Rabble Roused

When the Hebrews left Egypt to begin their difficult journey through the desert to the Promised Land, they brought “the rabble” with them. These were not true believers in this journey or in the God who called them to it. The rabble’s toleration for discomfort was low and their capacity for complaint was high, always an unfortunate combination.

All the pastors I know would love to get rid of the rabble in their church. The dopey thing is that the rabble keep threatening to leave if we don’t service their needs. “If you don’t get a better youth pastor in here, we’ll just go to another church.” Why do they think that’s threatening? “So go,” I want to say. But the rabble never leave.

There is a holy purpose for the rabble. Their complaining places the pastor in the awkward position of standing between the people and the God they cannot see. The grace of that awkwardness is that it forces the pastor to pray, looking for the One who is present but not apparent.

Through most of the wilderness journey, Moses was a model of patient leadership. When the people complained about their thirst, he found water. When they complained about the lack of food, he pointed to manna. When they complained that he was gone too long on Sinai and turned to the idol of a golden calf, Moses interceded and talked God out of consuming them.

Later the people complained about their “misfortunes.” This time God torched a few of them and would have burned up the whole camp if Moses hadn’t interceded again. Immediately afterward the rabble got everyone complaining about how sick and tired they were of manna. They wanted meat!

It was then that Moses finally snapped: “Why have you treated your servant so badly, that you lay the burden of this people on me? Am I their mother? Where am I supposed to find meat for all these people? I am not able to carry this people. If you care about me at all, just kill me and get it over with” (Num. 11:11-15).

It is the repetition of the complaining that tempts the leader to burnout.

Want to know my most vivid memory from the last 23 years of pastoral ministry? Déjà vu.

I’ve had the exact same conversations in three different churches: the youth group eating pizza in the church parlor, no one fills the church van with gas, the struggle to find Sunday school teachers, and the question about special offerings hurting the general budget. Even in pastoral counseling the same conversations just keep happening. After the fiftieth time hearing how mean someone’s parents were, I want to say, “Why are you stuck here? Why am I stuck here?”

When you’re in leadership it is tempting to think your job is to get the people to the Promised Land. But that’s actually God’s job. Your job is to bear their burdens while they’re in the wilderness. We prefer just the opposite. Let God love the people and we’ll just move them along.

But pastors are called to serve as wilderness guides, wandering through the ordinary with their people, loving them enough to point to the manna that keeps them spiritually alive even when it is unappreciated. We have to choose to keep embracing this high calling.

The most dangerous rabble are not the complaining people around us, but the rabble that live within the leader’s heart. This is why I have never understood the advice that says, “Just trust your heart.” If your heart is like mine, most days there’s a bad committee meeting going on in there. So you have to make choices about which inner voice you’re going to honor, or the rabble of anxiety will overwhelm you.

Here’s the scary part: God will honor your choices. As Moses eventually discovered, if you get fed up with wandering around and keep asking God to get these people to the Promised Land without you, you’ll get your wish. Moses wasn’t with them when they finally crossed the Jordan. And it didn’t make him as happy as he thought it would.

Editor at large Craig Barnes is pastor of Shadyside Presbyterian Church and professor of leadership and ministry at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.