHICAGO CUBS Hall of Famer, is known not only for what he did on the baseball field but also for what he never had the opportunity to do. Banks never played in post-season games or in the World Series. The other National League teams discarded the Cubs like chewing gum wrappers; the Cubs were permanent residents of the cellar. Yet every season Banks excelled as both a hitter and a fielder and never gave evidence of less effort.
Recently in a radio interview. Banks was asked how he could play at maximum level when there was little or no hope of playing in the World Series. He responded with a classic line: “You have to love the game itself and not love yourself in the game.”
Banks went on to explain that he loved the game of baseball so much that he had to give his best effort every time. Yet he said some only love the game in the moment of play, and not for the love of the game itself. If a player plays with the attitude that his season will be over in August, he will simply go through the motions, even though he has to play another month or more of games.
That can happen to pastors too.
In the early years of serving churches, many of us live in anticipation of being discovered. While avoiding any show of ambition, we believe it won’t be long until the wise and perceptive denominational executive will realize that even though we are young, we ought to be serving in the “Jerusalem” of our denomination. Or the search committee from the metroplex will unexpectedly hear us and discover homiletic paradise by our pulpit light. When we hear the words “too young or not enough experience,” we believe that a few more Decembers will take care of that; that is, a few more gray hairs and we’ll be ready for the big time. When we feel unappreciated, the confidence that we will be discovered keeps us going. We sincerely desire to honor God, but believe we have something to offer the work of the kingdom that few others have.
Then without warning the current shifts.
The “youth” that once cursed us is now the blessing for which the religious crowd clamors. After we get turned down for a new position, word filters back to us that the denominational executive and the search committee said they were looking for someone younger. How could that be? Just yesterday we were too young. Then the hard question gets raised: What fuels us down the road to excellence when we realize we will never be “discovered”?
In the corporate world, older and more mature executives are often replaced by younger, more energetic managers who will work for less money. Many in our churches know the pain of being too old to advance and too young to retire. There is little evidence that the ecclesiastical thirst for youth is related to financial concerns. Few churches try to cut payroll costs by seeking younger, lesser paid ministers. Their desire for younger ministers is more likely related to the search for energy and image.
Some pastors may address the image issue with tanning beds, hairpieces, and plastic surgery, and end up in the second half of their ministry looking like aging Las Vegas entertainers. I prefer not to go in for a ministerial makeover. I believe mid-life can be a good time to examine and overhaul our ambitions and let God redeem our work for his glory.
Smoldering fire
The issue of ambition has always been thorny for ministers. Our Lord addressed the issue frequently. Even though he faced it head on with his disciples, at least two of them continually struggled with a desire for recognition.
We can deny ambition exists and allow it to subtly destroy the right purposes for ministry, or we can even justify our attitude and allow ourselves to believe that God really does want to bless our egos. But both of these approaches are forms of denial and allow the smoldering fires of ambition to go unattended. As a result, the smoke produced by unbridled ambition can cloud our vision for ministry. We need to admit and channel our ambitions rather than allow them to direct our work.
I can’t address fully the complexity of pastoral ambition in only a chapter, but I want to focus on the drive to do well in church work that is fueled by the desire to hear “Well done” from people we esteem highly. Early in my ministry, the comments of parishioners as they went out the door was my measuring rod for the quality of my preaching. Once I was given a note after a service that had been handed to an usher. It read: “Outstanding message today. Good content and fantastic delivery. I am sorry I didn’t get to tell you in person.” The note was signed by a person who was running for public office. After watching my “Aw shucks” response, the usher told me the person handed him the note after the music portion of the service—he had not stayed for the sermon but had gone on to hear the minister at the larger church one block away!
Not all comments have secondary motives, but the ultimate goal for pastors should be to move from being motivated to do well because of what it will do for us to being motivated to do well so God will be honored and the work of the kingdom advanced.
An older minister told me he recently reviewed his sermon notes from when he was in his thirties. He said he was surprised both by how good some of the sermons were and how bad others were. He said he realized that earlier in his ministry he was more dependent on emotional inspiration for his sermon preparation than on prayer, disciplined Bible study, and wisdom.
By the time we hit forty, most of us know how to generate praise and acceptance by our preaching. For example, I know certain kinds of illustrations evoke in people a “warm-fuzzy” moment. But they may not need a mood-elevating illustration at the time I would like to give it; rather, they may need to hear an accurate exposition of Scripture. As I reflect on the sermons given in my youth, I must admit I often surrendered excellence in exchange for acceptance without knowing I had done so. That’s a hard thing to admit.
Discovered!
There are, of course, no “three easy things” that will reset our motivations in the second half of life to serve in the church with passion and integrity. A lot of spiritual development comes through reflection and personal insight—often during and after pain. Overcoming ambition happens when I stop thinking about who I could be and realize who I have been for all these years.
Twenty years ago the act of ordination did not mean as much to me as it does now. Then I saw it as one more hoop to jump through in order to get my preacher’s union card. I didn’t seek to discredit the process of ordination, but it seemed somewhat perfunctory to me to have a group of aging ministers tell me what God and I already knew: I was called to preach. How many people have to discover us before we feel validated as ministers? Reliving the act of ordination has helped confirm to me who I am.
