Rethinking Success

I once heard Andy Stanley say that he loves hiring preachers' kids. Here's one reason: the old-but-true cliché that "truths are caught, not taught."

I grew up in a double-barrel ministry family, my grandpa and dad both serving as senior pastors. Combined, their legacy includes multiple congregations served and thousands of lives touched. But they are men from a different time. They would never use the word "success" to describe themselves—or even accept it being thrust upon them.

When I think of my grandpa, I picture his open Bible on the checkered tablecloth at the summer cottage. His long legs crossed comfortably while he poured God's Word into his thirsty soul. At meals he would have all of us—grandparents, parents, cousins—recite Psalm 1 together, complete with hand actions.

He was a tall man. I can still see his lanky pointer and middle fingers walking like two legs up his outstretched forearm as he recited, "Blessed is the man who walketh not in the council of the ungodly …"

Withering Pastors

The point of Psalm 1 is that the "blessed" man is a man who loves God's Word, who "meditates on it day and night." That person, God tells us, "will be like a tree planted by streams of water." That person's "leaf does not wither."

And yet, in pastoral ministry I often feel like I am withering. I don't know an honest pastor who does not sometimes feel like this. Under the heat, the constant pressure, the impossible expectations, we wither.

For more than 40 years of ministry, my grandpa never withered. I'm sure he felt like withering some days, but he never did. My dad, now in his 44th year of vocational ministry, remains a branch stocked with green leaves and heavy fruit. I do not have to ask my dad what the secret is because I grew up seeing what the secret is.

The definition of success for both my grandpa and my dad was never what another church was doing. It was never the size of their attendance. It was never the effectiveness of an outreach, a number on a page, or a comparison with another pastor. The measure of success always was, and to this day is, to know God by obeying him.

I've heard people say that "success is being obedient to God, regardless of the consequences." The problem for most of us is with the latter part: "regardless of the consequences." Our well-intentioned desire to shape the consequences for God, to produce the fruit we want for his kingdom, that's what lures us to lesser definitions of success. We rarely realize we have lost God's definition of success. Until we wither.

Default Definitions

I do not know what definition of success you default to. Mine is a high-bar that Billy Graham probably wouldn't have cleared. These stifling expectations come from four sources. Can you relate to any of them?

Self-imposed expectations. I must have all the gifts of the body, can never make a mistake, should preach a "Grand slam" every weekend, or look like some other gifted minister.
People's unrealistic expectations. I should be at every church event, to always be available and yet always well-rested and well-prepared, to adopt their personal agenda, to heal their personal wounds, to boldly declare the truth without offending.
Expectations of modern evangelical culture. Your church doesn't matter if it's not a mega, that you don't matter as a pastor unless you're a celebrity with a massive blog readership or radio ministry, that "you're either growing or dying," that you have to be a Podcast quality preacher, conference-speaking teacher, and a visionary organization-building leader.
Expectations of your tribe—whatever those expectations may be.

In my career as a professional writer, I benefited greatly from models. I would find successful writers and dissect their work. Imitating their structures and strategies made me a better writer. As a result, when the church I serve began growing, I naturally looked to more "successful" pastors who have also shepherded growing churches.

The problem came—for me—when I realized that my definition of success was no longer God's. Somewhere along the way (and in the name of bearing fruit for Christ) these model ministers and ministries became my definition of success. This never happened officially or verbally. It happened in my heart. And nobody else knew. I had believed the lie that I needed to look like so-and-so, see growth like so-and-so, teach or write like so-and-so, in order to be successful.

But that is not heaven's measure of success. God did not create you or I to pastor like Rick Warren, Mark Dever, Matt Chandler, Max Lucado, John Piper, Craig Groeschel, Tony Evans, or whomever others around you happen to admire. God did not create you to be a clone of some other minister. He created you to serve him as only you can.

The Right Model

Knowing that we are all imitators, God did give us a model on whom we can fix our eyes. A servant who, like my dad and grandpa, would be out of place amid the bustle and bright lights of today's ministry scene—a quiet, praying servant named Jesus of Nazareth.

In Jesus' unhurried pace and unity with the Father, we find the true definition of success. I believe that God's calling for you will be fulfilled if you obey in these three matters:

Love God. (Luke 10:27)
Love God's People. (Luke 10:27)
Love God's Word. (2 Timothy 4:2)

I got to see this modeled growing up. My dad and grandpa did a lot, but they managed to do so without severing their hearts from these wells of motivation and strength. The more I place myself with the disciples in the Gospels, the more I see these same simple priorities in Jesus' life, too.

The secret to success is not one more thing to do. (And that, I've found, is what most pastors want at a conference, another thing to heave onto the suffocating pile of To-Do's.) The secret to true and lasting success is actually to abandon anything you must in order to reclaim purity of heart in those "big three." To love God, who alone can infill you with love for his people. And to love his Word, which "prospers."

Do this and you will "be like a tree planted by streams of water." You will "bear fruit in season." When other expectations tug at your ego, remind yourself that the tree does not get to pick what fruit it produces. The tree does not even get to pick when it produces. That is all up to the Creator.

A tree's only job is to dig its roots deep into the soil, to drink up as much water as possible, and to stretch out its leaves to soak in the sunlight. That's it.

And so, as a mighty oak in God's kingdom, you need not plan or manipulate your fruit. Only keep yourself rooted in God's Word. Drive your roots deep in it. Gulp long swells of the living water that is found in Christ alone. Bask in the warmth of his grace, so that you can pass it on to others in need. Abandon any definition of "success" that tempts you away from doing this, and you'll grow. And others around you will grow, too.

John S. Dickerson is pastor of Cornerstone Evangelical Free Church in Prescott, Arizona and author of The Great Evangelical Recession (Baker, 2013).