I move from the pulpit, and the huge congregation is hushed. Throughout the crowded sanctuary, the people are visibly moved by my sermon . . .
Then I wake up-the dream over-to find I’m still associate pastor of a typical congregation.
Actually, I have a great position; I have plenty of delegated responsibility and the support of the senior pastor. He regularly affirms my ministry. Most of the time I am very content.
But sometimes my position doesn’t seem enough. Deep down, I want to be known as an excellent preacher, an effective innovator, a leader doing great things for the kingdom. Sometimes I feel cramped, longing to be used more prominently.
Many pastors, I’ve found, have that itch to “move up.” Our ambitions vary in detail, but whether as trusted counselor or denominational power, famous evangelist or super preacher, we want to exert influence, to make our mark.
We may secretly want recognition, but we are afraid to talk about it. We fear appearing discontent or snobbish or, worst of all, proud. We who are professionally holy want to avoid the label ambitious.
Ambition is “an eager and sometimes inordinate desire for something; or the desire to distinguish oneself in some way.” It comes from the Roman practice of going around town (ambire) currying votes, a practice unchanged in two thousand years of civil and church politics. In that light, ambition hardly glistens.
We are rightfully leery of those who say the Lord shows his favor only through numerical growth, or who always feel led to bigger and better fields. How odd that so few are called to work with the poor and outcast. How easy to buy into the success standards of our society instead of working for its transformation.
But disdain for worldly success can dull awareness of the God-honoring possibilities in healthy desires. The struggle to grow, to stretch one’s abilities, can reside in ambition; so, too, the drive to make great things happen, to promote change. Best of all, the ambitious include those who strive for excellence, who refuse to settle for a job done merely “OK.”
John F. Kennedy said he wanted to surround himself with ambitious men, “those who possessed the talent to change the world, along with the drive to do it.”
As a youth pastor wanting to involve students with missions, I envisioned taking them on a short-term project to a poor country. If I could expose them to the startling conditions in other countries and the commitment of the missionaries there, I was convinced they would come back changed kids.
But my ambition played a role, too. I wanted to be associated with a successful ministry. My drive to succeed-as a leader but also with a worthwhile project-helped me persevere through the inevitable obstacles. I doubt if I could have convinced the Session or organized the logistics without being fueled by an ambitious mixture of commitment to the cause and personal drive.
Is there a legitimate space within humility for dreams of my future in ministry? Perhaps the drive to succeed is morally neutral. Perhaps ambition, like sexual desire or wealth, bears potential for either benefit or abuse. I see ambition’s benefit when I prepare extra hard to make a class work or when a counselee leaves my office obviously helped. My desire to measure up to ambitious standards does have an effect.
But like all good gifts, our desire for excellence can be warped by the Evil One. I find I must balance the legitimate need for recognition of gifts against the temptation to feed on accolades. God calls us to use our gifts to the greatest extent, but how do I separate God’s call from the rationalizations of unchecked ambition? I am learning.
I’m trying to find checks and balances to the dark side of my ambition. I see places where my ambition is out of line-comparing myself to struggling colleagues, feeling smug after an effective sermon and extrapolating myself into a prestigious pulpit.
I may somehow hide the worst aspects of my ambition from others, but I still have to live with myself. To keep ambition in line, I need to evaluate myself regularly and ruthlessly.
Here are some danger zones I have learned to look for in my ambition checks:
Inadequate family time. Do my loved ones pay the price for my advancement through meager time together, broken dates, or my lack of energy during the time I do spend with them? The people God has put closest to me often suffer first when my ambition gets out of control.
Flawed devotional life. Each of us is spiritually unique; only we know if we are continuing the patterns of devotion that keep us refreshed, equipped, and accountable to God. My temptation, shared by many, is to use Bible study as a tool for me to speak to “them” rather than first using it to deal with me. Too often spiritual disciplines degenerate into a series of technical sessions to prepare me for the “real business” of ministry. When prayers turn into shopping lists, it’s past time to examine my hidden agenda. Am I simply using the practices of spirituality to further my own ambitious interests?
