In western Montana, a weed imported from France, spotted knapweed, plagues some of our best agricultural areas and is moving swiftly into wilderness areas. Only sheep will eat it. Cattle, deer, and elk won’t touch it. A meadow of knapweed won’t support a cow. A hillside of it will not feed elk. An infestation of knapweed can destroy an entire field of hay or grains.
Beekeepers imported the plant for its purple blossoms that produce copious nectar even during drought years. The weed is unbelievably hardy, thriving in the driest of weather. It competes unfairly with natural flora; it grows over three feet tall so it shades shorter grasses. But if you clip it, knapweed will blossom at two inches off the ground.
Its most pernicious characteristic, however, is that knapweed is allelopathic. Knapweed’s roots secrete a toxic substance that stunts and even kills the plants in its vicinity.
Toxic weeds thrive in visions for ministry too. It is just as true of spiritual tilth as it is of good dirt: “It will produce thorns and thistles for you” (Gen. 3:18). A fertile spiritual imagination is just as good at growing weeds as a crop. I’ve noticed at least three weeds that can flourish in my pastoral visions.
The dream weed
I really dislike receiving phone calls, back to back, one from Euodia telling me that we should have vacation Bible school in June because that’s the only time we can get any teachers, and one from Syntyche saying that we should have VBS in August because three years ago at a Christian ed meeting, didn’t we decide always to hold VBS in August to promote Sunday school?
What gripes me is that I know the real problem: these two don’t like each other and are playing a game to see with whom I will side.
In such moments sprouts the dream weed, a mental flash, a phantasm from a subconscious reservoir of restlessness. It speaks to our disgust with the mess of the ministry. It shows us a place of benefits without blahs. It may be another church, another career, or just winning the lottery—my kingdom for a day without human foolishness!
At Dream Weed University, I’ve gotten any number of Ph.D.s, been a professor at every seminary in the country, and published hundreds of books and articles. I’ve pastored big churches, the mythical kind where all you have to do is hang around with a totally cool staff who do the down-and-dirty work with all the messed-up people.
The best way is through confession and repentance. Confession is simply recognizing a false vision for what it is and speaking to God about it: “Here it is again, Lord; the old dream weed is back.” Repentance is simply returning to prayer for the right thing: for people, for the church, for stamina and joy.
Dream weeds are intolerant of contact with anything specific. So I call a grump. I go out and bless a curmudgeon. I immerse myself in the details of church work. I fix the leaky toilet in the men’s room. I pick the popcorn off the floor from the Wednesday night program.
Every Sunday morning before people arrive, I sweep the outside walks as metaphoric prayer. God talks to us in parables and metaphors, so I return the favor. I talk to him in a metaphor: “Lord, as I sweep this morning, help me commit myself to washing the feet of this church.”
The greed weed
Such visions are good, but opportunism clings to them like burrs. In the middle of “seeing” the building made new, the pews full, and our Sunday school bursting at the seams, I also see a mental image of a new fly rod that I could purchase with the raise I’d get if my ministry thrived. It sickens me.
When my spiritual imagination is at its best, I am also at my worst. Hedonism works its way into the fabric of my visions like foxtails into socks.
Greed was the sin of Hophni and Phinehas, the sons of Eli. They looked with “greedy eye” at the sacrifices and offerings of the people of Israel, “fattening themselves” on the choicest parts of the offering.
If the power of ministry is the love of God working in and through us, what happens to our power for ministry when we cast a greedy eye on the sacrifices and offerings? We stop seeing the person; all we see is her money.
Before I make a pastoral call on people with financial resources, I pray through my motivations vigorously and relentlessly. I have to pull the greed weeds.
Patience pulls greed weeds, and a patient heart is an inhospitable environment for greed weeds. Funny thing is, once the greed weeds are cleared away, love appears. The fruit of the Spirit grows best in a well-cleared field of vision.
The hero weed
When we desire hero status in our churches, we become allelopathic to the people who serve with us. Like that toxic weed from France, we may come off as sweet as honey, but we stunt the growth of those around us. The poison of our pride places a limit on the good that we can do, and the good that those around us can do.
My visions are saturated with my face. It is repelling and embarrassing, but I must admit it: I can take a wonderful vision and muddy it with a mental image of my getting credit.
A parishioner was going through an especially acrimonious divorce. Of course, there were darling children involved. Of course, the couple fought over everything, including the Jimi Hendrix albums. I prayed for all parties involved, but one of them attended church regularly, so I felt for him a special pastoral responsibility.
I wanted to save the day. I felt like it was my job to go in and make a difference. I could “see” their accolades. I became more concerned with the glory for being a good pastor than being filled with love and pity for my suffering friend.
A couple of times, I decided to give an afternoon of prayer to the guy. I saw myself staying away from him. My impression, though vague, was that my whole responsibility was to pray and stay away.
After his divorce, his church attendance picked up. A year after the dust settled, I visited the gentleman. He went on to tell me that whenever he was at his lowest point, for some unexplainable reason, God had always shown up. “God has been so good to me!”
This man, who few would have mistaken for a mystic, had learned to pray. I could hardly contain myself. I wanted desperately to shout out “I prayed for you!” Thankfully, I held my tongue and smiled.
Private prayer is therapy for allelopaths.
A cleared field of vision
As we pull the dream weeds, greed weeds, and hero weeds, we find a cleared field ready to produce a crop. True vision for ministry can grow.
In my mind, I can still see nails protruding from badly weathered siding. If you pounded them in, they popped back out. The eighty-year-old wood wasn’t worth another coat of white paint. The sanctuary was so poorly insulated that the water in the Christmas tree stand froze every December.
I did not pray for the renovation of the sanctuary. But as I walked through the woods praying for the church, in my mind I saw not a broken-down church building, but a clean, white renovated sanctuary. I did not realize it then, but “seeing” the renewed sanctuary was a vision. It was so modest a spiritual phenomenon that I barely took it into account.
Over nine years, little project by little project, the church was made new. The sanctuary is now the brilliant white building I saw in my vision. Actually it is prettier than I thought it would be. The fulfillment exceeded the vision in beauty.
No aspect of church life is too spiritual or too material for visions. We need visions for deeper spirituality, more functional buildings, greater passion for God, steadier finances, and more effective Christian education. Seeing these ahead of time (even if not recognized as visions from God) constitutes the pastor’s spiritual field of vision. We simply need to clear that field of its weeds.
David Hansen is a retired pastor of Heritage Community Church in Cincinnati, Ohio and a former contributing editor for Leadership Journal.
This article is adapted from David Hansen’s contribution to Deepening Your Ministry through Prayer and Personal Growth, a book published by Leadership Journal.
