I need an “old man”.
I need someone who has asked the same questions and doesn’t think I’m a heretic.
by Bob Roberts, Jr.
I want to know that some pastor out there made it. I don’t mean that he became a religious success story, but that he completed the race. I want to know that he didn’t have to lose his sanity or morality to do it. I want to know that ministry really is what we say it is. I want hope that I will really be more than what I do, and stay true to who I am.
I need an old man.
The need
Neil Young, in his song “Old Man,” sings, “Hey, Old Man, take a look at yourself: you’re a lot like me. I need someone to show me the whole way through.”
Sometimes I feel like a windmill—blowing in the wind so fast but never going anywhere. Sometimes I feel like a small, hyperactive child who never grew up; I just got older.
I need a pastor who will show me his scars so I’ll know I can survive being cut open. I need an old man who has asked the same questions I’ve asked and doesn’t think I’m a heretic because I ask them. I’m not sure I need a model, just a person who is willing to talk honestly.
In my attempt to understand busters and boomers—the ones I give myself to reach-I know little about “bombers,” those who were born during the Depression and World War II. I’ve discovered that boomers and busters aren’t going to be there for me; they’re too busy. But a bomber, though twice my age and not nearly as current, still flies and understands flying (though perhaps not with jet speed and current technology).
The person
Recently I found an old man for my life, and already I thank God for him.
First, my old man isn’t too big for someone like me. A pastor of a large, flagship church once told me to drop him a line and we’d get together. I wrote, and he replied with an autographed copy of his latest book and a note: “You can imagine how busy I am. But in God’s timing we shall meet.”
In contrast, once when I shared deep hurt with my old man, he wept with me. He then told about a hurt in his life.
My old man listens to me, not like an operator obligated to listen, but with eyes looking into my soul and hands holding his chin, like a man praying intently. I’ve learned I can talk ministry philosophy with him, because even if he disagrees with me, his goal is not to make me exactly like him.
Second, my old man has moved beyond technique and into touch. As young men, we thought that if we just had the right technique, all would be well. Then we got the technique, and it even worked, but it still didn’t make it all well inside of us. My old man has no charts, programs, breakthroughs. But he understands the power of passion. “If you think you’re big enough!” seems to be his reply. “Be ambitious for God!”
We’ve pushed physical limits by rapelling, rafting—I’ve even been part of “baptizing” him in a spirit of Christian love and force in the Watauga River.
Third, my old man teaches me by illustration of his life. I’ve never seen anyone be so open about his fears. One night I asked him, “I’ve heard you talk a lot about getting older. Why are you afraid of it?”
He admitted, “I don’t know.” I heard his voice crack as he said, “I guess I’m really afraid of being alone. Losing family members, friends, coming to the end.”
So honest. But this old man need not worry about being alone. Pouring his life into young leaders assures him of being surrounded by people for years to come.
Imagine if we started the ministry as old leaders and became younger the longer we ministered. Wow-wisdom and strength! That’s not going to happen, but there is wisdom out there. Wisdom comes only from those who live out the truth over the long haul. You see a young man’s power and strength in the speed of the windmill. You see an old man’s wisdom in a sail that harnesses the wind, points you into the waves, and sails you to a distant land.
That’s why no matter how long I’ve been in ministry, I will always need an old man.
Bob Roberts, Jr., is pastor of NorthWood, a Church for the Community, in Ft. Worth, Texas.
How to find a mentor
7 questions to select a wise guide.
by Fred Smith
A woman told me recently, “I’m in counseling. I mentor various people.”
“Do people came to you?” I asked.
“I go to them.”
Then I asked, “What would happen if you waited till they came to you?”
“I wouldn’t stay busy.”
This woman is a “fixer,” not a mentor.
It’s important to find the right mentor. Over the years I have identified seven qualities I look for:
1. Do they have wisdom from experience?
Scripture says young men are for strength, old men for wisdom. A mentor must understand the principles of life, which I think are the principles of Scripture. A mentor needs depth of experience—and to have synthesized those experiences into teachable lessons. A good mentor has lived long enough to see things take effect, and so understands cause and effect. Many of us have not lived long enough to see that what looks great starting out isn’t always great later on. Take, for example, welfare. It started as a humane, short-term program. Now we’ve lived long enough to see that in some ways welfare is harmful.
