I knew something had changed when I started systematically watching reruns of my favorite TV show, "Friday Night Lights." Netflix, you see, is a dangerous invention. And over the past year or two, it had slowly, subtly siphoned my passion.
I'm a teaching and campus pastor, and this is a confessional of sorts. The main issue is not television or Netflix per se. It's about a stage of life, in which I, as a pastor, have been tempted to exchange my calling for a paycheck. My ability to care was being compromised by other pastimes.
Part of the temptation is surely due to the prevalence of technology and entertainment everywhere we turn. Entertainment on demand—on our phones, our tablets, our computers—renders the disciplines of the spiritual life, and the demands of pastoral work, boring. And so, in this particular slice of time, we find it increasingly difficult to focus, as Eugene Peterson puts it, on a "long obedience in the same direction."
That's part of the problem. But the bigger issue is one that I imagine young pastors have shared for ages. I am no longer a rookie who daily feels challenged by the pastoral role. Nor am I a seasoned veteran who has the ethos and wisdom to quickly facilitate change in the local church.
This is a transitional season, a bridge somewhere between youthful exuberance and proven leadership.
Calling and Concentration
Like most pastors, I went through seminary and ordination in order to strengthen—even gloriously restore—local churches. It took me four years to complete all 97 credit hours for my master's degree, and then about six months to learn that few people really cared what I knew.
They hadn't heard of the authors I quoted in my sermons, and didn't care about four nuanced views of the atonement. Even though I served as a pastor throughout seminary, somehow I expected that once I finished my studies and could devote myself full-time to Christ's work, real change would occur. Dozens would commit to Christ on ordinary Sundays! Communities would be bowled over by the brilliance of Christ! Injustices would be overturned!
But as I learned my new role, and I found my expectations often unmet, I discovered complacency starting to set in. And so now, I find myself in a precarious season. Three years post-seminary, I feel competent, but not proficient. I want to participate more in God's work, yet strangely, I'm tempted by comfort and complacency.
I felt genuine surprise when sloth crept in. i figured it would take a lot more to diminish my drive.
There have been successes for sure. I cleared some ministry hurdles. Our church has successfully launched a second campus. We've fought for, and achieved, a healthy organizational structure. We've reworked our statement of faith, and re-articulated our core values. In many ways, we have successfully made the transition from an internally focused fortress to an externally focused fragrance.
In the midst of it all, I went from single man to married with two kids. I've gained some respect in our congregation. But now I am tired. And comfortable. I look forward to just kicking back with "Friday Night Lights." And that deadly sin called acedia (sloth, "not caring") lurks around the corner.
I felt genuine surprise when sloth crept in. Like many energetic young pastors, I figured it would take a lot more to diminish my reservoir of drive. Few have accused me of being talented, but I am driven.
William Carey, the great missionary to India, once remarked that his only real gift was that he was a plodder, plodding through adversity. That resonated. I wasn't the greatest athlete, but I plodded. Not the smartest student, but I plodded. Not the most eloquent preacher, but I plodded. I got to where I needed to go. And now, sloth threatens even that.
What dulls the edge?
Several factors have blunted my edge.
First, others' indifference to my love for theology. Though I serve a well-educated church that enjoys Bible teaching, I have never sensed that our congregation wants the finer points of theology from the pulpit. Indeed, early in ministry, I was told, "Don't answer questions people aren't asking." Similarly, the denomination I am a part of regularly repeats, "In essentials unity. In non-essentials liberty. In all things charity." And I believe that maxim with every fiber of my being. But taking these statements to their logical conclusions would lead most pastors to preach on four subjects: family, money, relationships, and suffering. Biblical answers for their questions about these subjects must be in the back pocket of every pastor. No debate there. But at least for me, the overemphasis on relevant, "how to" issues, can lead to a complacency that says, "I already have answers for the narrow range of questions people are asking."
A second factor is organizational. I like new activity and am not generally threatened by change—so long as I am the one introducing the change! But what happens to the pastor's creativity and excitement and motivation when the church is not ready to drive toward his next big idea?
After almost six years of meeting in a local public high school, and a year of land acquisition and building campaigns, the church I serve has endured plenty of change. Indeed, to hasten a grand new ministry project or to attempt to reenvision the future would surely hurt the church. No, to change because the pastor likes to keep things moving, would not be wise.
And yet, the reality is, I am in what Janet Hagberg's Real Power describes as the "power by achievement" stage. I am new to this level of responsibility, and I enjoy it. Hagberg explains that people in this stage of leadership "seem to be perpetually in search of new challenges." But without any legitimate reason to instigate organizational challenges, and without the money to pursue further academic challenges, a longing to be satisfied by lesser things has crept into my soul.
