My family has given me two T-shirts. One says, “It’s good to be queen.” The other reads, “Lifestyles of the broke and obscure.”
For me these two humorous messages capture a serious point about the paradox of pastoral authority. On one hand, we pastors occupy a place of privilege atop a church’s power structure. We cast vision, lead, teach, and even discipline. Yet we’re also servants. We strive to emulate the leadership style of Jesus, who humbled himself and refused to grasp for earthly power.
Perhaps this tension is best understood by looking at two kinds of pastoral authority: positional and earned. Positional authority is given by virtue of your title, your credentials. It can even be bolstered (or undermined) in the eyes of others by virtue of factors such as your age, gender, or education level.
Earned authority is less tangible but every bit as important. It’s something that you accumulate over time as you demonstrate your spiritual substance and leadership abilities in serving a congregation.
Every pastor must earn authority; rely solely on positional authority and you won’t last long. But for some of us, earned authority is even more crucial because we lack the traditional traits that grant most pastors positional authority. Maybe we never finished seminary. Perhaps we’re young, or as in my case, the “wrong” gender. What I’ve discovered, however, is that lacking positional authority can be a blessing, guiding us back to the leadership example of Jesus.
My husband Doug and I have been on the staff of three churches—twice in assistant ministry roles and now as co-senior pastors. In every case, Doug was handed positional authority at the outset. Of course Doug’s level of authority could vary depending on his performance, rapport with church members, and the politics of the moment. But he started off working with an authority surplus, not a deficit.
Authority is a strange thing. Run after it and it tends to elude you. Give up the chase and you may find it following you.
My experience as a woman has been different. Usually my role didn’t come with as much positional authority. Credibility had to be earned, word by word, deed by deed, person by person. In one church, whenever I preached, a board member would shake my hand after and exclaim, “That was actually a good sermon!” Apparently, for this man, the fact that a woman could deliver a cogent sermon stretched credulity.
Experiences like this showed me that others weren’t going to automatically grant me authority. But I’m not complaining. This reality has actually been a tonic for my ministry. Some pastors take positional authority for granted. But positional power is precarious. It’s subject to the whims of people and the vicissitudes of congregational life. If we lean too heavily on it, we’re bound to be disappointed.
Giving up Power
When pastors are installed, they are given various amounts of positional capital. Often the ebb and flow of this authority depends largely upon the “power brokers” in the church. When power people are not on the pastor’s side, his or her position and authority is questioned. When power people are on the pastor’s side, power expands. This dynamic creates temptations for the pastor. Why not give extra time and attention to the powerful congregants in order to ensure your authority? We may also be tempted to do what “works” in order to please those power brokers instead of thinking biblically about ministry methods.
There’s nothing wrong with positional authority per se, but relying on it can be dangerous. Every day I feel the tension between the pull of positional power and the call to the kind of authority that Jesus exercised. I don’t want to play politics or hide behind a title. I want to lead as a servant. Yet it seems like things would go so much more smoothly and efficiently if I only pulled the strings of positional power, invested in the influential congregants, and kept the powerful on my side.
I find it interesting that Jesus gave up positional power. He left heaven for earth, “emptied himself” and surrendered his divine prerogatives. He resisted Satan’s temptations to assert his power prematurely. As pastors we face similar temptations. It’s easy to assert power based on title or “prove” our right to lead by building ministries of impressive size and scope.
But pastoral authority doesn’t come from outward signs of success or from holding a position in a hierarchy. As Richard Foster said, “The authority of which Jesus spoke is not the authority of the “pecking order.” It’s something that primarily comes through service and sacrifice; and it comes with limits. Jesus didn’t lead with political, economic, or sensational power. His authority resided in a heart submitted to and united to his Father’s will.
Pastors with biblical authority identify with the humility, weakness, self-emptying ways of Jesus. They aren’t on a fast track to a bigger church and more impressive credentials. Their lives reflect that they are not one up, but one down: always giving their lives for others.
This kind of authority cannot be conferred by an institution. It is not garnered through education or experience. It is not a result of being charismatic and extroverted. It is not a byproduct of having the buck stop with you.
Pastoral authority, at its best, is the charism of loving and serving the flock in the way Jesus did. It is an internal authority stemming from communion, common-union, with Christ. And this communion makes compassion and love a hallmark of how we do everything.
Jesus redefines leadership as the way of service and even anonymity. Servants are often anonymous, people we take for granted. We rarely remember their names. Waitresses, flight attendants, medical techs, custodians—to most their individuality is overshadowed by their roles or functions. Jesus lived among us as “one who served.”
But do we truly aspire to be servants? We don’t say to one another, “Wow! You have great potential as a servant?” No, we’re more likely to push to get to the top. We resist being anonymous, someone of “no reputation,” especially as pastors. We crave positional authority.
When Authority is Tested
Every pastor I know has been through leadership crises and had their authority questioned. Leading a church is not for the faint of heart. You have to get out front, lead, set vision, and make hard calls.
But often these challenges, though difficult, are opportunities in disguise. They bring us to an important decision about how we will exercise our authority. We can respond by pulling rank and hiding behind our titles, or by choosing the hard and humble way of Jesus.
At one point in my ministry, a couple decided that I “needed to go.” I decided to schedule a meeting with them and hear their concerns. It wasn’t easy. I had to listen to a two-hour diatribe about my leadership faults.
But in the end, I realized that at the heart of their objections was a desire to be heard. This couple wanted “the authority” to notice them and take them seriously. My listening made a huge difference to them. And it turns out that I didn’t “need to go” after all.
Another time, a church member challenged my choice of books in a class I teach. She demanded that I change the curriculum.
In this case I sought to accommodate her, and provide alternative reading material. I found two different books on the same topic and presented them to her. The disgruntled woman refused them both.
Though I couldn’t please her, the challenge had a surprising outcome. My authority went up in the eyes of people in the class.
Furthermore, the “dangerous” books got read and passed around more than ever. Authority is a strange thing, I’ve found. Run after it and it tends to elude you. Give up the chase and you may find it following you.
I have been a co-senior pastor now for three years. The majority of my ministry experience is in positions where I am not at the top of the power pyramid. Yet I’ve experienced the painful realities of leadership. People can be mean, undermining and unsupportive to anyone on a pastoral team.
I also know that everyone has “authority issues.” Some people resist authority. Some want approval from authority. Others want to be the authority, and think they know exactly how the church should work. In fact virtually all the instances in which I’ve been ambushed, maligned, and undercut in ministry have involved people with “authority issues.”
Often these people have more than just a complaint or quibble; they have their own agendas. When I don’t measure up to expectations, they don the mantle of authority and come after me with all the power they can muster. God and the future of the church are always on their side. Truth is always at stake.
In those moments I have to decide, will this be my hill to die on? Will I defend myself? Will I risk not having others’ voices come to defend me? How can I preserve my ministry without lashing out? How much am I willing to be like Jesus?
At the Last Supper, when the disciples bickered over their place in the apostolic hierarchy, Jesus tried one last time to make his vision of the kingdom clear. “Kings like to throw their weight around and people in authority like to give themselves fancy titles. It’s not going to be that way with you. Let the senior among you become like the junior. Let the leader act the part of the servant” (Luke 22:25-27, The Message).
This is a radical vision of leadership, one that flies in the face of conventional wisdom, prizing submission and service over position and power. But I believe if we embrace it in our ministries, we will find ourselves on the path of the One who came to serve and we’ll discover what true authority is all about.
Adele Calhoun is co-senior pastor of Redeemer Community Church in Wellesley, Massachusetts.
Copyright © 2011 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