As an older person, I’m interested in “vector decisions.” At the time of decision there’s little difference between two options, but over time, their results diverge widely. It takes wisdom to see where that vector is going to go. We need to find mentors who, based on their experience, can see that.
2. Do they feel noncompetitive toward younger people?
I see some fathers who still compete with their sons. They’re not able to relax and let the boy grow up and go past them.
My son, Fred, is beyond me. I have more experience in certain areas, but he’s way out in front of me. I’m happy!
You need a mentor who is able to relax and say, “This person is a race horse, and I’m just the trainer now. He’s going to go to the winner’s circle. He’s the one who’s going to win the money. I’ll feel good just making a contribution to that.” Mentoring is vicarious accomplishment.
A good mentor must know when to say, “I’ve taken you as far as I can,” then turn you over to someone more skilled. That’s integrity.
Sometimes, people try to counsel in subjects in which they’re not expert. They’ll find a verse of Scripture or something they make fit the situation, then say, “Try this, and I’ll pray for you.” But integrity demands that a mentor say, “That’s something I really don’t know well enough to help you.”
3. Can they spot talent?
Part of the ability to mentor is the ability to judge talent. A real mentor is looking for champions or superior performance. In my first meeting with someone, I look for “an unscratchable itch” for excellence. If I see that, I know the person will persevere beyond the plateau of comfort.
Occasionally, I see a parent spend an awful lot of time trying to make a race horse out of a fine mule. They’re educating him and grooming him and putting him in races that he never wins. That’s damaging. A mule is valuable but not as a racehorse. Good mentors can assess your current skills and take a good guess at your potential.
They can also discern if you’re coming for the wrong reason. A young person said, “I’d like to have lunch with you once a month.” We talked for a while, and I asked certain questions. Then I said, “No, I won’t do that because all you want is my contacts.” That was all the person was interested in. A good mentor wants to contribute to accomplishment.
4. Is there a chemistry between us?
I want to be around a potential mentor to see our chemistry, because I never want a doctor who isn’t my friend. I want a mentor to be able to hear me, and I want to be able to hear him. This is personal chemistry.
For example, I was talking to a young man the other day, and he couldn’t hear me because he has a great prejudice against wealth: Anybody who has money is verboten. Even if we never discussed wealth, our chemistry would never match.
One way I check chemistry is to stop and say, “Please repeat to me what I just said.” Sometimes you hear the darnedest things. I’m sure every speaker has had the experience: people tell you they enjoyed when you said such-and-such, and you said no such thing. (Now when that happens, I thank the person and say, “Well, I’ll include that the next time I talk.”) But if a person isn’t listening well, there probably won’t be a profitable chemistry.
5. Will they take the responsibility seriously?
I don’t want to spend my time with anybody who won’t take the occasion seriously. I don’t mean without humor, but as something important. Does it have meaning to them? Does the relationship count? Can they feel hope?
Most of the time, solving a problem takes more time than we think. Is the person willing to put that time into it? To think about it between visits?
6. Are they willing and able to confront?
I need to be close enough to somebody to say, “If I read the situation right, you are going toward trouble.” That’s all I owe you. I don’t need to spy on you or to stay after you. But I owe you that sincere confrontation.
The person may say, “Well, you’re wrong.” If I am, I’ll be delighted to find out. But if I genuinely believe someone is headed toward trouble, I must confront. Some people might say, “He wouldn’t like me if I said that.” I am no friend if I will not risk the friendship for your good.
Confrontation is surgical. If you’re afraid of blood, you should not be in the operating room. And if you primarily want people to like you, you’re not good at confrontation.
On the other hand, you want a mentor who will pause before the confrontation, to consider: Am I fairly convinced I’m right? How much can I say to correct without immobilizing the person? How can I say it in love—”willing the ultimate good for the other”?
