Confidence Amid Criticism

How we respond to criticism reveals a lot about our calling and our composure.
—Marshall Shelley

I‘ve always enjoyed the blend of lofty ideals and gritty realism of Jonathan Edwards, who once wrote:

“Resolved: that all men should live for the glory of God. Resolved second: that whether others do or not, I will.”

That resolve is rarely put to a greater test than when we are on the receiving end of pointed criticism.

Sometimes the criticism is subtle: “I think you’d benefit from listening to this tape of one of my favorite radio preachers. He really gives you the meat of the Word.”

Other times the criticism is sharp: “In your sermons, I don’t appreciate the way you use (pick one) humor I Scripture I contemporary analogies I personal illustrations.”

Still other times, it’s scathing: “Ever since you’ve come here, you’ve been prostituting the gospel.”

How we respond to such attacks reveals a lot about our calling and our composure.

John Cionca has, he admits, received both compliments and criticisms during his years of ministry. He served as minister of Christian education at Trinity Baptist Church in Mesa, Arizona, and later as senior pastor of South-wood Baptist Church in Woodbury, New Jersey. He is currently dean of students at Bethel Seminary in Arden Hills, Minnesota, and he frequently serves various churches as interim pastor.

It was shortly after making the switch from the pastorate to the academic world that he reflected on the “pastoral paranoia” he experienced with critics.

As someone once pointed out, the qualifications of a pastor are these: the mind of a scholar, the heart of a child, and the hide of a rhinoceros.

My ministry in Woodbury, New Jersey, began on a beautiful autumn day in 1979. With a successful eight-year ministry behind me and a strong conviction that the Lord was leading me, I optimistically began this new pastorate.

It didn’t take long to immerse myself in the weekly details of study, administration, visitation, and counseling. I particularly enjoyed guiding the congregation in worship and the study of Scripture.

I had been preaching regularly for several years prior to this new position, but rarely, if ever, had I given much thought to how I was doing. My preaching task was simply to present the Word of God to the people of God. Oh, there were times for evaluation, but never had I become deeply introspective.

I began preaching in my new church with that same lack of self-consciousness.

Toward the end of my first year, however, I began reflecting more on myself as the communicator than on the message being communicated. The freedom of concentration on the Word was slipping. Increasingly my thoughts were What are these people thinking about me? rather than What are they thinking about the biblical text? I was becoming paranoid in my preaching.

The problem began with a number of “little foxes” that started to create self-doubt. My custom was to provide study outlines to accompany each text, and I began hearing some indirect comments like “Look at all the paperwork we have around here” and “It seems as if we’re back in school again.” The statements were not frequent, but they popped up enough to make me question the value of the outlines.

Another challenge to my preaching style, and more deeply, to me personally, was a comment by two individuals regarding my humor. One man told me that he’d heard a powerful sermon the previous day, and he added, the speaker had not shared one humorous incident in the entire message.

Now, I’m a smart enough boy to figure out this was not just a nice sermon report. Bob was telling me what he expected from the pulpit. Were there others who felt that way? Again, doubts were raised.

Then another fox began troubling my mental garden. Occasionally for illustrative purposes, I would mention an individual in the congregation. For example, if I were describing Palestine, I might say that the Sea of Galilee was located by Bill, and further down the Jordan River the Dead Sea would be located near Ed.

After one service, one man. Jerry, mentioned to me that although he was unlearned, he knew you should not mention a person’s name in a speech. He said that names made him focus on the person named. In fact, on that particular Sunday, he spent the whole service reflecting on the lifestyle of the person I’d named in the service. He said that aspect of my preaching bothered him.

I appreciated Jerry taking the time to share his concern. It sounded valid. Was I, in fact, distracting people from the Bible rather than illustrating it?

By the sixteenth month of my new ministry, I was in the midst of what might be called preaching paranoia: Should I use sermon outlines? Should I tell that humorous story, or should I scrap it? How personal should I make my descriptions and illustrations?

