Pastoral Envy

It isn't fair.

Bill Hybels burned out. He wrote, "The rate at which I was doing the work of God, was destroying the work of God in me." Bill realized this was unhealthy, sought help, reorganized his life, sold a few million books, and achieved, what looked to me, like Pastoral Nirvana.

Rob Bell had around 10,000 people coming to his church when he hit bottom. In Velvet Elvis he wrote, "In the middle of all this growth and chaos was me, superpastor … . It's one thing to be an intern with dreams about how the church should be. It's another thing to be the thirty-year-old pastor of a massive church … People were asking me to write articles and books on how to grow a progressive young church, and I wasn't even sure I was a Christian anymore … It was in that abyss that I broke and got help."

There we go again—same song, second verse. Rob burned out, got help, reorganized his life, wrote a book about an Elvis painting, and his church rocked.

Joshua Harris was in demand as a speaker, writer, and pastor. He too wrote about hitting bottom, reorganizing his life, and attaining redemption. Kyle Idleman of Not a Fan fame shares how he had to re-examine ministry in the midst of exponential growth. In the 2012 winter issue of Leadership Journal Bob Merritt wrote about adding staff, and being courted for speaking engagements outside the church, while at the same time leading the preaching department at Bethel Theological Seminary before his meltdown.

It sounded like a plan to me.

So, after an average first pastorate, we moved from Canada to a church plant of 120 people in New Mexico. I was ready to become a workaholic, see our church grow, have a meltdown, repent of my selfishness, lead a seminary department, and write a best-seller entitled Dogs Playing Poker. Actually, I've never wanted a mega-ministry, but a growing, healthy ministry would be awesome.

I worked like crazy and burned out six years later. So far, so good. The only problem: we were still running 120 people and I wasn't retiring on book sales. When the economy crashed, so did our budget. At the same time a home Bible study got sideways with the church and sucked out both people and energy. Every family that chose to leave caused me personal anguish. Every breakdown, from a video projector to a coffee pot, was a budget-breaker.

I tried harder.

I read more about marketing, went to leadership conferences, and considered getting the cool glasses/tattoo combination to look hip. I silently wondered if we could keep the church open, if I could continue to pay my mortgage. Worse yet, Hybels asked Bono to speak at his Leadership conference for a second time, without asking me once. Not that I'm bitter.

I suppose it's foolish to be jealous of these guys. Hybels is stuck in a world of 1950 flip-charts, Rob needs to use a Topical Bible next time he publicly updates his theology, and Harris is so insecure he covered his face with his hat on the cover of his first book.

But I was jealous, frustrated, and scared. Nothing seemed to be working. These guys had something to show for their burnout. "Please God, let me crash in style. At least then I can write about it. Crashing without something to show for it is humiliating."

Shipwreck

It should have been a grand time. My wife JoLynn and I were on an Alaskan cruise for our 30th anniversary. I ended up learning a grand lesson, but I didn't have a grand time learning it.

There were 1,200 people on the cruise, many of whom chose this cruise to hear mega-church pastor and bestselling author, Max Lucado, speak. He had sold more than 80 million books. Why is it when I meet "big name" people I make an idiot out of myself?

Before the cruise I was hoping – praying for a chance to meet Max. I'd love to write more. So some counsel, a bit of help, a gushing endorsement, was dancing in my head. I got close.

After white water rafting in Juneau, we had some time left to blow money in town. I bought a hat. Then my wife and I headed to a chocolate shop where I ordered a month's worth of dark chocolate to last us through the afternoon. When I turned around, there was my wife, JoLynn, talking to Max and his wife as if they had known each other for decades. JoLynn is from Texas. Texans can do that. But there was a problem.

I'm not Texan.

I stood by stupidly with water dripping off my new made-in-China "ALASKA!" cap listening to the conversation. My mind was a 1970s computer trying to run Windows 8. My screen was blue, my cursor frozen. JoLynn had this "Don't-destroy-the-moment" look in her eyes. But I did.

All I could think about was what I needed. What I wanted. I wanted him to like me, to ask about me, to be able to tell my story. So I broke into a story about our son.

"We have this boy, Caleb," I blurted out. "He is 16, our youngest. All of our kids, we have four of them you see, well all four and the husband of our oldest, that makes five, well we were all … plus JoLynn and I, that makes seven I guess, well we were sitting around the table one night and … " Awkward.

Not knowing what to say next I stammered around for a bit, smiled too much, tried to make small talk, felt like an idiot, saw the confused/shocked look on JoLynn's face, tried again, did worse, felt worse, smiled bigger, dug in deeper, and pretty much died in mid-sentence. I'd give more details, but reliving pathetic is painful.

JoLynn dove back in, elegantly asked about how they were doing on the cruise, and said we needed to go. I said nothing.

We walked for a long time. JoLynn broke the silence talking about something else. "Maybe it didn't go as bad as I'd imagined," I said to myself. It was 24 hours before she told me it did.

"So, why do you think you get so intimidated by certain people?" JoLynn asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You know, like yesterday … "

I had really, really hoped she hadn't noticed. More than that, I had prayed it wasn't as bad as I'd imagined.

She noticed. It was.

"It's just me," I told her. "I'm just that way. Sorry."

I thought she would get off my case, that it wasn't something I could do anything about. I was wrong on both accounts.

She told me to "Lean into it" and to "Figure out why you're that way." Ugh. It still amazes me how well I married, and yet I still hate it when she is right.

Whispers

The next day I got up early to be alone and pray. I'm an extremely non-charismatic kind of guy. When people say "God told me … " it makes me nervous. I want to ask, "Was his voice high or low? Does he still speak in Hebrew?"

But at this point I knew I needed to hear something specific from God. I threw my narrow view of how God had to work overboard, and asked God to speak to me. Then I read and prayed and prayed and read and mostly listened. Silence. Thinking I couldn't change, and that God wouldn't speak, I wasn't too concerned. I should have been.

Through a combination of his Word and my silence, I believe the Spirit spoke to me. One word kept coming back to me over and over again: Others.

I would have preferred a paragraph. Job got three chapters. But there I go again, Job Envy.

Others. I couldn't let it go. It took about 24 hours before I was convinced God was speaking to me, and I understood what he was trying to say. The two great commandments – love God and love others. Loving God? I can do that. But others? It's hard to admit as a pastor, but I just don't think about others much.

The reason JoLynn could talk to the Lucados and I couldn't – was because she cared about them. She was asking them about their kids and grandkids, about their anniversary (they have the same 30th anniversary date as we do). I tried to talk about me. She asked about them. She understood the cruise wasn't a vacation for them – it couldn't be when you are speaking twice a day, signing books over lunch, and having to listen to weird ALASKA-cap-wearing pastors in the chocolate shop.

I wondered about my motivation for ministry. Why was I envious of successful pastors? Why did I want our church to grow? Why did I want to see people come to Christ—for their freedom or so I could have a baptism service? Why did I want to write—to help others or to say I'd been published? Why was the church not growing – because of a weak marketing strategy, or because I wasn't doing my job of loving others and making disciples? Sometimes the truth you need to hear to deal with your depression is depressing.

A few days later the cruise was about over and Max was signing books. JoLynn wanted to go. I didn't embarrass her this time, and Max was gracious enough to pretend the chocolate shop never happened. Sometimes being invisible is the best you can hope for.

Dan is pastor of Cottonwood Church in Rio Rancho, New Mexico and author of BIZARRE Bible Stories, and BIZARRE Bible Stories 2. You can reach him at DanielCooley.com.