During my early forties I received a call from a friend who told me that a large church had lost its pastor and that members of its search committee had called him about me. They indicated to him their interest in me and that they would be contacting me soon. Although I was not sure I wanted to be pastor of that church, I definitely knew I wanted to be asked. It was a church that had all the ministries I wanted to lead. To know the church of my dreams was interested in me, or at least considered that I may be in its league, salved my ego during a season in which a small group from my church was questioning my leadership abilities.
Several days later a secretary in our office received a call from some friends in that church telling her the rumor was rampant—I was going to be the next pastor. I was flattered but I knew that rumors and reality are two different things. In the following weeks I heard several times that I was a front-runner for the position. Even the chairman of deacons of the church I was serving asked me not to leave. I told him that I had not as yet been contacted and that if I were I would make it a matter of serious prayer. I also learned that the search committee had several well-known laymen in the Christian community serving as members and that the chairman was a high-profile man whom I would be honored to meet. Whether or not I became their pastor, my meeting with their committee was going to be a highlighted page in my mental scrapbook.
Several weeks later, I received a call from a denominational executive who congratulated me on my move “to this great church in America.” I asked him what he knew about the situation, and he said that the media and the church had been alerted that the search committee would make an announcement in one week. He had inside information that I was going to be the man. I informed him that unfortunately his information had no basis in fact. No member of the search committee had ever contacted me and they had never requested my resume. If I did become their pastor, it would become known as the “immaculate selection” as there had been no contact.
“Are you telling me these folks never considered you as a serious candidate for their church?” he said.
Later a friend sent me the information the search committee had given to their church. This committee of Christian heavyweights had interviewed more than twenty qualified candidates in the process of finding the one God had prepared for this position. It didn’t hurt my ego to know I was not asked to be their pastor, but it was tough to swallow, given all the hype, that I wasn’t even in the top twenty.
After I learned of the decision, I returned to my study to finish the message for the midweek worship service. Humbled, I told myself I would rather be in the will of God than in my dream church. I grieved that I never had the opportunity to meet the committee. Then I looked at my ordination certificate hanging on the wall and saw the names of the ordination council—Tom, Roy, H.A., and Gerald—layleaders, deacons, and bivocational ministers who had served in a rural county. I remembered their affirmation by laying their hands on me and blessing me and I realized I had been discovered.
When a congregational body or denomination licenses or ordains a person into the ministry, it is acknowledgment that a discovery has been made. Ordination validates us as viable ministers of the gospel. It is in the context of the corporate body and the laying-on of hands that the church confirms and publicly affirms the God-given abilities and call on our lives.
Full speed on every play
Once we give up the expectation of yet being discovered, we are free to serve God with passion and renewed energy. A college football coach recently explained how his team had progressed in its approach to games. He said that in his first year at the school, his team had tried to keep the game close until the fourth quarter and then hope for a major break like a fumble or a pass interception to turn the momentum of the game in their favor. Now, the coach said, the team plays at full speed every play because they are not waiting for the breaks—they know their best is required every moment to win the game.
Authentic ministry does not depend on our getting a big break; instead it rests in the awareness of God’s call to ministry and the daily offering up of our best efforts as an offering of gratitude. No longer do we have to live our lives waiting for our big break. Ministry is not a, competitive sport, it is a cooperative effort. Knowing that you have done your best brings a wonderful sense of reward to the soul.
Last year I helped a man in our church who runs a small business. He was understaffed for a major event he was sponsoring. I took a few days of vacation to help him and worked in his warehouse, did over-the-counter sales, answered the phone, met with sales representatives, and put in several fifteen-hour days. I did things I did not think I could do. The experience exposed me to a side of business I had never seen before. When the event was over, I was exhausted and exhilarated. In the days to come I analyzed why I had such positive feelings about such difficult work. Although there were several contributing factors, one key reason was that I knew I had done my best in an area for which I was not equipped.
To some extent, the sense of significance that arises out of ministry should flow out of our inadequacy. While I’ve been in pastoral work for many years, I am still an amateur. Every day I am in over my head—whether meeting with a young father considering divorce, a highly respected businesswoman who is thinking about bankruptcy, or an eleven-year-old boy who is interested in making his public profession of faith. I simply do my best. That may seem a little simplistic, but when I start to compare myself to others, my efforts lead only to exhaustion.
I have since recognized that seeking to preach and minister in an excellent way for an audience of one—my Father in heaven—is much more liberating than operating out of a response to what others say about me. I would have tipped my hat to that truth as a younger pastor, but only now that I am older can I admit to my misguided motivations. Although I can still find myself at times seeking the praise of others, affirmation is what I really need—affirmation of who I am and what I have been called to do. When someone calls late at night and says, “I need someone to pray for me and with me before I tell my mother that my father died at the hospital”—that is a great affirmation of who I am and what I am doing.
Copyright © 1998 Gary Fenton