Thus, the "Friday Night Lights" reruns. Thus, the sin of acedia. Thus, the sense that I am starting to lose my edge. Be it social networks, or blogs, or espn.com, over the past 18 months, I have found myself increasingly attracted to mindless entertainment. It is omnipresent, and it is addictive.
Resharpen the edge
A physicist at our church regularly exhorts his grandkids: "Some things in life take longer than 30 seconds to explain." The grandkids remain disinterested—not because information coming from Hubble lacks beauty but because they have been desensitized to complexity. When life is saturated by pixelated images, we simply lose the desire to attend to something for more than 30 seconds.
The stultifying effects to the mind are profound. For me, here are a few manifestations:
• The arguments on Christian blogs becomes more alluring than a theology text that digs deep into multi-faceted issues.
• Family game night becomes family movie night.
• Research is reduced to Google searches.
• Conversation with God morphs into obligatory petitions.
The important is replaced by the urgent. This also is sloth.
Living examples have provided the necessary turning point for me. A good friend is a philosophy professor at a secular university. He is publishing books and articles at a dizzying pace. And yet, he works side by side with tenured professors who are happy to work a few hours each day, and then relax. Curious about how he is keeping his edge, I asked him why he continues to write at such a prolific pace.
"I don't want to waste what God gave me," he explained. He is refusing the lie that life after tenure is a time to coast.
My wife's family are missionaries in India. Their tireless devotion to education, medical care, and evangelism to impoverished villagers has similarly provided inspiration. One of the verses they teach the kids at the mission school comes from Ecclesiastes 9:10, "Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might."
Simple reminders like these, from the Scriptures, and from ordinary people whom I can observe, have given me the impetus to pursue my calling more fully.
Put all this together, and I've begun taking a few steps toward sharpening my blade. First, I have re-engaged in theology, apologetics, and church history. After seminary, I took a hiatus from these three loves. In the past 12 months, they have riveted me afresh. However, instead of reading books in isolation, as I used to do, I have engaged the issues in community.
With the aforementioned physicist, the books and debates have been about theistic evolution and creation. With a close pastor friend, the conversations have been about complementarianism and egalitarianism. With a couple IT programmers, it's been heaven and hell and Rob Bell for breakfast.
In the process, I have been reminded that though the majority of people in our pews are not asking questions about these topics, some are. And particularly as a young pastor, respect is gained when I show familiarity with contemporary theological and philosophical issues. Moreover, my preaching is sharper, my discipling more relevant, when I am challenged to think carefully about today's pressing questions.
Second, I have returned to the disciplines of abstinence. "Everything God created is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving," the Apostle Paul tells young Timothy (1 Tim. 4:4). But in the opulence of suburban Denver where I pastor, this can easily become my life verse. So finding the "lonely places" (as the Gospels call them) is critical.
Slowly and somewhat painfully, God is using solitude, fasting, and Sabbath to achieve small victories over the flesh. Fasting from food, when partnered with prayer, has an unusual power to awaken my appetite for God. Likewise, reducing media intake—or even better, embarking on a short-term media fast—grants me renewed interest for the spoken and written word.
The tension lies in the fact that contemporary technologies tend to feed my desire for immediate gratification. But effective shepherding requires a commitment to delayed gratification. A spiritual body—be it a church or an individual Christian—moves forward in slow, gradual, almost imperceptible steps.
In his book, Death by Suburb, David Goetz writes, "I don't think you can be spiritual and live in the suburbs without the practice of the monastery." The suburbs run on consumption. In one form or another, entertainment is everywhere. Disciplines of abstinence narrow my focus and sharpen my attention. For me, they are weapons for prioritizing life with Christ over a life of constant entertainment.
Finally, and perhaps most important, remembering the difference between church work and a pastoral calling, has turned back the effects of boredom and stagnation.
Without clear guardrails on the pastoral calling, mere church work takes over. And church work is necessary, but it's insufficient. Administration, setting vision, seeing movement, achieving metered success, are all important. As many young pastors have learned the hard way, downplaying the significance of a well-ordered church and personal life puts them and their churches in peril.
Even still, church work remains secondary. My primary calling is a ministry of the Word, discipleship of young leaders, and visitation to those in need.
I'm learning afresh that it's a calling worthy of my very best.
Adrian Boykin is the Erie campus pastor for Calvary Bible Church in Boulder, Colorado.
