The Christian ministry is the worst of all trades, but the best of all professions.
-John Newton
A thousand stories start with the good news/bad news line. One reason for their popularity is that they match life, which seldom comes up all roses.
One of my favorite comic strips has Charlie Brown telling Lucy the universal axiom, “Life has its ups and downs.” Lucy screams, “I don’t want downs. I want ups, ups, and more ups.” Unfortunately, as I discovered in my pastorate and my ministry with Youth for Christ/USA and now as a college president, life in the ministry isn’t like that. It’s a mixed bag, pleasure mingled with pain.
Most of us have a love/hate relationship with ministry. This tension deserves to be faced honestly. Let’s focus first on the privileges of ministry.
Why We Love Ministry
I recently spoke at a PTA meeting, and afterward two different individuals came up to tell me they had met Christ in Youth for Christ meetings thirty years earlier when I was leading a club in their community. Here were two people I didn’t really know, but who had been influenced at least in part by me to make life’s most important decision. I had made a positive impact in their lives, but I didn’t even hear about it until thirty years later.
It was one of those pleasant surprises that confirms the value of ministry and reminds me that there’s truly no more worthwhile or life-changing vocation. People who meet Christ or learn to know him better under our care are profoundly and uniquely grateful.
Let’s face it, there is deep satisfaction in knowing you have affected this life and even eternity. What greater fulfillment is there?
There are other things to love about being in full-time ministry. If we’ve been called, we have a sense of being obedient to God’s will, working with him and doing what he told us to do. As someone aptly said, “If God calls you to preach the gospel, don’t stoop to be a king.”
We also enjoy the feeling that the issues we’re talking about and the work we’re doing are the most important matters of life. Ultimate questions, eternal destinies, the souls of men, women, and children are being dealt with every day. Accordingly, there’s no more profound way to make a difference in the world than to be in the ministry.
We’re involved with individuals and families from birth to death. We’re with them through their brightest days and their darkest nights. We dedicate or baptize their babies. We celebrate their birthdays and anniversaries. We unite them in marriage, we counsel them when their marriages run into trouble, and we cry with them when their relationships end in death or divorce. We bury the dead and assist the grieving. Pastors involved with their congregations see more of life’s experiences than virtually anyone else.
When you serve in one place for several years, you also develop a depth of friendships that few other people know. I pastored one church for fifteen years, and on my last Sunday there we had Communion. As I handed the plate to those twelve men lined up before the congregation and looked each of them in the eye, I realized there was some secret between me and every one of them. It may have involved a counseling situation, a sin confessed, a difficulty we overcame together, some crucial decision that either he or I had made with the other’s help, or a crisis event in one of our families.
But whatever the specific issue, the feeling had been almost like going through war together. The secret bound our lives inextricably together. This is not a play or a novel, I remember thinking. This is life. This is reality at its deepest level.
For the rest of my life, no matter when I might meet one of those men, we will always deal sensitively with each other. We developed a trust, and we will never betray one another because we owe each other so much. That’s what friendship is all about, and those relationships, which I’ll always treasure, were the result of ministry.
When you get involved with people at that level, you have the opportunity to see troubled marriages saved, a mom and dad coming to the Lord and the whole family then growing spiritually, and a young person who seemed so aimless suddenly doing something that lets you know he was taking in a lot more than anyone had realized.
Recently my wife, Janie, was cleaning out the attic and found some letters I had written to her in 1965 from Australia. In one, I describe to her a young man I’ve met in whom I see great promise for the gospel ministry. In the letter, I am asking for her prayers as I desire to be involved in his further education and growth.
Now, after more than twenty years, this man is among my closest friends. I introduced him to the American girl who would become his wife. My daughter was in his wedding, which I performed. I’ve seen him used by God in a global way. What satisfaction!
Another part of what I love about the ministry is the joy that comes in serving. The person who really serves out of self-giving love knows a secret that others don’t: The server receives far more than the served.
Although Jesus’ words are commonly quoted, “It is more blessed to give than to receive,” many people have never learned this secret. Jesus calls us in ministry to lead by serving. I think it’s significant that Jesus called us to be shepherds of his flock, not trail bosses on a cattle drive. Sheep can’t be driven like cattle; they have to be led after the model of Psalm 23. A pastor with an American macho cowboy mentality rather than a Middle Eastern shepherd’s mentality is going to have a lot of trouble leading God’s people. The joy comes in learning to follow Christ’s example and guiding gently.
Jesus spoke of this paradox when he said that if we lose our lives for his sake we will gain them. This is life on the backstroke. As we let go, we receive. The deepest of life’s rewards are ours as we learn and serve. The virtues so instinctively admired in the prayer of Saint Francis become the quiet possession of our souls, a kind of secret between the man and the Savior. Such joy can come only by donning the towel and accepting the basin of servant leadership. “He’s not heavy, he’s my brother” becomes, “It’s not sacrifice. It is complete, fulfilling joy.”
