Feeling Good About the Non-Urgent

There is a balance, a happy medium between wearing out and rusting out. Embracing the work ethic need not mean we never do anything but work.
—Steven L. McKinley

It was a Friday night, 6:15 p.m. I sat in my car waiting for the green arrow so I could turn left into the church parking lot.

A stream of cars heading north paraded past me, away from the city. Many were pulling boats, a clear sign they were headed for a weekend at “the lake.” The golf clubs in the backseats of others suggested they were heading for the Friday night league at a nearby golf course. Still other cars were driven by commuters whose faces showed relief. The busy work-week was over. The weekend was here.

Or so I fantasized.

I was heading for a wedding rehearsal, then a rehearsal dinner. I knew I wouldn’t see home before 10:00 p.m. Most of my Saturday would be tied up with the wedding and reception. Sunday morning there would be the usual three worship services, then worship at two local nursing homes in the afternoon, and an orientation session for new church members that evening.

As I waited for the light to turn, watching the cars passing me, I felt envious, depressed, maybe even bitter. Everyone else had the weekend free (at least, that’s how I imagined it); I had a full weekend of work ahead. I do not hate my work—far from it. The folks getting married were perfectly pleasant; the reception would be at one of our favorite places; Sunday morning worship is a joy; there is satisfaction in worship at the nursing homes; it is always exciting to welcome new members. But it was still work, and I was more in the mood for kicking back. I had already put in a solid week of work, without a day off. And when the next Monday morning rolled around, I would be at my desk.

Why the urgent tyrannizes

What is it that keeps us pastors so earnestly plugging along? Why do we live urgently, ignoring our own bodies, spirits, families, and relationships—all for the sake of our work (or so we say)? After I reflected on my own drivenness, I came up with several reasons.

1. What will “they” think? I assume they would think less of me if they found out I wasn’t at my desk. Avoiding that feeling is difficult. I feel uncomfortable when I bump into a member of my congregation at the golf course at two o’clock on a weekday afternoon—even if I had worked twelve hours the day before, spent 8:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. earlier that day on church business, and planned to be back at church for an evening meeting.

But would they really think less of me? Some might. Some might not. After all, “they” are something I sometimes create in my own mind. When I ask myself, What would they think? what I am often asking is, What would I think? I take my expectations of myself and project them onto the people I serve.

Over the years, when I’ve dared to raise this with members of my congregations, I’ve found invariably they’re not nearly as demanding of me as I am of myself. They really don’t care if I take time off. In fact, they expect it. They might not stand over me weekly, insisting I take one day of rest each week, but they do expect me to be responsible enough to do that on my own.

And if they did get irritated with me for taking an afternoon on the golf course, so what? Every congregation has a few people who will never be satisfied with the pastor. Saint Paul has a few not-so-nice words for those trying to be “people pleasers,” rather than “God pleasers.”

2. The work ethic. Our teenage daughter, Meg, is mentally handicapped. One afternoon I wanted her to help me prepare a congregational mailing, the kind of work she can do well. When I raised the topic with her at lunch, however, Meg said she didn’t want to work that afternoon.

Then I did a terrible thing about which I still feel guilty. I asked her to bring me her Bible. When she did, we looked up 2 Thessalonians 3:10: “While we were with you, we used to tell you, ‘Whoever refuses to work is not allowed to eat'”(tev).

Meg takes her Bible seriously; she also takes eating seriously. No more argument. She worked that afternoon. And ever since, when she or some other family member tries to avoid work, she occasionally refers to that verse. This makes Meg a typical American Christian. We take that verse so seriously that it becomes in our minds an admonition to work all the time.

I subjected Meg to what is sometimes my underlying philosophy of work: I’d rather wear out than rust out. I’ve come to see this motto for what it is: self-righteous. Why? Either way, I’m out! It’s like saying, “I’d rather drive my car 100 MPH than 10 MPH.” Neither one is a particularly good choice—and they are not the only choices. It is possible to drive my car 50 MPH. A car at 50 MPH will both get farther than the car at 10 MPH and outlast the 100-MPH car.

There is a balance, a happy medium between wearing out and rusting out. Embracing the work ethic need not mean we never do anything but work.

3. The myth of indispensability. You’ve probably heard the story of the small-town pastor who regularly walked away from his work to watch the trains that passed through his town. When asked why the trains fascinated him so, he answered, “I love to see something that moves without my pushing it!”

Often it seems as though things happen in the church only when we prod and provoke and push them along—and maybe wind up doing the work ourselves. Always there are church people who need us to help them make their way across life’s battlefields. Convincing ourselves we are indispensable is not difficult.

We are not. The time will come when I’ll no longer serve my current congregation. It will survive my departure. The life of the church is carried along by the power of the Holy Spirit, not the skills and personality of any one pastor.

