Not long ago I was on the phone with Gary Moon and Dallas Willard. Dallas and I are to speak at a conference in early 2013 that Gary is coordinating. The title of the conference is taken from the last chapter of one of Dallas' books: "Pastors as Teachers of the Nations."
"Part of the feedback we're getting is that the title seems a little presumptuous," Gary said. "What do you think?"
Dallas's response was unapologetic. "That's exactly right," he said. "It is presumptuous. Look at the final instructions Jesus gave to his followers. He told this tiny little group to spread throughout the entire world—uninvited—and help every single human being become a follower of his. They were to teach everybody his teachings. Who else would even dream of saying such a thing, let alone expect it to actually happen? This is the most presumptuous idea in the history of humanity."
I had never thought about Jesus in this light before. Because I "church-ify" him so often, the Great Commission tends to be one more of those put-it-on-a-church-plaque statements. But when I think of Jesus as a real person, making a claim about how important his understanding of reality is, it struck me. "All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations … teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you." That would be a lot of authority. Nobody else ever said that. Socrates never said that. Confucius and the Buddha never said that. Dear Abby and Oprah never said that. Jesus did.
Jesus did not go home after the Sermon on the Mount and ask the disciples, "How do you think that went? Did it need more humor?"
This presumptuous side of Jesus has nothing to do with egotism. He was famous for his foot-washing, life-sacrificing, other-serving humility. But his humility was tied to a deeper conviction about the desperate need for his ministry. Jesus knew that he brought to the human race knowledge about true goodness, how it is received, and what sustains a human being through life and death. Jesus was not enslaved to any human being's opinion of him. He did not go home after the Sermon on the Mount and ask the disciples, "How do you think that talk went? Did people like it? Did it need more humor?"
But Jesus also handed the task off. Jesus said that his followers—"unschooled, ordinary" people—were to go into all the world and announce good news. The vision and the task were made cosmic. His followers took this call seriously. "Day after day, in the temple courts and from house to house, they never stopped teaching." They began a process of education called catechesis.
And who is to bring the knowledge that will answer life's great questions to our world today?
That would be you.
If you are a follower of Jesus—particularly if you are a pastor or a leader in a church or ministry—you have a calling far more important than you may know.
The great danger in ministry is that we think about the task before us in ways that are too small. We are not called to fill buildings or balance budgets or launch successful programs or grow at a 10-percent annual growth rate. We are not called to be more successful than our peers in order to boost our self-esteem. We are not called to dream up the next big post-seeker post-emergent post-missional ministry trend.
This calls for a fundamental shift in the way we view our lives and our calling. The role of the pastor has become steadily less respected and honored over the decades. There was a time when pastors were understood to be knowledge-bearers. Sermons were often printed in Monday's newspapers. Historian Jim Singleton notes that as recently as 1950, 10 percent of all Phi Beta Kappa's became clergy. Now it is less than 0.1 percent.
Those of us who go into pastoral ministry have to courageously buck a tide that seeks to marginalize what we do. When Frederick Buechner was converted to Christianity and felt called to ministry, a friend of the family pulled him aside to discuss why someone with such a brilliant mind and lavish education would waste his life. "Is it true that you're planning to go to seminary?" she asked. When he said yes, she responded, "Was it your own idea, or were you badly advised?"
On an airplane recently, I had a discussion with my seat-mate that ranged from world affairs to psychology. It became increasingly clear that he was deeply and happily unchurched. After an hour he asked what I did for a living. "I'm a pastor," I chirped. "Well I'll be damned," was his immediate response. I answered, "I hope not, but let's talk about it." But dropping the P-bomb (I'm a pastor) was a significant conversational speed-bump. It did not increase my credibility with him.
As pastors, our sense of the significance of what we do is not just challenged by the opinions of folks outside the church. Often we are just as challenged by expectations from within. In a consumer society, we are tempted to play the role of "gourmet religious services provider." We can assume that success is measured by how the congregation rates us; a kind of ministerial reality show: "Keeping up with the Cappadocians." We can compare ourselves to the ministries of better-known people whose online/podcasted/twittered presence has become ubiquitious.
