Pastors

Fireworks or a Candle?

A Spanish pastor’s reflections on the work that lasts.

Jose Luis Navajo pastors the Iglesia Evangelica Salem in Madrid, Spain. In his book Mondays with My Old Pastor (Nelson, 2012), Navajo recounts the formative conversations he had during his weekly visits with his own pastor. As Jose says, "Sometimes all we need is a reminder from someone who has walked before us." This excerpt begins with the old pastor telling a story.

"Rachel and I used to spend our summers in a small fishing village on the Alicante coastland. It's a peaceful place that still maintains the traditions of the fisherman from years ago. We loved going down to the harbor in the late afternoon to watch the ships come in that had been out working since early in the morning. A number of times we went to the traditional fish market, where the different businesses and restaurant owners bid to take home the best fish at the best price. But one of the most special times of our vacations happened one night in July.

"It was when they lit up what they called 'the castle of fireworks' on the beach. The same event happened each year. When it would start to get dark, the crowd would get as close to the sea as possible. At midnight, they would turn off the lights on the boardwalk, and everything would be plunged in total darkness.

"Suddenly, the first firework would streak up into the air and explode high above, turning into a million flashes of different colors. That was just the beginning.

"From that moment the night sky became a canvas on which the most beautiful pictures of light were painted with fire and gunpowder. For the next fifteen minutes, the sky was filled with the sound of explosions, mixed with exclamations of admiration and amazement from those of us who had come to see that impressive pyrotechnical demonstration. Every-thing had been planned to achieve fifteen minutes of amazement and admiration. The last explosions, which made the ground shake where we were seated, announced that the show was over, and then silence returned along with the darkness."

"That must have been beautiful," I replied. "You've described it with such detail that I can almost see the lights in the sky and hear the sounds of the explosions."

"In fact it was," my old pastor admitted. "It really was beautiful, but after that night each year I would do the same thing: I'd get up early after the next morning and walk on the same beach where only hours before we had stood with our mouths open in amazement, and you know what I would find?"

Without waiting for my answer, he opened up the box on his lap and from the inside took out pieces of burned card-board, wires, and burned matches,

"This is what was scattered on the sand."

He held it up, and I noticed that his hands had gotten dirty with the leftover powder and burned cardboard.

"They're the broken pieces of those fireworks that left us all wonderstruck. The fuses and wires that made up a short-lived show." He looked at me meaningfully. "Fifteen minutes of glory and then burned cardboard.

"It could cause us to laugh if it wasn't so sad, my son. These burned pieces of cardboard reminded me of too many people who were amazing or a short time but then ended up as burned-up cinders. Charismatic people, lofty preachers, men and women who sing like angels or make music worthy of the stars … but after being amazing, they disappear or blacken with soot those who came looking for more from them.

"Yes"—he repeated with a growing tone of sadness—"there are too many who from a distance amaze people, but up close they only tarnish."

My old pastor once again stuck his hand inside the wooden box, and this time he took out a simple white candle.

"Would you turn the light off, please?"

I flicked the switch, and the room went dark. My old pastor lit a match and lit the candle with it, whose flame stood straight up.

"This is better," he said. "Do you see it? This little flame … this orange point that can't even be seen during the day becomes a beacon for seafarers so they can make course corrections when it's dark out. Can you appreciate how this simple light has overcome the darkness? It will not amaze anyone, but it will be able to push back the darkness."

I realized the candle represents the hundreds of men and women who by simple, subtle, and inconspicuous acts bring about change and turn on lights in their community.

Don't focus on what astonishes, but rather what transforms. Don't let yourself be impressed by fireworks that amaze people for 15 minutes and then leave them tarnished. Look for something deeper. Don't make it your goal to amaze your audience. Don't rest until you are sure that your ministry crosses the frontier of the soul and touches the spirit, the place where change is accomplished.

Kicking God Out of The Kitchen

Six questions for Jose Luis Navajo

It's possible to work so hard for God that we forget about communion with him. Mountains of work and crumbs of intimacy generate dangerous imbalance. We can be very active yet totally ineffective. Our effectiveness has everything to do with balance, joining activity with intimacy, serving God and communion with God.

Anxiety, irritability, lack of peace, feeling like service is tedious. When God exits, our former delight in serving becomes arduous, bringing no gratification.

Not necessarily. A lot of people are prudent enough to maintain the balance between work and rest.

It's crucial for patients not to feel accused or judged for not realizing what was happening to them. All judgments should be put aside, and we should dole out understanding, empathy, and affection. Offer hope: You will be yourself again. After this crisis, you will be much stronger than before. People in burnout think they'll never be effective again. It's crucial to convince them that's simply not true.

The cross was the ladder that brought me out of the pit of depression. It will be the ladder that leads me to God's presence with my time comes. The cross is the true beginning of life. Life doesn't start at 20 years of age or at 40. Life begins at Calvary, next to the cross where Christ gave himself for us.

You say that it is possible "to 'cook' so feverishly for God that we end up kicking him out of the kitchen." How do we recognize if we're kicking him out?

What are the signs that God has left the kitchen?

Is burnout the only way we know what our limits are?

How does burnout compare to depression, despair, and exhaustion? Are they distinct, or all related?

Burnout is a form of suffering due to prolonged exposure to emotional and interpersonal stress. Depression, despair, and exhaustion can be side effects, collateral damage, or consequences of burnout. I recommend that a qualified professional diagnose the actual harm a patient may be experiencing.

How do you care for an exhausted colleague?

What does the cross mean for you as one who has walked through burnout and despair?

Copyright © 2012 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

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