7. Do they ask good questions?
Maxey Jarman, former chairman of Genesco, used to say, “A board member’s chief function is the questions he or she asks.” Management is supposed to know the answer, but the director is supposed to know the question. So a mentor ought to be able to ask good questions.
I said to a woman the other night, “I wish you could see yourself like I see you. You’ve got potential in my eyes that I don’t think is in your eyes.” The natural thing for her to say is, “Well, what do you see?” If she doesn’t say that, then I don’t answer. But I open the gate for her to explore more. I might say, “Would seeing yourself this way appeal to you?” Asking the question gives her an opportunity to grow.
To a young executive, I might say, “You work in the corporation. How would you look at yourself if you owned the company? Would you feel better about yourself?” If he says, “Oh, man, I’d be scared to death,” that’s important to know. But I don’t start arguing with him. The job of a mentor is to open a window, the right window. And then point to the best path.
Fred Smith is a businessman in Dallas, Texas; a board member of Christianity Today International; and a contributing editor of Leadership.
What I want to be when I grow up
When I saw him, I knew.
by Chuck Swindoll
There we sat, a cluster of six. A stubby, orange candle burned at the center of our table, flickering eerie shadows across our faces. One spoke; five listened.
Every question was handled with such grace, such effortless ease. Each answer was drawn from deep wells of wisdom, shaped by tough decisions, and nurtured by time. And pain. Mistakes and mistreatment. Like forty years in the same church. And seasoned by travel. Like having ministered around the world. And honed by tests, risks, heartbreaks, and failures.
Had those years been spent in the military, he would have had a chest full of medals.
His age? Seventy-two. His face? Rugged as fifty miles of bad road. His eyes? Ah, those eyes. Piercing, as if they penetrated to the back of your cranium. He had seen it all, weathered it all-all the flak and delights of a flock. Outlasted all the fads and gimmicks of gullible and greedy generations, known the ecstasy of seeing lives revolutionized, the agony of lives ruined, and the monotony of lives unchanged. He had paid his dues—and had the scars to prove it.
There we sat for well over three hours, hearing his stories, pondering his principles, questioning his conclusions, and responding to his ideas. The evening was punctuated with periodic outbursts of laughter followed by protracted periods of quiet talk.
As I participated, I was suddenly 26 years old again. A young seminarian and pastoral intern, existing in a no-man’s land between a heart full of desire and head full of dreams. Long on theological theories but short on practical experience. I had answers to questions no one was asking, but a lack of understanding on the things that really mattered. In momentary flashbacks, I saw myself in the same room with this man thirty years earlier, drinking at the same well, soaking up the same spirit. Back then, however, I was merely impressed; this time I was deeply moved. Thirty years ago he had been a model; now he had become a mentor. Thoroughly human and absolutely authentic, he had emerged a well-worn vessel of honor fit for the Master’s use. And I found myself profoundly grateful that Ray Stedman’s shadow had crossed my life.
In a day of tarnished leaders, fallen heroes, busy parents, frantic coaches, arrogant authority figures, and eggheaded geniuses, we need mentors like never before—we need guides, not gods. Approachable, caring souls who help us negotiate our way through life’s labyrinth.
As we said goodbye to Ray that evening, I walked a little slower. I thought about the things he had taught me without directly instructing me, about the courage he had given me without deliberately exhorting me. I wondered how it had happened. I wondered why I had been so privileged.
A knot formed in my throat as I forced myself to realize that, at age 72, he didn’t have many more years left in the world. I found myself wanting to run back to his car and tell him again how much I loved and admired him.
But it was late, and after all, I was a 55-year-old man. A husband. A father. A grandfather. A pastor. To some, a leader.
But as I stood there alone in the cold night air, I suddenly realized what I wanted to be when I grew up.
Chuck Swindoll is president of Dallas Theological Seminary.
Excerpted by permission from The Finishing Touch by Chuck Swindoll 1994, Word, Inc., Dallas, Texas. All rights reserved.
1996 by Christianity Today/LEADERSHIP journal
Last Updated: September 17, 1996
