How Do I Evaluate Myself?

Only God knows the score, so I should not weigh too heavily or take too seriously what I or anybody else thinks of me. But since he will one day ask me the Big Faithfulness Question, I’d better ask myself a few like it until that day.
—Ben Patterson

How do I evaluate myself? First I’ll give you the short answer, then the long.

The short answer is I don’t, or rather I can’t or shouldn’t. If I read the New Testament correctly, to do so may border on the presumptuous. The apostle Paul counseled a pious, even belligerent agnosticism regarding self-evaluation: “I care very little if I am judged by you or by any human court; indeed, I do not even judge myself. My conscience is clear, but that does not make me innocent. It is the Lord who judges me.” So much for self-evaluation or any human evaluation. God is the judge, not us—case closed, end of discussion, end of chapter, and end of the personnel committee of my church.

The long answer starts with the short answer and then proceeds delicately to reopen the discussion and perhaps reestablish the personnel committee by asking some hard questions about faithfulness. Paul said that because he understood himself to be a steward of the gospel. A steward is someone who has been entrusted with another person’s property and charged with managing it in the owner’s interests. Faithfulness is the measure of the steward, says Paul: “Now it is required that those who have been given a trust must prove faithful.”

All that matters to him is that he be able to answer yes to the question he knows he and every human being will one day be asked by God: “Did you do what I wanted with what I gave you, the way I wanted you to?” In other words, “Were you faithful?”

So how do I evaluate myself? I start by recognizing, up front, that only God knows the score and that I should not weigh too heavily or take too seriously what I or anybody else thinks of me. But since he will one day ask me the Big Faithfulness Question, I’d better ask myself a few like it until that day. But always with the Big Qualifier hanging over the exercise, proceeding cautiously, humbly.

How Impressed Am I with “Success”?

Numbers are notoriously unreliable measures of success. You know that; I know that. The “bigger is better” credo has been so thoroughly discredited that no one gives it any attention anymore.

So why does my shirt collar start unaccountably to tighten around my neck when I read that church attendance is down this year compared to last? Why do we keep records anyway? And continually we make projections, projections, projections. There’s more of the ecclesiastical actuary in me than I’d like to admit.

But when I look at the valuation the risen Christ gives to the seven churches in Asia Minor, a totally different scale of measurement emerges. The richest, in Laodicea, is really the poorest. The busiest, in Ephesus, is chided for its lovelessness. The only churches that receive unqualified commendation from the Lord are Smyrna and Philadelphia, congregations he describes as afflicted, poor, and weak. Once again, it is as he said it would be: the first are last and the last are first.

Clarence Jordan had a dream to build a Christian community in the deep South, a community that would model reconciliation between the races. So he brought black and white together to work and worship at Koinonia Farm, near Americus, Georgia. For a while they suffered bravely through the predictable threats and beatings from the neighboring townspeople. And when the farm was burned down, the whole project seemed to have disintegrated. Newspaper reporters came out to ask Jordan some painful questions, the most bitter being, “Well, Clarence, just how successful do you think this whole thing has been?” Jordan thought for a moment and answered softly, “About as successful as the cross.”

If big numbers are a sign of lots of new people discovering a vital faith at the church I pastor, then I will rejoice. If a growing budget is a sign of a deepening sense of Christian stewardship among my people, then I will be thankful and glad. But there is no way for me to know conclusively that those two signs of institutional success have anything to do with success in the kingdom of God. Indeed, the struggling pastor with dwindling numbers may be achieving a spectacular kingdom success by simply hanging on and faithfully doing the best he knows how, even if his best isn’t very good.

The degree to which I find myself dazzled by my institutional successes may be a sign of deep failure spiritually, an indicator that I have forgotten that faithfulness, not “success,” is what delights the Lord, that after urging everyone else to run the race, I myself have been disqualified.

Do I Love the People I Serve?

Not to love those whom I serve would be a contradiction in terms, a desperate betrayal of what Jesus said was the essence of authentic service: to lay down my life for my brothers and sisters, hi 1 Corinthians 13 Paul says it is possible to be eloquent, wise, generous, sacrificial, and even spiritual—in short to be all the things most churches would like their pastors to be—and amount to absolutely nothing. For without love that is what all these ingredients for institutional success ultimately amount to.

It is possible to cut quite a fine figure as a preacher and not love those to whom I preach, to receive human praise and salary increases and not love those who praise me and pay me, to be used of God to win souls and heal the sick and nevertheless fail at love. Even when I am at my best, my success in any of these areas is no more than the result of God’s sovereign choice to use me in spite of, not because of who I am. After all, if he did it with Balaam’s ass, he can do it with me. And he has.

Do I love them? It’s hard to know. Sometimes they may feel I do when I don’t and feel I don’t when I do. They may mistake my introversion for coldness and the strength of my bear hugs for warmth. Only God knows. But I believe there are some clues:

• Preaching. If I find it too easy to be the prophet, to speak God’s hard word to them, then I probably don’t love them enough. If with St. Paul, my warnings come with tears, I probably do. Harsh words, if they must be spoken, should always be costly.

