Ministry forms you in ways seminary cannot. The real classroom isn\u2019t the lecture hall\u2014it\u2019s a church hallway, a living-room visit, a late-night prayer, and sometimes a pointed letter from a longtime member. If you allow it, ministry will humble you, teach you, and even sanctify you. And much of that formation comes through the gift of correction\u2014often unsolicited, sometimes uncomfortable, yet undeniably formative.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Few things can humble a young pastor quite like a letter from a seasoned church member. I\u2019ve received more than I can count. Some were tough to read, others less so. But every one of them shaped me more deeply than I anticipated. Initially, I thought pastoral leadership was mostly about vision and preaching. I soon discovered it also meant learning to listen carefully, even when the words sting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At 26, single and fresh from seminary, I became senior pastor of First Baptist Church in Covington, Georgia. With three years of seminary behind me, I was convinced\u2014maybe overly so\u2014that I already knew what I needed to know. In my mind, I was ready. In reality, I still had much to learn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The church, of course, knew this long before I did. Thankfully, congregants were both kind and courageous enough to help me see it. Letters arrived regularly in those early years. Some were gracious, others not so much. They identified ways I could grow, noted my failures, or expressed concern that the church had changed in directions they wished it hadn\u2019t. Looking back, I\u2019m genuinely grateful for every letter. Those letters were a kind of discipleship, reminding me that pastoral ministry requires more than conviction. It requires humility and a willingness to listen to the very sheep you\u2019ve been entrusted to shepherd.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
One of the most memorable letters I received came from a man named Fred. Fred was never shy about sharing his opinions. Usually he didn\u2019t need a letter\u2014a dinner-table or parking-lot conversation would do. But one day he handed me a long, typed letter. Clearly this one mattered deeply to him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Fred had been reading through the newly published 2008 edition of the Baptist Hymnal<\/em> we\u2019d just placed in the sanctuary. And he was not pleased. His favorite hymn, \u201cA Mighty Fortress Is Our God,\u201d had moved from No. 8 in the 1991 hymnal to No. 656 in the new one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSix hundred fifty-six,\u201d he wrote. To make the point, he repeated it: \u201cSix hundred fifty-six.\u201d He added, \u201cI am sure in the next edition of the Baptist Hymnal<\/em> the song will be purged altogether.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I braced myself, expecting him to hold me personally responsible for the editorial decisions being made at Lifeway Worship. But the blame never came. Fred just wanted me to know.<\/p>\n\n\n\n More importantly, Fred wanted me to keep singing that hymn. Even more than singing, he wanted me to keep believing its truths: that our God is indeed a mighty fortress Fred\u2019s letter wasn\u2019t really about me. But many letters were\u2014and those were much harder to read. Some were gentle; others were quite harsh. But one way or another, each was formative.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As pastors, we\u2019re tempted to dismiss criticism, to filter out the voices we would rather not hear. Yet let me encourage you not to discard these hard letters too quickly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Some letters carry critiques. Others carry cries for help.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Some express frustration. Others communicate grief.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And some\u2014like Fred\u2019s\u2014reveal a deep love for the Lord and his church, rooted in a history that predates your tenure and possibly even your birth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Listening doesn\u2019t require you to agree with every word. But it does mean receiving each word with humility. It involves asking, What can I learn from this?<\/em> It means choosing personal discipleship over defensiveness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As Proverbs 9:9 says, \u201cInstruct the wise and they will be wiser still.\u201d James 1:19\u201321 calls us to be \u201cquick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry,\u201d recognizing that anger rarely produces righteousness. The pastoral life demands teachability, not just in theory but in everyday practice\u2014email inboxes and church mail slots.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Similarly, 1 Peter 5:5 offers a word of wisdom to pastors: \u201cAll of you, clothe yourselves with humility toward one another, because, \u2018God opposes the proud but shows favor to the humble.\u2019\u201d This humility extends to how we handle feedback\u2014even when it\u2019s clumsy, unsolicited, or a bit unfair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In my early days at First Baptist, I received many letters critiquing the length of my sermons. The church had long been accustomed to a strict one-hour service. The service began at 11:00 a.m. with sermons typically lasting 25 to 30 minutes and a noon dismissal sharp enough for congregants to beat the Methodists to lunch at the local eateries.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Fresh out of seminary and full of zeal for expositional preaching, I believed the church needed longer preaching, not shorter. My sermons regularly clocked about 40\u201345 minutes. You can imagine how people reacted to this change and what type of feedback I received.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Initially I felt defensive. I would think to myself, Did they even listen to the sermon? Are they interested in worshiping and growing in Christ together\u2014or just getting to lunch?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n To be fair, my frustration may have been understandable. But over time I realized my own errors. I had led the church into this new norm without sufficient wisdom, grace, and tact.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Around this time, a friend drove Alistair Begg to the seminary chapel, where he had been invited to speak. Knowing Alistair was a hero of mine, my friend asked him to give me a call. To my surprise, he did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I jumped at the opportunity to ask him a burning question: \u201cHow do I correct my congregation? How do I get them to embrace longer sermons?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n To my surprise, he replied, \u201cThis Sunday, give them a 25-minute sermon.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He was right. What did it matter how long I preached if my congregation had stopped listening? They had to know I was willing to meet them where they were before I could lead them forward into greener pastures.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Alistair\u2019s gentle rebuke reminded me again: Receiving correction is central to pastoral life. The challenge is learning to welcome it well.<\/p>\n\n\n\n So when the letters come\u2014and they will\u2014receive them as an invitation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sometimes they\u2019re invitations to change.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sometimes to be encouraged.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Always to listen carefully.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Even the harshest letters often echo Fred\u2019s underlying message: The history of this church is important. The truth of God is important. And both can be hard to hold on to.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Over the years, I\u2019ve found a few simple practices that help me receive these letters wisely. I offer them here in hope that they\u2019ll help you too:<\/p>\n\n\n\n Don<\/strong>\u2019t respond right away. Sit with the letter. Pray. <\/strong>Quick responses rarely reflect careful thinking or spiritual maturity. Give the words time to settle, allowing God space to quiet your spirit and clarify your thoughts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ask what<\/strong>\u2019s true. Even if 90 percent feels off, don<\/strong>\u2019t miss the 10 percent that<\/strong>\u2019s right. <\/strong>Every piece of feedback may contain a kernel of truth worth hearing\u2014even when it\u2019s delivered poorly or laced with assumptions and misunderstandings. Your personal growth requires you to spot the small but valuable insights hidden beneath the critiques.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
and that he will never fail us.<\/p>\n\n\n\nWhy younger pastors need to listen<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n
Not-so-nice letters<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n
Receiving the letters<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n