Saw sharpening

Once we have broken the shackles of “their” expectations, the relentless work ethic, and the myth of indispensability, we’re ready not only to grant ourselves time off but to start feeling good about doing the non-urgent: prayer, reading, putting up our feet and dreaming, recreation, rest.

Indeed, because doing important-but-not-urgent things can make us better pastors and better persons, we can feel good about indulging in the non-urgent.

For several years, I’ve given myself permission to spend time on the non-urgent. Recently I read a book that helped crystallize and clarify for me its importance: Stephen R. Covey’s bestseller, The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. Many of the ideas in the balance of this chapter are derived from Covey’s book.

Covey tells this story:

Suppose you were to come upon someone in the woods working feverishly to saw down a tree.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Can’t you see?” comes the impatient reply. “I’m sawing down this tree.”

“You look exhausted!” you exclaim. “How long have you been at it?”

“Over five hours,” he returns, “and I’m beat! This is hard work.”

“Well, why don’t you take a break for a few minutes and sharpen that saw?” you inquire. “I’m sure it would go a lot faster.”

“I don’t have time to sharpen the saw,” the man says emphatically. “I’m too busy sawing!”

This man’s foolishness is apparent. But when the man with the saw is me, when I’m hip deep in work, claiming I’m too busy to sharpen the saw, it isn’t so apparent to me.

Covey proposes that saw sharpening has four dimensions: mental, spiritual, physical, and social/emotional. Reading, prayer, exercise, being with friends, rest—these are ways of sharpening the saw. They are as essential as the work we do. They are, as a matter of fact, what makes it possible for us to do what we do. (I can’t help remembering the famous quote of Martin Luther: “I’m so busy today that I don’t have time not to pray.”)

Taking time for saw sharpening is how we maintain what Covey refers to as the P/PC balance. P stands for production. As pastors, we are responsible for producing certain things: sermons, lessons, programs, the newsletter, spiritual direction, pastoral counseling, worship leadership.

PC, on the other hand, stands for production capability, the ability to produce those things. In the story, the man in the woods is so geared to his production—cutting down the tree rather than taking the time to sharpen his saw—he is neglecting his production capability.

I can certainly identify with that. There have been times in my ministry (and probably will be again) when I have been so caught up in my production that I have ignored my production capability. You know the scenario: one or two sermons a week, two or three adult classes, confirmation classes, four meetings; a funeral, a wedding, a cancer surgery, a fragile newborn; a weekend retreat, a newsletter to get out, a worship service to plan, that “must-go-to” denominational meeting, a few counseling appointments; start the day early, end it late, too busy for a day off—everybody has a week like that now and then.

But sometimes a week like that is followed by another like that, and another, and another. I find myself snapping at my family, flinching when the telephone rings, laboring to produce a sermon that does not have my heart in it, wondering if I really have anything to offer the people I meet. When that happens, I’ve ignored my production capability. As a result, I am working harder and harder, producing less and less.

P/PC restructure

Covey proposes looking at the organization of our time via a “Time Management Matrix.” This matrix is divided into four quadrants on the basis of urgency and importance.

Something that is urgent requires our immediate attention. If I’m in the office by myself, for example, and the telephone rings, it is urgent. Something that is important, on the other hand, might not require my immediate attention, but it does contribute substantially to my priorities.

In quadrant I, Covey places that which is both urgent and important. If the church custodian informs me that the sanctuary is on fire, that is both urgent and important! If the hospital calls to tell me that a child from the congregation was just struck by a car and is in critical condition—that is both urgent and important.

In quadrant II, Covey places that which is not urgent but is important. The care of my own spiritual life, for example, may not be urgent, but it is important. Sitting down with the rest of the church staff to plan a special series of Lenten services may not be urgent (as long as I do it, say, before February 1), but it is important. Much of the professional reading we do is not urgent, but it is important.

In quadrant III, Covey places that which is urgent but not important. If I’m alone in the office and the telephone rings, it is urgent. But if the call is from a firm trying to interest me in doing a new church pictorial directory and my church just finished doing a church directory, it is not important. Often telephone calls, visitors, mail, and other requests make themselves sound urgent without being important.

It was Good Friday at 11:00 a.m. We were winding down from the celebration of Holy Communion on Maundy Thursday, taking care of the last-minute details for the Good Friday service, and making certain everything was ready for Easter Sunday. I was polishing the Easter sermon and anticipating home services of Holy Communion with several of our shut-ins that day. All of a sudden, my office doorway darkened, and Randy emerged.

“Pastor,” he said, “I need to talk to you right now.”

“Fine, Randy, come on in. What’s up?”

“We’ll, I’ve been thinking about the congregational golf tournament we have every August. I think we should have trophies this year, and my wife and I would be willing to donate them. But I’d like to know what you think of the idea and what we should put on the trophies. I have the day off today, and I’d like to get everything taken care of.”

Randy’s appearance in my office was urgent. He wanted attention right away. But ordering trophies for an August golf tournament is definitely not an important part of my April priorities—definitely a quadrant moment! But I must tell the truth. I did, in fact, plan the trophies that day. I’m not proud of it, but I did it.