Still another sobering but joyful aspect of the ministry is when someone expresses appreciation by naming a child after you. You may have gone through a deep experience with a family, and then a few years later, after the family has moved away, you get a letter in the mail. “We hope you’ll approve,” it says, “of our decision to name our new baby after you, and here’s why we did it.” And every time it happens, you fall to your knees and pray, “Dear God, help me to be worthy of this trust.” In some ways it’s a heavy responsibility to bear, but it’s a delightful load, too.
This happened once after I prayed with a couple who were considering an abortion. When they chose not to abort, I was gratified. But when, months later, the baby received my name, I was stopped in my tracks. I realized that my “prayer concern” now had a body, a personality, and a name-mine!
The ministry is a great place for those who love a challenge. There’s no other work that will so test your resourcefulness, creativity, stamina, patience, strength, tact, spiritual maturity, and sense of humor. Ministry, if you want to be effective, demands everything you’ve got.
In medical practice today, there are approximately 360 different specialties recognized by the American Medical Association. But a pastor is a generalist in the greatest sense-you see it all, and it challenges every part of you.
To me, that’s part of the joy of the work.
Why We Hate Ministry
As rewarding as ministry can be, we must admit that the calling is also likely to cause us considerable hurt. There are a number of causes.
Often the overriding sensation ministers feel is loneliness. One pastor put it this way: “There are times when I feel alone in the church, with no apparent encouragement or support from the congregation. I’m the pastor and I’m supposed to keep everything going. The attitude seems to be, You feed me; it’s your job, and I do not have to help you. I’m supposed to give, give, give-until finally there is nothing left.”
Most of us know the feeling: You work your heart out and do the best you know how, and no one seems to notice or care.
The demands on our time can be another source of resentment. I remember a pointed line from back in the sixties in the Arlo Guthrie film Alice’s Restaurant. When Alice has given and given to help a whole group of struggling young people, in despair and exhaustion she says, “I’m the bitch with too many pups.” A little graphic, perhaps, but about as close as we can get to what pastors often feel but are unable to express.
If you’re like most pastors, you know this relationship overload-the difficulty of making time for your family, let alone for your own relaxation or self-improvement. People seem to think nothing of interrupting your mealtimes or family night at home, and emergencies, of course, respect no one’s schedule. If you start to dwell on the long hours you put in and how that compares to others’ workloads (a thought pattern that develops more easily the more tired you get), resentment can grow quickly.
Another source of potential resentment that I’ve had to deal with-the toughest area for me over the years-is being considered a “spiritual” person, which being translated means, “He knows theology, and he can offer a good public prayer, but he isn’t of much use on practical matters.”
Sometimes board members assume that because you’re a minister, you have no business sense. Many board members, of course, come from business backgrounds. And the church can certainly benefit from their talents and experience. The potential for resentment comes in, however, when they imply, “You handle the preaching; we’ll handle the money,” and you’re ignored or bypassed when church business is discussed.
This doesn’t happen to me so much anymore since I’m now a college president. But I used to sit in meetings where I was treated condescendingly, which made me feel as though I ought to go start a business so I could get some respect.
On the other hand, a given minister may have no interest or talent in finance and management, yet the pastorate often requires him to make decisions in those areas. This, too, can breed frustration and resentment.
Another major source of potential resentment lies in the fact that in ministry, to be effective you have to be vulnerable, and that opens you up to being seriously hurt. You can be misquoted. You can be misunderstood. You can be the target of rumors or direct attacks. You can be accused of something, and you could clear the air quickly, except that to do so you’d have to break a confidence, so you endure the criticism.
How about people who leave your church for no apparent reason, even after you’ve given a lot of time and effort to meeting their needs? Understandably, one pastor said that such an experience “leaves me with both a sense of personal betrayal and a sense of confusion about how to handle my anger and my frustration.” He went on to lament “the dishonesty of a few people who have left without a word to me after several years of continually looking to me for support.”
The natural reaction to such pain is to harden yourself against further harm, to develop a spiritual and emotional scab. You withdraw, trying to maintain a distance from other people and their problems. You stop being vulnerable. You become careful in what you say. You grow unwilling to take risks. You lose whatever spontaneity you had earlier.
What happens then, of course, is that you become much less effective in ministry. Practically speaking, you disqualify yourself from being a real helper to those in need. Obviously, that’s not good, either.
I’ve touched on just a few of the areas where resentments can develop in the ministry. You can probably identify with some of the items I’ve mentioned, and you could probably add another list from your own experience. Those frustrations are a fact of life in a fallen world. So then the question becomes, how do we deal with the resentment?
Overcoming the Resentment
I don’t claim to have all the answers, but let me offer you some perspectives that have worked for me. Perhaps you’ll find them helpful as well.
First, if the pain has come because you’ve been vulnerable and shared yourself, my “solution” is simple but certainly not easy. The only alternative to becoming cold and distant is to ask God continually to keep you warm to the needs of those you’re trying to help, even though you know you could be hurt badly again. It’s tough-almost a kind of crucifixion. But that’s part of what it means to be a pastor, a shepherd, and not just a preacher.