Instead, as Dallas suggested, pastors' understanding of their work is expressed more magnificently by the apostle Paul. "I magnify mine office," he says in Romans 11:13, KJV. ("I make much of my ministry," the NIV puts it.) Paul was underscoring the significance of his calling to reach Gentiles so that Israel too might be moved toward Jesus. The idea is this: "I make much over the greatness of the work I do."
We need more such presumptuous pastors. The Presumptuous Pastor is one who understands that the human race desperately needs spiritual knowledge; that such knowledge is not likely to come from educational institutions (where do you go to major in "Becoming a Good Person"?). This moral and spiritual knowledge will not be dispensed by businesses; it will not be legislated by governments; it will not be commonly broadcast by the media; it will not be reliably transmitted via Hollywood, Wall Street, Madison Avenue, or Silicon Valley. It will come to the nations, if it comes at all, by humble and devoted followers of Jesus.
To feed Christ's sheep
Jesus used a primary metaphor for this task. It stretched back deeply into the Old Testament, in a culture where sheep and shepherds were everywhere. In Matthew, Jesus' directive takes the form of the Great Commission—Go into all the world, make disciples, baptize, teach people to do (not just to know) everything Jesus instructed.
In John, Jesus' final directive is given to Peter: "Feed my sheep." This is so important that he says it three times; either to reassure Peter after his three-fold denial, or because Peter had short-term memories issues.
What exactly does Jesus mean by, "Feed my sheep"? In my tradition, if people didn't like how things were going in the church, the number one complaint was a memorable phrase: "I'm just not being fed." If you are a preacher, hearing this phrase is the emotional equivalent of working up the courage to ask out the girl of your dreams only to have her tell you she can't go because she has to wash her hair. Sometimes, "not being fed" is just a substitute for not liking the preacher.
But underneath the language is as critical a question as we office-magnifiers can ask. Am I actually doing what Jesus commanded? Am I feeding Christ's sheep?
This means more than giving a good talk once a week. I know churches where pastors are amazing orators, but the church is filled with factions and gossip and judgmentalism and materialism and bad theology.
A good shepherd doesn't actually insert the food directly into the sheep's mouths unless something is wrong with the sheep. The good shepherd guides the sheep to the green pastures where the sheep are able to feed themselves. The sign of well-fed sheep is that they have what's needed to live. The outcome of the green pastures is not "he filleth my mind" but "he restoreth my soul." Well-fed sheep are empowered.
Feeding with VIM
Dallas Willard offers an acronym that helps me when I think about sheep-feeding: VIM. It stands for the three essential ingredients in any life transformation: Vision, Intention, and Means.
Vision. Transformation begins with vision of how life would be if we were transformed. Vision is the fuel of change. Without vision, all the methods in the world won't help. For instance, think of the difference between America and China when it comes to learning another language. In the U.S., we have an endless array of methods available: classes, books, tapes, Rosetta Stone, tutoring programs. In China, methods are more scarce and expensive. Yet far more Chinese are learning English than vice versa. What's the difference?
Vision. People see how learning English might open vocational or financial or educational doors. When the vision is strong, people will find a way.
The hallmark of effective vision is evoking unforced desire.
When Jesus "fed the sheep," he began with vision. "To what shall I compare the Kingdom of God?" And he would offer a metaphor—it's like finding a treasure in a field, or a pearl of great price. Much of his "feeding" also involved correcting distorted vision of life with God: "You have heard it said … but I say to you …"
It was not simply abstract theology. It is a vision of life with God such that I begin to want it.
One concrete exercise that I have done is to spend considerable time thinking about and writing down what my life would be like if I were living it consistently in God's presence and power. I would not be afraid. I would speak truth freely and courageously. I would genuinely notice people when I'm with them. I would be grateful. When I re-read this vision, I consistently find myself saying: "That's what I want."
Vision means remembering Jesus taught to change lives. In our day we tend to think of teaching as the transfer of information. The teacher pours information into the student like pouring water into a jug, and students are evaluated on what they can parrot back.