Even when that urgency does not correspond to importance, it is hard for us not to respond to urgency. Since urgency has a way of getting our adrenaline pumping, many of us thrive on emergencies and feed on urgency. But feeding on urgency can make us neglect the more significant nutrition of importance.

In quadrant IV, Covey places that which is neither urgent nor important. We call it trivia. The trivial can become alluring, an escape from the day’s pressures. Few of us avoid quadrant IV totally. I confess to having a quadrant-IV machine in the family room of our house. It is called a television set. Of course, there are times when the television set brings me something urgent (a tornado warning) and/or important (a debate between presidential candidates). But most television programming is neither urgent nor important. It might be entertaining, and there is nothing wrong with entertainment as such, but it is not important.

A few years ago, I had lunch with a pastor named Earl. Those of us who were his neighbors heard rumors that things were not going well for Earl in his congregation, that his church members were unhappy with him. During lunch, I began to sense the reason. Earl’s conversation was packed with reports on the guests Phil Donahue had on his program last week and the incredible plots of some of the daytime soap operas. It became clear that Earl was spending an inordinate amount of time in front of his TV set!

We all visit quadrant IV from time to time. But when we start to live there, we’ve got problems.

Quadrant II living

In keeping with Covey’s advice, I’ve made it my goal to spend as much time in quadrant I—the urgent and important—as I have to, and as much time in quadrant II—the non-urgent but important—as I can.

I try to be discerning about quadrant III—the urgent but not important; mistaking urgency for importance can be tempting. I do visit quadrant IV—neither the urgent nor important (as when one of my favorite teams is playing a crucial game)—but I refuse to live there.

Spending time in quadrant II—the important but not necessarily urgent—can make me a better preacher. I’ve always admired those preachers who have a keen insight into a complex portion of Scripture, a good quote, an illumining story. But powerful sermons don’t happen by accident.

I’ve been playing golf since I was a teenager. I love the game, but I’ve never gotten very good at it. I admire those golf professionals who play the game close to par. Each year the LPGA—Ladies Professional Golf Association—plays a tournament in our area. One summer I went to one of their practice rounds.

When I arrived early in the morning, some of our nation’s finest women golfers were on the practice tee. I watched a while then walked over to the practice green to watch others putt. Then I headed onto the course and followed a group around the first nine holes. When I returned to the clubhouse, I checked the practice tee again, and some of the same women were still there—three hours later.

Then I walked the second nine holes. After those nine holes, I found that many of the women who had been on the practice tee earlier in the day were now working on their putting, and vice versa. They weren’t playing that day, but they were practicing—for hours!

Practicing was not an urgent task for them that day, but it was an important task. This experience made clear to me why they are great golfers and I am a duffer: practice. They work at it, constantly. I just step up to the first tee and assume that I should be able to play as well as they do.

Much of the difference between the great preachers and average preachers may be the time taken for study, reflection, prayer, and reading. This is not time spent grinding out the sermon for next Sunday, but rather it is time spent sharpening the saw, a quadrant-II activity. When the time comes for actual sermon preparation, they are sharp.

Sharpening the saw—spending time in quadrant II—includes the kind of mental and spiritual sharpening described above. It also includes the social/emotional and the physical. Recent ministry studies have highlighted the tendency of some pastors to be “Lone Ranger” types, seeking to carry out their work in isolation from partners and colleagues. That often leads the Lone Ranger to get saddle sore, to run down and burn out.

When I spend time with those whose professional adventures are similar to mine, we are each sharpened. Once a month I attend a lunch with pastors whose congregations are like my own. Many of them are facing the same issues I’m facing. Some months my urgent pressures make me wonder if I can afford taking the time to attend this meeting. But I do attend most months. I find that when I do, I am encouraged, even if it’s only because I’ve shared my frustrations with others who understand them perfectly well.

Likewise, I am more effective when I care for myself physically. Some months ago, my energy on the wane, I could tell I was being less effective than I wanted. My wife suggested that perhaps arriving at the church office before seven every morning was not essential. I took her advice. I began sleeping one hour later each day and discovered I was getting more done than I had before.

When I shove a daily walk or ride on the exercise bicycle off the schedule, I lose my sharpness. When I never step away from work to play golf or go bowling or see a movie or go to a concert, I get “flat.”

The call that never came

When a few years ago I decided to wean myself from the tyranny of the supposedly urgent to practice what I’ve just described, I braced myself for the fallout. I expected that at least some of my church members would be unhappy with me, that I’d hear complaints about what was not getting done. I wondered how long it would take to get the first phone call of complaint.

I’m still waiting. That phone call has never come. My annual performance evaluation that year from the church council, in fact, was the best I’d ever received. Apparently my people affirmed Covey’s principle. Sharpening the saw and spending time in quadrant II can make you a more effective pastor.