It’s part of what the apostles meant when they wrote of our need to share the sufferings of our Lord.
Every time someone comes to us for help, we face a crossroads. We have to make a conscious, intelligent choice not to let ourselves slip into indifference. We must once again put our lives and our reputations into the hands of our heavenly Father.
Regarding boards (or individuals) who assume we have no financial sense, I eventually realized that my resentment was primarily due to ego, that I felt I needed to prove I was as smart as they were. Over time, however, I came to look at it more as the body of Christ functioning in all its parts. If I controlled everything, I would be doing to them what I resented their doing to me. I would be denying them the opportunity to offer their talents and gifts to the Lord’s work.
Besides that, it’s just more efficient to delegate work that others can do. Peter Drucker encourages leaders to ask, “What is the role that only I can fill?” It frees you up to do things that really are your specialty, that you can’t properly ask someone else to do. If you, like most of us, struggle with too many demands on your time, learning to delegate work is essential; it can save your sanity, certainly your family, and possibly your life!
Another way to overcome resentment and deflect criticism is to not make decisions on your own. Consult with people. Involve your board in the decision-making process. You don’t have to be smarter than everybody else, and you don’t have to carry the load of making decisions alone. If you make decisions jointly, you won’t be able to take all the credit for the ones that prove to be wise. But you also won’t have to take all the blame for the ones that turn out poorly. And besides that, if it was a group decision, there will be much more of a sense of “We need to pull together to make progress.”
Finally, what about the feeling of being unappreciated? Two thoughts have helped me with that.
First, as I’m about to put my head on the pillow at night, I try to ask myself honestly, Jay, was your motivation today really to serve God, leaning on him, drawing from his strength, and seeking only his “Well done”? Or did you allow yourself to get caught up in wanting the approval of other people? It’s so easy to do the latter; I know from experience. People’s tangible expressions of appreciation are nice. They make it much easier to be enthusiastic and positive about our work. But when we spend our time trying to earn them, we forget the One whom we’ve dedicated our lives to serving.
Second, I try to accept human nature as Jesus did. When he healed the ten lepers and only one came back to thank him, I imagine he was disappointed, but I’m sure he wasn’t surprised. And he certainly didn’t let it make him bitter.
I had a lot of trouble with feeling unappreciated until I began to expect congregations to act like human beings. Christian people will lie, cheat, gossip, betray, desert, deny, and disagree. And if I forget that and let my expectations rise too high, I’ll be disappointed.
They are fallen creatures. Just like me.
On the other hand, I’ve got to be careful that I don’t take this attitude so far that I become a cynic expecting nothing of anyone and trusting no one We can all accomplish much more if we can be quick to forgive and tenderhearted, and if we can encourage people, calling them to be their best and give their best to God.
Another perspective that’s helped me deal with resentment is to believe deeply that it’s impossible to have a bad experience. No matter what happens, no matter what mistake I make or what’s done to me, I can learn from it. The most experienced and wisest people in the world are the ones who have made a lot of mistakes and faced a lot of adversity, but who have learned from each of those experiences.
But perhaps the most important attitude in handling resentments, I’ve discovered, is to remember that ultimately my life is not my own. I’ve been bought with a price.
If I start to think I’ve earned something-more freedom, a bigger salary, or greater respect-I’ll eventually become resentful. But I can only be resentful if I think someone has kept from me something I deserve. If, however, I see myself as a servant, a slave to God who deserves nothing, I have nothing to resent.
I’ll admit the idea of being a slave, even to God, is somewhat repulsive. We live in a democracy, after all, and we’re jealous of our rights. When we talk of servant leadership, we would rather think of it as a method for accomplishing more, the way we perceive Japanese management perhaps, rather than as a condition of the soul. But I don’t think that’s what Jesus had in mind. To be a servant is to give over all rights to your life to God. Then there’s nothing left for anybody else to take away.
I learned an important lesson in this area from taking care of my kids when they were little. My wife, Janie, would go to choir practice in the evening and leave me with them.
If my attitude was that the evening was still my own, then I’d try to watch television or read a book while I kept an eye on the kids. And the evening usually turned out to be a disaster.
But if I forgot about my rights to Monday night football or my book and said, “Tonight I belong to the kids; I’ll do what they want me to do,” I was happy.
A. W. Tozer pointed out that every Christian must learn to bear one of two pains, either the pain of double-mindedness or the pain of the crucified self. The pain of double-mindedness is like a toothache that lasts a lifetime. The pain is always there, filling you with resentment, anger, and envy. The pain of the crucified self, on the other hand, is a deep, terrible, surgical pain. But once it’s over, it’s over. It doesn’t make you cry out anymore. May God do that surgery in each of our lives.
I’m convinced that when we come to that place, most of our resentments toward ministry will disappear like fog in a morning sun.
As Martin Luther once said about ministry, “Our office . . . subjects us to great burdens and labors, dangers and temptations, with little reward or gratitude from the world. But Christ himself will be our reward if we labor faithfully.”
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