He set down his coffee, leaned forward, and looked me in the eyes.
“I can no longer respect you as my pastor.”
The reason for his loss of respect? The gas station story from my sermon.
I had told the congregation how I stopped at a gas station to fuel up. Inside, on the shelves, sexually explicit magazines peeked out from behind brown paper. Temptation smiled. I ran out of there and drove on. In the sermon I said something like, “The endings to our temptation stories are not always this happy. Sometimes, we don’t run when we should and we regret it. But one thing that I know is this. No matter what, the grace of God can meet you in the gas stations of your life.”
To admit our limits and visibility demonstrates that true power and grace resides, not with us, but with the Lord.
Recounting those words, the man sipped his coffee, sat down the cup and said, “No one who is a pastor should be tempted the way you seem to be. You have a real problem.”
My head fogged. I respected this man. I was thankful for him. I also knew that four or five other men had responded in an opposite way toward the gospel in light of the story.
“Well,” I mustered. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”
Then I paused. Paul’s words came to my mind. For better or worse, I spoke them. “All I can say is that I am what I am by the grace of God. I hope for the grace to always handle temptation in the manner of that gas station moment. But, I believe that your hope and the hope of our church should be in Jesus’ perfection, not mine.”
Since that exchange a question about vulnerability has dogged me. How transparent should a church leader be? I believe an answer to that question begins with something I call redemptive vulnerability.
Jars and treasures
As leaders, we are already vulnerable and transparent. After all, to be human is to be vulnerable. We possess limits. We sin. We err. Likewise, as leaders, a level of transparency is unavoidable. Those we lead can see, hear, touch, and smell us. The question is, will we accept these God-designed limitations and let them inform the way we lead?
To admit our limits and visibility demonstrates that true power and grace resides, not with us, but with the Lord. Leading with that reality in mind is what I mean by redemptive vulnerability. But how do we lead like that?
First, we need to get honest about the clay jar—and where the true treasure comes from. Paul writes that “we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us” (2 Cor. 4:7). Accepting that we are “clay jars” means we take seriously our human limits and external circumstances. Exalting the “treasure” refers to a leader’s willingness to exalt God and point to the redemption provided through Jesus. I find it helpful to divide the language found in 2 Corinthians 4:5-9; 7:5-6 and 12:9-10 into “Jar Talk” and “Treasure Talk.”
In short, with Paul we say, “I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me” (2 Cor. 12:9).
Such a statement makes us nervous.
After all, to choose redemptive vulnerability requires risk. Clay jar folks love the leader’s earnest, earthy confessions, and they love to share theirs as well. But once the leader talks about the true treasure of the gospel, followers fidget. They get cynical about “godtalk.” In contrast, treasure folks tend to love the godtalk but grow uneasy with leaders once they even hint at their clay jar realities.
Recently I provided a reference for a ministry candidate. The search committee was concerned by an admission the candidate had made from the pulpit. He acknowledged that sometimes his own time with God’s Word gets dim and barren. He then spoke of the grace that he himself needed in Jesus and invited his hearers to the same. These words signaled a “red flag” for the committee.
At the same time, there were people in the church who loved the candidate’s clay jar humility. But these same people did not want his treasure-talk. In the end, they selected a different candidate.
Clay jar folks and treasure folks have one thing in common. They want something from the leader that isn’t the leader’s to give. They both resist directing their gaze away from the leader and onto Jesus.
As leaders we must give the gospel, and our very lives, to others (1 Thess. 2:8). But people often balk at either gospel truth or our human frailty. It’s crucial we resist the temptation to dispense or downplay either one. If we choose either clay jar talk or the true treasure talk, we end up with compromised, lopsided leadership.
Finding balance
I once gave an interview on the radio for a book award I’d received. I gave that interview in my pajamas from a retreat house in the woods of Missouri. I was trying to recover from a dark time. I would never have spoken in person in that condition. If I had tried, I would have had to do a great deal of pretending. But, the technology—in this case, the radio—allowed me to offer my gifts but not my presence. On occasion such an opportunity can prove helpful. But as a way of life, giving gospel gifts without ourselves can devastate. A gap gradually opens between what we offer people and who we actually are.
A clay jar without true treasure is of little use. It gets used but not according to its created purpose.
A clay jar without true treasure is of little use. It gets used but not according to its created purpose. It offers presence, but no hope. On the other hand, giving people treasure without acknowledging our clay jar natures, denies the redemptive work of God in his creation. It seeks soul without body. It’s Gnostic, not Christian.
Throughout Scripture we meet clay jars bearing the true treasure. Abraham teaches us faith but we witness his blunders. We read about Moses’ incredible triumphs, while seeing his fears, doubts, and cowardice. We know the great lawgiver and liberator never saw the Promised Land. We sing David’s psalms and marvel at his victories, even as we struggle to understand his sins and foibles. We read Peter’s letters knowing that the rooster crowed. We learn love from Paul knowing that he was once the loveless Saul of Tarsus. We learn from John, the “Apostle of Love,” knowing how he once wanted to call down fire from heaven to kill Samaritans. And when Jesus comes, he comes as true treasure in clay jar body of flesh and blood, fatigue and sweat, tears and laughter.
It makes sense then, that as a leader, Paul cries in front of people (Acts 20:37), expresses his affection for people (2 Cor. 2:4; Phil. 1:8), refers to himself as a nursing mother and a faithful father (1 Thess. 2:7,11), acknowledges himself as a sinner (1 Tim. 1:12-17), tells us about his unanswered prayers (2 Corinthians 12:8-9), and attributes all he has to God’s grace (Gal. 1:11-17). Paul not only referred to where he had been in his life, and what his circumstances were like, but he also intersperses his teaching with testimonies of God’s present provision (Phil. 1:12-14; 1 Thess. 1:2; 2 Tim. 4:16-17). Yet, we never leave his teaching thinking, “poor Paul.” We come away from his self-reference blessed by how common our humanity is and moved by “how lovely the Lord is.”