Personality-oriented programming. The ambitious are often identified by churches that rise to their charisma but collapse when they move their personality elsewhere. Am I building my ministry on charm or sheer force of personality?
People with winsome personalities are tempted to use personality ploys to manipulate others. An older pastor once pulled me aside and told me my coup in a committee meeting smelled of manipulation. I had wooed people with charm rather than persuaded them with the merits of my position. Though I felt like crawling out under his office door, I was comforted when he later said he had seen through my trick because he fights against using the same methods every day of his life.
Building monuments instead of people. I recognize the need for enduring structures and programs. Often, however, the ambitious build things and use people, rather than the other way around. The enduring treasure of the kingdom of God is lives touched by Christ. Too often, I am tempted to point to buildings, attendance patterns, impressive programming. Perhaps one measure of pastors ought to be what their flocks look like five years after they’ve left.
The professional milquetoast. I stand in constant danger of losing my prophetic edge. If I hope to please everyone and be well thought of, I must pay the subtle cost of turning from the demands of discipleship. Attention to the needs of the poor and the responsibility of the rich to do justice can harm my career! Am I so held by ambition that I refuse to say or do the things God desires, even if unpopular? Am I being seduced into silence rather than offering God’s alternatives?
Pulpit envy. The negative side of ambition shows most clearly as I gaze at the success of others. I have worried whether I was climbing the ladder quickly enough, especially when I compared myself to others. One politico told me I had to make up for time “lost” in youth ministry. Can I rejoice in the successes of my peers without always wondering if they are getting ahead of me?
The insufferable servant. Am I satisfied with a subordinate, less-noticeable role? On the whole, am I productively content where God has placed me? Perhaps not in this particular setting but at this level of ministry? Much of my ambition is rooted in my fear of being perceived a failure, an also-ran. Could I stay where I am indefinitely and, looking back, feel the Lord had used me successfully? Or does my ego need larger pastures in which to graze?
If you winced more than twice in this checklist, you probably have ambition. But no need to see it as a disease to heal. Instead, think of your drives as wild horses, useful when tamed. The question is: How can we bridle our ambitions for godly service?
I enjoy watching leaders who model Christ’s attitude even in powerful positions. They set out to change the world and the people around them because God has given them vision. Rather than personal aggrandizement or fame, their vision is bigger than themselves. Those successfully dealing with their ambition display the confident humility, not the arrogance, of power.
Hung on the door of an Old Testament professor’s office is a wise suggestion: “Everyone ought to have two rocks in his pocket. One should have written on it, ‘You are the glory of God, for whom the world was created.’ The other should say, ‘You are a child of sin, for whom the Son of God had to die.’ The rocks should be brought out as the appropriate need arises.” Christlike leaders develop the quiet confidence born of both sin and grace.
Likewise, godly leaders become other-centered. One gets Vernon Grounds to speak of himself only with difficulty. One student deliberately tried to get Grounds to talk about himself, but the former president of Denver Seminary always returned the conversation to what God was doing in the life of the student.
My attitude improves greatly as I learn from others who model the joy of being a servant to their superiors. As God tempers my drive with a servant’s attitude, my subordinate position becomes much less binding. When issues like preaching opportunities and job descriptions threaten to stir up dissension, I can express myself freely while affirming that God has entrusted one of his servants to lead me.
As I gain assurance that I am becoming the kind of person God wants-that God’s aspirations for me are being met-I can let go of the compulsion to control, to excel above others. And along the way, I find the servant’s role is an excellent vantage point for learning and growing. Yes, we need to be aware of all our talents and desires, but we can also determine to seek God’s ambitions for us over our personal reputation.
-John Crosby
First Presbyterian Church
Glen Ellyn, Illinois
Copyright © 1986 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
