Night Dialogues

SELF-RESPECT IS THE KEY INDICATOR of our integrity as a person. Without personal integrity, it is impossible to have integrity in leading others.

Defining self-respect is difficult, yet it is the most important of all forms of respect. It is the foundation of our accepting any other respect. We feel tentative about the respect that comes from others until we genuinely respect ourselves.

After I spoke to a group of corporate officers, several of us gathered around for a bull session. One of the ceos, with his tongue loosened by spirits from a bottle, said, “Fred, you talk a lot about self-respect. How do you define it?”

“I can’t give you a dictionary definition,” I said, “but I can tell you how I know I’ve got it. When I wake up at three o’clock in the morning, I talk to the little guy inside me who is still simple, honest, and knows right from wrong. He hasn’t rationalized enough to become sophisticated. He still sees things in black and white. He is the ‘honest me.’ When we can talk freely, I know we respect who I am. When he turns away and won’t talk to me, I know I’m in trouble. If he says, ‘Get lost, you’re a phony,’ I know that I’ve lost my self-respect.”

Instantly the ceo jumped out of his chair, circled it, and said, “Man, you done plowed up a snake!” Evidently his night dialogues were troubling him. A few months later, I understood his response better when I read he was under investigation.

Integrity is based in character. It cost me a lot of money in a bad investment to learn that character is more important in leadership than intelligence. I had mistakenly put intelligence above character. Intelligence is important, but character is more important. One of America’s wealthiest investors said at Harvard that the three qualities he looks for in those with whom he will invest his money are character, intelligence, and energy.

Character is so important because it cannot be fully evaluated but will fail at the time when we can least afford it. It is almost impossible to buttress weak character.

My experience has brought me to a controversial belief about character: Character is sectionalized like a grape-fruit, not homogeneous like a bottle of milk. When we say a person has a strong character or a weak character, we assume that their character is of one piece of cloth. I have not found this to be true. Some totally honest in business are hypocritical in personal life. Some are trustworthy in one section of their life and untrustworthy in another. It has been important to my leadership that I build on the solid parts of a person’s character. Few people indeed have all good sections, and few have no good sections at all. I’ve always been intrigued by the story that Willie Sutton, the bank robber, cried when he had to lie to his mother about where he was. Criminals often exhibit impeccable loyalty to their own. Gang members will die for their gang. They will endure torture to maintain confidentiality.

Fortunately, God is the great strengthener of character. As the ancients say, God polishes his saints with tribulation, suffering, trials, and silence. I am convinced that God is much more interested in our character than he is in our intelligence, for character is of the heart. Scripture says, “Out of the heart come the issues of life.”

In my night dialogues with the little guy inside me, I have found that certain questions have become channel markers in my search for integrity.

Does my motive have integrity?

Integrity starts with motive. I can’t be totally honest, for I am sinful, but I can avoid being dishonest. Dishonesty is a decision.

Rationalization does more to pollute our integrity of motive than any other thing. Rationalization attempts to excuse our lack of integrity. We repeatedly hear “Everyone is doing it,” or “Times have changed. This is the new way.” Again, “I had no choice if I wanted to win,” or “I had to go along with the majority to stay in fellowship.”

The justification for rationalization is that wrong ultimately will serve a good purpose. But in God’s economy, the end never justifies the means. God is more interested in the process than the product, since he is sovereign. It is the process that produces our maturity in Christ, which is his chief concern.

After we rationalize our behavior to ourselves and to others, soon we try to rationalize it with God. That changes confession into explanation.

Am I ego-driven or responsibility-motivated?

When I asked a director of the entrepreneurial school at SMU, “What are the common denominators of entrepreneurs?” she said, “Number one, they wane to be in control. Number two, they want to be accomplishing.”

After thinking about that, I wanted to ask her whether this drive to control and accomplish is ego-based or driven by a sense of responsibility. I have known leaders with both motives. The greatest differences between the two types of leaders are the spirit from which they operate and their attitude toward others. Ego-driven people satisfy their ego from the cause, while responsibility-motivated people sacrifice their ego to the cause. Ego-drivenness lacks Christian integrity.

A friend was chairman of future planning for a large church. When he asked the pastor if there were any limitations to the planning, the pastor said, “The church cannot be moved during my lifetime.” The pastor’s ego superseded the ultimate good of the organization. The planning had to satisfy his ego. The leader of an organization often must ask, “Is this decision based on my ego or my sense of responsibility?”

The inimitable Gert Behanna said it this way: “Is it for God or for Gert? If it’s for God, I do it. If it’s for Gert, I don’t.”