Every time I used a study outline, I found myself looking at Ted. Every time I told a joke, I had to resist looking to the left side of the congregation to see if Bob was giving me a sanctified scowl. Whenever I mentioned a name, I was wondering if Jerry was moving into his fantasy world. I wanted to be a good preacher, especially to avoid anything that might hurt the communication process.

The situation came to a head when one man took me aside.

“Pastor,” said Don, “sometimes I wonder how sincere you are when you preach. A man of God ought to go into the pulpit with fear and trembling, but last Sunday just before you were to preach, I saw you smiling at somebody in the congregation.”

I remembered the incident immediately. During the hymn before the sermon, I looked up from the hymnal and caught a smile from my wife. I smiled back and kept singing that hymn of praise.

To assure Don of my sincerity, I explained my weekly preparation process. Throughout the week I studied, completing my sermon by Thursday. The message would be restudied on Friday. On Saturday evening I would go to the church and preach the sermon in the empty sanctuary. Saturday night after returning home, I would again review my outline. At home early Sunday morning, I would again read the text and go over my remarks. During Sunday school, I would spend the last half hour in prayer and study for the message. Just before the service, our staff would meet in the prayer room to pray together that God would be honored through the worship and preached Word. If that wasn’t sincerity, I’m not sure what was.

As we talked, an interesting thing happened: rather than creating further introspection, the very nature of Don’s comment broke the cycle of pastoral paranoia. I knew my motives, and I knew my preparation. If the smile offended him, then I was sorry. I could suck on dill pickles before I ascended the chancel, but I doubt if that would please everybody. It was the ridiculousness of his comment that freed me to realize I can’t please everyone. Many people loved the study outlines, many responded to appropriate humor, and many were drawn to involvement through personal illustrations.

That turnaround in the sixteenth month of my ministry has remained decisive. As I reflect, and as other pastors have shared with me similar experiences, several conclusions emerge that can help us cope when we are criticized.

Live for Christ, Not Ministry

For me the ministry was my life. I loved the church, not because I felt it was a perfect institution, but because I knew it to be God’s vehicle for spiritual maturity. My time and energy, then, were given to the church.

I didn’t punch out at night; often I brought work home with me. The church was on my mind even as I slept. The pains of people and the details of the program did not stop at 5 p.m. on Friday.

The loop never closed. As soon as one sermon was given, a new one was already on the drawing board with, at most, a six-day deadline. There were always people who needed to be visited and counseled. There were additional programs to be started and staff to be trained.

And weekly, an “emergency” of one sort or another would demand my complete attention. The sound system failed one week; a custodial vacancy had to be filled another; the baptismal tank, which was to be used Sunday, had a rare culture growing in it.

When was enough enough?

Yet the busier I became with church ministry (most of which was good), the less consistent I was in spiritual disciplines. The ministry was my life, but something wasn’t right. The joy of the Lord, the joy of true spiritual service, was disappearing.

One morning while reading in Philippians, the importance of a familiar verse in chapter 3 again challenged my priorities: Paul’s desire was to know Christ. The thought occurred to me, For what shall it profit a minister if he oversees home Bible studies, club programs, church services, youth ministries, ten committees, and preaches—if he loses his own soul, or at least his affection for and close walk with his Savior?

The loop will never be closed—that’s just the nature of ministry. I decided, though, that I would have to manage better the ministry demands and opportunities, and not let them consume me. Christ, not ministry, must be my life.

Maintain a Healthy View of Depravity

The body of Christ is composed of people who have two natures. While we can rejoice that Christians have been regenerated by the Holy Spirit, there remains within each believer the pull of the old self. At any given moment an individual can be following the influence of the Spirit or following the selfish, sometimes ugly behavior of the old self. If you’re going to survive in the ministry, you have to have a healthy understanding of human depravity.