No one took notes for an exam when Jesus taught. Why? We naturally remember what changes our lives.
I recently was surfing in a lonely section of ocean when a few feet from me a large, dark fin rippled by. It was gone too quickly for me to be sure what it was, but I had a religious experience. I cannot forget that moment. I did not have to write it down.
Intention
After Jesus taught on the vision of life in the Kingdom, he would call people to make a decision: "Follow me."
No matter how wonderful the vision, no matter how great the information, people do not drift into discipleship. They must form an intention. They must decide.
Many people wish they were in shape, were out of debt, or could play the guitar. What's missing is intention. They lack the will to act. They have never actually formed the commitment to move toward the vision.
It's ironic that much material on spiritual growth begins with practices, but when you ask people what has most shaped them, the primary response is the name of a person.
Feeding the sheep means regularly asking folks to make a decision.
One of the great questions for shepherds is, "Are the sheep around me experiencing as much transformation as they are receiving information?" If not, perhaps we have not asked them to actually commit themselves to a way of life that will lead to changed character.
A long time ago, a wise pastor encouraged me to make one final preparation before I preach. After the message is prepared, he said, take one more look at it and ask God, "Is there any decision that I need to challenge people to make as a result of this message?"
Sometimes it's a big "D" decision: the ultimate commitment to become a follower of Jesus. Often it's a little "d" decision: to pray a certain way each evening for a week, to write an encouraging note, to sponsor a child, or to confess a habit.
Means
Even if people have a compelling vision of life with God and have made a decision to seek it, they cannot be transformed without wise and appropriate means through which to seek it. At our church, we talk about means under three categories: God will use relationships, and practices, and experiences to change us.
Start with relationships. It's ironic that much material on spiritual growth begins with practices, but when you ask what has most shaped them, the primary response is the name of a person or two.
Kent Dunnington has written a wonderful book called Addiction and Virtue. He notes that relationship is indispensible to healing: "The twelve-step insight that recovery is primarily an exercise of friendship and only secondarily a consequence of hearing from and reading the Big Book applies to the church as well. In the absence of concrete, specified relationships of accountability, imitation and mutual prayer, the practice of the liturgy is of limited worth."
Presumptuous pastors will need to call people to something more than once-a-week gatherings for the sheep to be truly fed. It's striking that the church in Acts 2 met daily; for the most part the people who truly shape us are the ones who do life with us.
This means that small groups may be critical but not as ends in themselves. They, in turn, must lead people into relationships that become the stuff of daily life—laughing and working and playing and confessing and hurting and learning and understanding and consoling and challenging together.
People will need to experiment to find out which practices—study, worship, fasting, simplicity, silence, and so on—will most help to "restore their soul" given their own temperament and temptations and season of life.
Last spring we had two weekends to teach two practices: "Doing something" (an annual event where we shut down regular services and invite everyone to worship by serving around the Bay area), and "Doing nothing" (a day where we went to a retreat center and devoted ourselves to refraining from busyness and noise, to make space for God). Interestingly, thousands of people signed up to do something, but about a tenth as many signed up to do nothing.
Experiences are events that come our way and shape us, but which we do not choose or control. Suffering is one of the most important experiences; the Bible says much about how trials can produce character. A cross-cultural encounter is another. Think of how Peter was changed by his interaction with a Roman centurion named Cornelius. It was not until Peter was lifted out of his normal ethnically-prescribed interaction that he finally came to realize that "truly God has no favorites."
Everyday family life is the experiential base for many who attend our churches, and if we want the sheep to be fed we will have to help families learn how to do it well. Presumptuous pastors have always understood this. In describing a book he would write about parents who neglect the education of their children, Martin Luther wrote, "I shall really go after the shameful, despicable, damnable parents who are not parents at all but despicable hogs and venomous beasts devouring their own young."
Sometimes, Luther had difficulty restraining his emotion. He was pretty presumptuous though.
John Ortberg is pastor of Menlo Park Presbyterian Church in California and editor at large of Leadership Journal.
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