By the time I was 35, I knew God had called me, gifted me, and used me in some significant ways. But I lived with a secret: My life was too safe. In my heart, I knew I had never been willing to lay it all on the line for Jesus.
I'd successfully managed many things, but I'd never been willing to focus on one thing, one dream—"this one thing I do," as Paul defined his ministry, risking personal failure to accomplish something only God could accomplish.
While at a retreat center in Wisconsin seven years ago, I wrestled with this tension. I went outside and walked in the snow. I felt like God had put a burning ember in my stomach. He seemed to be saying, "Would you dare to dream big dreams for me?" I knew the answer to that question carried a price tag.
Instantly I responded, "No!" I had a nice salary, a big office, and all the perks that come with being a denominational executive. I was not exactly happy in my current role, but I assumed that eventually God would let me go back to a local church where I'd be happier and more fulfilled.
God's question was more than I bargained for.
He was asking me to take a huge risk. Was I willing to put aside my salary and security—to walk into the unknown?
In the hours that followed my snowy encounter, God clarified the issue. He was calling me to work with people who had given up on the traditional church but who hadn't given up on God. The more I thought about it, the more I realized this was unmistakably God's calling for me.
I also found a new vision of the pastorate—the "Pastorpreneur"—an enterprising innovator who is willing to take great risks in church ministry with the hope of great gain for Christ and his kingdom. Like a good entrepreneur, this leader isn't wild-eyed and foolish. He assesses opportunities carefully, but, led by God, he is willing to attempt great things for God.
A Pastorpreneur's path may be checkered with successes and defeats, but in the great adventure, this pastor touches many more people than if he had chosen to play it safe.
As I launched out, often it looked as if I would fail. Even so, after my Wisconsin wilderness call, I was willing to try, even if it meant defeat.
Afraid, and for good reason
Within a few months, my wife got excited about this dream. My brother and his wife and two other couples were also very supportive. I prepared to resign from my denominational post, even though we had little in savings and no funding committed for our church plant. God began confirming his call.
I was given five months in my position to continue ministry and simultaneously to conduct fundraising for the church plant. Some people on our Christmas card list committed $50,000, and two organizations gave another $200,000. Within a year we moved to Carson Valley, Nevada, to start the church.
Inwardly, I feared we would fail. I was haunted by images of a handful of people in a boring service five years after we started the church. But God reminded me that his calling is not about achievement; it's about faithfulness. My job is to respond to God. His job is to produce fruit in his way, in his timing, and for his glory.
We launched the church in an area where fewer than 100,000 people live within 30 miles of us, and only 5 percent attend church regularly. Today, five years later, we've experienced God's generosity as more than 1,500 people attend Carson Valley Christian Center each weekend.
The fruitfulness, however, was not the main thing. Responding to God's clear but risky calling is the essential foundation.
Better than Yukon gold
The source of this calling is not the needs of people around us, and it is definitely not the desire to play an important role or to win the applause of others. God's call is a summons to respond to his greatness and grace, to devote ourselves completely to him and to his purposes.
"But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus" (Phil. 3:13-14).
Some people in Christian leadership feel deep emptiness and simply go through the motions of ministry. They are bored, without drive, without dreams, without hope. And others hope to find meaning by trying a little of this and a little of that to see if anything stimulates them.
Genuine calling is a powerful antidote to the emptiness of boredom or discouragement, to the meaninglessness of superficial, scattered activities, and to the drive to prove ourselves. Calling is not about the size of a church or the scope of a ministry—it's about following the heart of God. This is the crucial point that many miss.
In his book Wild at Heart, John Eldredge says that God created us for adventure. In fact, we find true fulfillment only when we are willing to take risks to see great things happen. "Small dreams," one man said, "do not enflame the hearts of men."
A vision begins with the conviction that what currently exists isn't enough. We long for more. We yearn for something far better.
The process of forming a clear vision begins with hearing from God. God's call in our lives is shaped by three crucial elements: (1) our grasp of the heart of God, which determines our motivation, (2) our grip on the needs of people around us, which shapes the direction of our service, and (3) the gifts God has given us, which determine the effectiveness of our service.
Missionary Jim Elliot was a young lion who compared his commitment to Christ and the Great Commission to miners who went to the frozen Yukon a century ago. Both expected great risks and hardships, although the difficulties of the journey paled in comparison to the promise of rich rewards. The miners had been after tangible but temporal gold, while Elliot sought "spiritual gold" that will never pass away.
As Elliot's wife Elisabeth reports, Jim often journaled during his years of preparation for the mission field. Steeling himself to face risks in the jungles of Ecuador (dangers that would claim his life), Jim cited in his journal a poem by Robert W. Service, "The Law of the Yukon":
Send not your foolish and feeble; send me your strong and your sane,
Strong for the red-rage of battle, sane for I harry them sore.
Send me men girt for the combat, men who are grit to the core… .
And I wait for the men who will win me—and I will not be won in a day,
And I will not be won by weaklings, subtle and suave and mild,
But by men with the hearts of Vikings and the simple faith of a child,
Desperate, strong, and resistless, unthrottled by fear or defeat,
Them will I gild with my treasure, them will I glut with my meat.
It is easy for us to be comfortable and reasonably successful doing what we've always done before. Many church leaders are satisfied with small changes, tweaking systems, and a little growth.
Some of us, however, know there's more. As Pastorpreneurs, we're convinced that we're to go in a bold new direction. God's promise to us is even more compelling than the promise of Yukon gold.
It is the promise of being used uniquely by the God of the universe in his holy cause to rescue men and women from darkness so that they can be transferred into his kingdom of light.
That's a cause worth the risk.
John Jackson is pastor of Carson Valley Christian Center in Carson Valley, Nevada.