One of my former associates learned this lesson quickly one Sunday morning in the church boiler room. A few of us had gathered in the prayer room just prior to the morning worship service when Rick came in looking like a dog that had just been beaten. I asked what was wrong. He filled us in.

While passing through a class in the basement, he was asked to step into the boiler room, away from people, because Jerry wanted to “share something” with him. (I should have warned him about situations that began with “I want to share something with you,” especially if the words “in love” are added.)

Once inside the small cubicle. Jerry poured out how he felt Rick had failed him during his convalescence from surgery. Although Rick and I had both visited him and phoned more than once, it wasn’t enough for Jerry. The nature of the speech, the intensity of his body language, and his full six-foot-four-inch frame completely devastated Rick.

While much of the criticism we receive is valid and beneficial, a lot of flak will be generated because the old nature within people is not yet eradicated.

We continually try to feed and encourage the new self. At the same time we should never be caught by surprise that, at any given moment, someone might behave with the ugly, hurtful behavior of the old self. That simply reminds us our job is not yet finished.

Regular, Systematic Evaluations

Proverbs 12:15 states, “The way of a fool seems right to him, but a wise man listens to advice.” While some criticism might be amiss, some criticism may be very much on target. In order for that constructive criticism to reach my ears, I asked for systematic evaluations of my ministry. Regularly scheduled assessments help avoid stress-producing showdowns.

Every three years, our board of elders reviewed the eleven points of my job description. On each item they offered commendations and recommendations. They spent a couple of sessions alone together and then two to three hours with me.

As they gave their assessment, I listened, interrupting only to clarify what they were saying. Sometimes I took notes on the printed evaluation they provided, and the printed evaluation and my notes then served as a springboard for me to later discuss on their observations and concerns.

A systematic evaluation gives people permission to express positive and negative feelings about my ministry. If this vehicle for sharing criticism was not provided, then by default I would be encouraging people to share their views merely among themselves—a sure formula for pastoral paranoia.

Allowing for Different Tastes

I prize the office of pastor, if for no other reason than it puts me at the center of the Christian family called the church. That’s also the reason the pastorate can be so difficult.

Most parents have difficulty keeping their children from each other’s throats. Husbands and wives have their share of disagreements. But put one hundred of these families together in one collective church family with the pastor at the center—well, he or she is in for some interesting times.

And many of those times, when conflict seems at its worst, it’s simply a matter of taste: some members of the family like things one way and some another. But like families, they can find themselves squabbling fiercely.

Some people like formal worship, others informal. Musically, some appreciate Bach; others prefer Maranatha. Some enjoy a challenging cognitive sermon, while others like the walls to shake with the threat of fire and brimstone.

Like many pastors, at first I wanted to please all the people all the time, and I took comments about people’s preferences too seriously. But then I realized that in many instances, people’s criticisms are nothing more than matters of taste.

Since that realization, I’ve been less unhappy about those who are not always happy. In fact, if someone moves to another church, it often proves beneficial to both them and us.

Providing an inclusive and diverse program is important. On the other hand, realizing that people have different tastes has helped me weather criticism.

I was visiting an elderly man one Monday morning when he said, “Pastor, yesterday I heard three sermons. It’s funny. I can remember Jerry Falwell’s outline and Charles Stanley’s outline, but I can’t remember yours.”

My first reaction was to get defensive, to wonder what he was trying to communicate, to doubt I was doing a good enough job. I finally decided, though, that the statement was not offered as a specific suggestion. It was hardly constructive criticism. It was just a thoughtless statement from one of my dual-natured (or is that duel-natured?) people.

I can’t compete with many famous preachers, and if this man remembered their sermons better than mine, so be it. I’m continually trying to improve my preaching, but my style, even if it were to be perfected some day, is never going to satisfy everyone.

Since I can’t please all the people all the time, for God’s glory I’ve begun to use the personality, talents, and gifts he has given me to serve wholeheartedly in the church to which he has called me. And with that, I find myself looking back less at those carping and more ahead to the One who is leading.

—John Cionca