Charles Spurgeon responded to his Victorian critics on this foundational point. These critics thought that Christian preachers and leaders should rarely speak of themselves if at all. To them, Spurgeon’s sermons indicated “low views of Deity, and an exalted view of self.” In fact, “Self,” said one critic, “is never out of sight” when Spurgeon preaches. Spurgeon saw things differently. “We must testify. We must bear witness to the effect, which the gospel has had upon our heart and life. The telling out of our personal experience is a means of grace to our hearers … .There is much force in such personal testimony. Oh, that you and I, after having explained the gospel, may always be able to tell out something from our own experience, which will prove it!”
Redemptive vulnerability forces leaders to make testimony visible. Testimony no longer refers to one story in our distant past, but to a way of doing life and ministry. Testimony detects the ongoing invisibilities of God at work in the palpable visibilities of our lives—the true treasure amid clay jars.
Vulnerability missteps
We must make sure the kind of vulnerability we model builds up the body rather than glorifies or debases ourselves. Here are a few cautions as we endeavor to house the true treasure in clay jars.
1. Delilah moments. When Samson told Delilah “all of his heart,” he demonstrated a vulnerability that mistakenly shares personal weakness, for a foolish reason, with a person who neither had God’s purpose nor Samson’s good in mind (Judges 16:18).
Similarly, some of us share too much with the wrong people. We treat everyone we lead as if they possess equal measures of wisdom, character, and trustworthiness (see Proverbs 26:6, 10). This kind of vulnerability damages our ministry and puts others in peril. We may win praise from people who see us as nice or compassionate, but we ultimately undermine our actual purposes by trusting immature or foolish people with information they can’t handle.
2. Grasshopper stories. When the spies returned from scouting out the Promised Land, they reported everything hard and bad. Giants abound and “we are only as grasshoppers to them and to us” (Num. 13:32-33). Some of us, in the name of being authentic, have actually lost the capacity to be equally real about what is promised, beautiful, good, wholesome, true, and hopeful. Dwelling on the negative does not make you authentic.
One Easter Sunday, I wanted to preach an honest message about death. The result was 20 minutes of what amounted to a “you-think-that’s-bad, let-me-tell-you-something-even-worse” kind of message. As I rolled out one painful example after another, the smiles of members, their families, visitors, and even the chocolate buzzed kids faded. I spoke only of daunting giants and gave the impression that, in our weakness, we are only grasshoppers waiting to be squashed. By the time I got to, “He is risen!” I had covered the message so thoroughly in ash that the burned over wood couldn’t produce a flame.
Remember, redemptive vulnerability is as expressive about beauty, grace, and goodness as it is about ugliness, hardship, and sin. Paul is not afraid to tell people of his affection for them (Phil. 1:8) or to burst into heartfelt worship (Rom. 11:33-36) or to effuse with awe and gratitude about the full character and work of God in Christ (Eph. 1:14-21).
3. Selfies. A third temptation is to constantly take pictures of ourselves with words, becoming “lovers of self.” When someone tells us about their clay jar, we respond by saying, “If you only knew my story, you wouldn’t talk to me like that,” or “You should hear how I experienced the same thing, but worse.” Like a toddler when a baby sister or brother enters their world, we seek ways to constantly interrupt or even throw tantrums when attention gets diverted from us.
Sometimes we think that being authentic and real means sharing everything that is on our mind regardless of who listens. We can even feel guilt if we don’t. But the Bible actually calls unfiltered venting foolish (Prov. 12:16; 18:2; 29:11).
It’s best to show general vulnerability to everyone, but specific vulnerability to a few. Remember, Paul did not hesitate to tell us that he coveted (Rom. 7:7), he was a sinner (1 Tim. 1:15), he had a thorn in his flesh (2 Cor. 12:7), or to ask for prayer in light of his weakness (Col. 4:4). Yet, notice that Paul does not provide us the details of what he coveted, nor his list of sins, nor what the thorn was. These he reserved for the Lord in prayer and only for folks perhaps like Titus or Timothy and others—the personal friends and intimate companions who shouldered daily life and ministry with him.
4. Vinegar songs and unlifted fingers. Vinegar songs normally rise from treasure talkers who resist the clay jar. “Whoever sings songs to a heavy heart is like … vinegar on soda” (Prov. 25:20). In our inability or unwillingness to truly understand clay jar realities, we can end up sounding more like Job’s friends than gospel leaders and companions.
We can also make the terrible mistake of those teachers that Jesus exposed. With their godtalk, “They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on people’s shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to move them with their finger” (Matt. 23:4). We have to ensure that our teaching of God’s treasure does not become legalistic and burdensome. We must always share the gospel, mindful that we are speaking as and to mere jars of clay.
Putting a priceless treasure in a clay jar produces an inherent tension, and we shouldn’t try to resolve it. Ministering faithfully means sharing that treasure with boldness, even while we readily acknowledge our own weakness.
I threw my Bible once—but I’m using it right now. The creases on the pages remind me of my defeated moment. But words live beneath the creases. They speak of Jesus. He crucifies our sins, our shortcomings. He replaces them with himself. Testimony to grace rises. We lead with this. And when we do, we’ll notice those we serve begin to exhibit redemptive vulnerability as well.
Zack Eswine is pastor of Riverside Church in Saint Louis, Missouri and author of Sensing Jesus: Life and Ministry as a Human Being (Crossway, 2012).
Copyright © 2013 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