Do I want the truth?

It requires a tough mind and a strong heart to love truth, no matter where it comes from. When we are selective in accepting truth, we are not genuine lovers of truth.

A friend had lunch with a non-practicing Jew who brought up the subject of religion. His Jewish friend said he wanted his son to study comparative religion so that when he became a man he could make an informed choice. My friend asked, “Would you yourself accept truth if you found it?” He quickly said, “No. Truth is too scary.”

Christian communicator Steve Brown recently visited with a well-known TV talk-show host at a social luncheon. The latter was not a believer. He asked Steve to explain Christianity. Before doing so, Steve asked, “If I explain it to you so that you have to say that it makes sense, will you become a Christian?”

The tv host said, “No.”

“Then I won’t waste my time,” Steve replied, “explaining something that you’ve already rejected with a closed mind.”

I once talked with a scientist from Oxford University who had become a Christian. He wanted his roommate to accept Christ. While this scientist had thoughtfully explained to his roommate over a two-year period the claims of Christ, always to be rejected, his roommate finally said, “If I wanted to believe, I would. I don’t want to believe.”

Truth can be warped by tradition, interpretation, cliché, or current thought. Truth demands I try to know and love it for its own sake. That requires I have an ever-expanding understanding of truth and an open mind to discern truth with intellectual integrity, yet hold to the sure proposition that all human truth is flawed. The only perfect truth is the revealed truth: “I am the truth,” Jesus said. Without this fixed point, we easily wander off into the fallacy of relative truth, confusing human veritas with divine revelation.

Am I the pump or the pipe?

I led a lay retreat for a few hundred men in the mountains near Fresno, California. The retreat began on a Friday night and ended Sunday noon; I was the only speaker. That fact came as a surprise when I arrived to speak. Late Sunday afternoon while on a plane returning to Dallas, I wondered how I could feel so normal after such a strenuous weekend. Generally I am either higher than a kite or lower than a snake’s belt buckle. Instead, I felt like I had just finished a day’s work at the office.

From that experience I learned that with God’s presence permeating the meetings, he was the source; I was only the spokesman. In other words, God was the pump, and I was the pipe. The pipe never gets tired. When I attempt to be the pump as well as the pipe, that takes more than I have. When I try to substitute my power for God’s, I become powerless, dissatisfied, even frantic and defeated.

A few years back, Mary Alice and I were listening to a series of sermons by a well-known young minister who has since left the ministry. When she asked what I thought of him, I told her that I greatly admired his technical ability, his research, his eloquence and delivery, but I never sensed in his sermons spiritual power. I felt he was spiritually impotent. I kept wanting to feel the presence of the Spirit, which I never did. He later divorced his wife and left the ministry, not from lack of talent, with which he was greatly blessed, but from lack of spiritual power. The apostle Paul said, “I came not in excellence of words but in power.”

The secret is expressed in Jim May’s book, In His Place, in which he asks the question, “Are you working for God or is he working through you?” Too few are the times when I fully realize that God is using me, that what I am doing is his working through me rather than my working for him.

Those who become Christian celebrities must be careful that they don’t cross over the line from realizing that God is using them to thinking they are being recognized by God for their great potential contribution. We are not to be volunteers, selecting our service for God, but dedicates, letting God select our service. When God selects, he sends power. When we volunteer, we keep control, even while attempting worthwhile work.

Seventeenth-century spirituality writer Michael Molinos warned,

The sermons and messages of men who have a great deal of learning and information but who lack an experiential knowledge of the internal things of the Spirit—such men can make up many stories, give elegant descriptions, acute discourses, elaborate theses, and yet regardless of how much it seems to be grounded in the Scripture, what these men give us does not contain the word of God. It is but the words of men adulterated with false gold. Such men actually corrupt Christians, feeding them with wind and with vanity. As a result both the teacher and the one taught remain empty of their God.1

Does my will control my feelings?

Integrity is more a matter of the will than of feelings. Certainly feelings are important, for without feelings we become mechanical. We are not able to connect with others or to feel empathy or compassion. Feelings energize us. They are great implementers but poor leaders. Our will must control our feelings.

Our will is the single most distinguishing feature of our character. I was fortunate to have a mother with an indomitable will. In spite of many physical disabilities, she persevered, often quoting Galatians 6:9: “Be not weary in well doing, for in due season you shall reap if you faint not.” It was from her that we chose as a family motto that little phrase inspired by Rudyard Kipling’s “If”: “When nothing but your will says go.”

I remember when my mother was so sick she had to put ladderback chairs around the kitchen so she could fall from one chair to the other while she prepared meals for her family. She was indomitable, the unsinkable Molly Brown. I profited a great deal from her example; I went through twelve years of public school without missing a day. I was never encouraged to “take it easy.”

Leadership demands a strong will—not a selfish or stubborn will, but a determined will to do what needs doing. By will we overcome our yen for pleasure and our satisfaction with mediocrity. Our Catholic friends believe in “substitutionary grace,” in which the priest earns grace for the flock. I won’t argue this theological point, but I will contend there is substitutionary will, which the leader must give to those in the organization who lack will. A strong will does not blind us to the importance of emotion. It does, however, wring out the rationalization and procrastination that attack us.

Our will, not our feelings, must be charged with the ultimate responsibility for our actions.

Is grace real for me?

Grace was genuine, real, personal, and palpable to the great saints. Brother Lawrence, Frank Laubach, Francois Fenelon—these Christian mystics had no doubt they were the constant recipients of God’s amazing grace. Grace was a practical part of their everyday life. For example, Brother Lawrence said that when he made a mistake he didn’t spend any time thinking about it; he just confessed it and moved on. He reminded God that without him, to fall is natural. Before I read that, I lingered over guilt. Immediate grace was too good to be true. Brother Lawrence’s experience greatly released me.

Nevertheless, legalism appeals to our common sense. I find it necessary to remind myself that the very Scripture that makes me know my guilt lets me know God’s grace. By refusing grace, we play God and punish ourselves. We view events as punishment. We see discipline coming when in reality it isn’t discipline, it’s just a consequence, but we try to read into it God’s judgment.

Why? Because we feel we deserve judgment rather than grace. Grace brings freedom. If only we could accept grace fully, then we, like Brother Lawrence, could have the freedom to admit failure and move on. Since grace cannot be deserved, why should I feel others are more worthy of it than I?

What is my source of joy?

An individual must have hope and joy to live abundantly. Bob Seiple, former head of World Vision, said, “Hope is what we are giving the world. Our help is more than help, it is hope.” We can endure almost anything as long as we have hope. When hope is gone, life is gone.

Hope expresses itself in joy. My personal definition of joy is “adequacy.” This is the feeling expressed in the old saying, “Nothin’ ain’t gonna come my way that you and me can’t handle, is there, Lord?” That is the joy of true security. With some, joy is effervescent, with others, quiet. But either way, it is the assurance of adequacy.

Without joy, life can become difficult. Sometimes we try to avoid the ache in our heart from the lack of joy by creating synthetic joy, which is never adequate. Without genuine joy it is so easy to fall into despondency when our faith seems not to work for us, while we tell people that it will work for them. This can play havoc in our lives. I have the deepest compassion for chose pastors who fall into immorality. They are not hypocrites, they are desperate leaders who have lost the joy of spiritual ministry, substituting for it the synthetic joy of illicit sexuality.

The same synthetic joy can come in the drive for success. Church growth based on ego and ambition may be exciting, but it cannot be joyful in the biblical sense. No matter how far our ambition and ego take us, we ultimately will face that consequence: “He gave them their desire but with it sent leanness of soul.”

Joy is a result of seeing God’s power work. Often this joy comes in its deepest form during times of great temptation or sorrow. Malcolm Muggeridge, the British intellectual who was a latecomer to Christianity, said in the latter part of his life that as he looked back over his life, he could see no growth in any area except during difficult times. Joy is more than pleasure; it is complete adequacy.

Is my love of God growing?

From childhood I have had a lot of awe of God, but I’ve never been happy with my love of God. Once at Laity Lodge in the hill country of Texas, three of us friends were holding forth on our knowledge of comparative religions. The wife of one of the men, not known for her scholarship, was halfheartedly listening when she interrupted, “I don’t understand a thing you all are talking about. All I know is I love Jesus.” At that moment, I would have swapped everything I knew for what I recognized as her deep love for the Lord.

Some friends and I are currently studying how we can deepen our love for the Lord. We know that obedience is evidence of that, but what produces the growth? I believe that if I genuinely appreciate what Christ has done for me, my love for him will increasingly grow.

Someone has said that gratitude is the weakest of all emotions. We do not stay grateful because that makes us indebted, and we don’t want to be indebted. The biblical phrase “sacrifice of thanksgiving” was a puzzle to me until I realized that gratitude is acknowledging that someone did something for me that I could not do for myself. Gratitude expresses our vulnerability, our dependence on others. Sometimes a person whom you have helped through a severe problem will, following the solution, draw away. In some pernicious way, seeing those who supported us can remind us of the problem.

On the other hand, I have found people with deep gratitude often develop deep love. One of my fondest memories involves a young man who had never made more than $15,000 a year yet was extremely talented. Three others and I backed him financially. Within a year he was making $100,000 a year, and since then he has made millions. His gratitude has deepened into genuine love.

He was deserted by his father when he was very young, causing him to suffer abject poverty. Today he refers to me as his father. I am proud to have him as a foster son and a great friend.

When my wife, Mary Alice, had a brain tumor removed at the Mayo Clinic, I got a call from him the night before surgery. When I asked where he was, he said he was down in the lobby. “What are you doing down there?” I asked. He said, “I want to sit with you and the family during the operation.” He had flown in to spend that four-and-a-half hours with us.

I often ask myself, “Do I appreciate Calvary like I should? Do I appreciate my gifts? Do I express my appreciation, and is it causing my love to grow?”

Once I was on a plane between Phoenix and Dallas with Billy Graham, whom I’ve known since he first started work with Youth for Christ. In a break in the conversation, I asked him, “Billy, you’ve never gotten over the surprise that God picked you, have you?” He replied, “Not only that, Fred, but that God has protected me.” Billy not only appreciates the gift, he appreciates the protection to use his gift. I am sure his love for the Lord has grown with his blessings.

Is my passion focused?

Every effective leader is imbued with passion. An accomplishment is often in direct proportion to the amount and intensity of the leader’s passion. Passion is contagious for followers. It sustains the leader in difficult times. Passion gives hope.

I like this definition of passion: “Passion is concentrated wisdom with high energy in the pursuit of meaning.”

My theologian friend Dr. Ramesh Richard said, “First in life, decide on your passion. What is your first love? If you have multiple passions, you’ll be ripped to pieces internally, resulting in a fragmented, random life. If anything other than the Lord Jesus Christ is your first love, you will fall into idolatry.” Christ is the focus of passion, insuring integrity of leadership.

The advantages of passion are multiple. It brings purpose, unity, intensity, concentration, assuring accomplishment. It gives intentionality to life. Passion gives depth, keeping us from the shallowness of mediocrity. Our life becomes a welder’s torch rather than a grass fire.

Writers have pointed out that men like Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn had an undying passion for truth and principle. Mother Teresa, a passion for the dying. Moody, Spurgeon, and Graham—a passion for souls.

It was Edison’s passion that kept him going. Churchill’s indomitable passion of will gave the British their war stamina. In leadership, focused passion accomplishes much more than scholarly intellect.

Passion comes from two sources. First, those with an extraordinary passion receive it as a gift, for they were created with the capacity for passion. They can unite the mind and heart and spirit. They have the ability to lose themselves in a cause, to dedicate their life to a single purpose, like Paul saying, “This one thing I do,” and again, “I determine not to know anything but Jesus Christ and him crucified.”

I was listening to an older writer being interviewed by a younger one when the younger asked, “If you had your life to live over, what would you do?” The older writer said, without hesitation, “I’d find something big enough to give myself to.”

The second source of passion is the vision. The clearer the vision, the more focused the passion. If the vision becomes blurred, the passion becomes dissipated and weakened. In an organization where everyone buys into and fully understands the passion and purpose, all effort is unified with high energy. An organization without passion is a car without gasoline, a rocket without fuel. Two organizations may have the same general vision, but the one with the deeper passion will have the greater accomplishment.

Passion does not always express itself the same in each leader. One may be quiet, another effervescent. The evidence is not as important as the presence.

The purpose of our passion, though, must have integrity. I have heard corporate leaders complain that their employees don’t have the same dedication to success that they have. When you examine this carefully, you find that the executive’s dedication is to his personal success, not the success of the organization. If he is honest with himself, he recognizes his ambition is a personal one; he wants self-satisfaction. In a sense, the employees by not going all-out are doing for themselves the same thing he’s doing for himself—they are looking out for their interests, not his.

The apostle Paul, a man of exceptional passion, was willing even to be accursed if the purpose for which he was called was not accomplished. Self-sacrifice is the acid test of our passion.

While passion supplies hope, tenacity, energy, and the like, it also increases vision, for it creates its own reality. It is passion that stimulates the imagination to believe “eye hath not seen nor ear heard, neither has it entered into the heart of man the great things the Lord has for those who love him.”

I like the prayer of the old saint: “O Lord, fill my will with fire.” He was asking for passion with a receptive, expectant attitude toward God. A pure passion turns the ordinary into the extraordinary.

Michael Molinos, The Spiritual Guide (Sargent, Ga.: The Seedsowers, 1982).