• My expectations. If my affection for my people is both patient and relentless, I probably love them. If it is only patient or only relentless, either I probably don’t love them, or it means my love is seriously flawed. George MacDonald said God is easy to please but impossible to satisfy, meaning good Father that he is, he is delighted at our every effort to grow (his love is patient) but will never rest until his children have grown to their full stature in Christ (his love is relentless).

Neither permissiveness nor perfectionism will do; acceptance and challenge, unconditional love and demand must stand side by side. I must love my people as they are, and love them enough not to let them stay where they are.

• Their expectations. We all know how we’d like others to love us, but sometimes they may have another idea. Sometimes people’s expectations will be in conflict with mine. My idea of relentless love may be received as quite the opposite, as no love at all.

For example, I believe that a hospital call by a layperson gifted by the Holy Spirit is every bit as “valid” as a hospital call by an ordained clergyperson, namely me, who may not be gifted to that sort of thing. Does it mean I don’t love my congregation if I don’t make many hospital calls? No way. In fact, if I delegate such ministry to laypeople it may be an act of love, because it helps my people see the truth of the priesthood of all believers.

Of course, it isn’t all a matter of me lovingly violating their expectations. It can work the other way, and if I love my people I will listen thoughtfully and compassionately to what they want from me. I will change my agenda for ministry accordingly if the Holy Spirit confirms in my own heart what they tell me they need.

For the most part, however, I would rather be a general than a mayor. My call to ministry is weighted decidedly on the side of visionary, directive leadership. I do need to listen to my people but more to give me a sense of how to get where we should go than to find out where we should go. I need to be nurtured in aloneness with God and with men and women, hopefully elders and staff, who have a similar bent. Perhaps it’s arrogance, but I’m convinced that the church is in dire need of people like that—leaders who will shape the church more than it shapes them. That is the unique kind of love a pastor must give the church.

• Prayer. If intercession is infrequent and perfunctory, I probably don’t love my people. If standing before God on their behalf is at the heart of what I do for them, I probably do. The apostle Paul was impressed with what he termed the “hard work” a certain pastor named Epaphras was doing for his people. He even wrote to tell them so. It is remarkable that his tribute was given to a man who was not at home with his people, but with Paul. His “hard work” was being accomplished in absentia, “wrestling in prayer” on their behalf, miles away physically but right by their side spiritually.

The opposite can be true—and often is: I can be right by my people’s side physically but miles away spiritually if I do not hold them up before God in prayer continually.

To get an idea of how prayer is a solid act of love, search Paul’s epistles. You will discover not only his lovely prayers for his people—models of pastoral love—but that the request he most often makes is that they pray for him too. He will be deeply grateful for their money and for their visits but will rarely ask for these. Presumably he believes that if people pray for him, the rest will follow.

I have heard far too many cutesy little sermon illustrations contrasting the so-called practical “doer” with the so-called impractical “pray-er.” You’ve probably heard them too: on the one hand there is the practical man who knows when to get off his knees and do something for others. On the other hand there is the mystic who dreams of pie-in-the-sky on his knees when he should be on his feet rolling the dough for the crust. I have yet to meet this straw man.

• Ends and means. A long time ago, I watched bewildered as one stalwart church worker after another fell prey to that nebulous thing we call “burnout.” So many good things seemed to be happening in the church: growth everywhere, new people, new programs, more of this, better of that.

The problem was we were making stupendous advances in the growth of the institution on the backs of the people making the advances possible. We were achieving what appeared to be Christian ends with non-Christian means.

But in the Kingdom of God the means and the ends must be in harmony. No end justifies a means that destroys people. If church growth is bought at the price of a broken marriage or broken health or broken faith, then only the church grew while the Kingdom retreated.

My ministry is for the sake of Christ and those for whom he died. If either is slighted, what I’m doing ceases to be ministry. That includes what happens in my own marriage and family.

What Do My Godly and Wise Peers Think?

One day Piglet came upon dear, dense Winnie-the-Pooh in the snowy woods, who was totally absorbed in tracking a strange animal. Joining him, Piglet too scrutinized the tracks and squeaked with excitement, “Oh, Pooh! Do you think it’s a … a … a Woozle?”

“It may be,” said Pooh, and off they went in pursuit of this dreaded beast. A little later they noticed the tracks of another animal traveling with the Woozle. Then after a while the tracks of a third and a fourth. The dread of what they might discover became too much for Piglet who lamely excused himself from the adventure.

Pooh persisted in the hunt until Christopher Robin came along. “Silly old Bear,” said Robin, “what were you doing?” He then pointed out that Pooh and Piglet had been walking in circles around the grove. Pooh blushed as he gingerly extended a paw toward one of the Woozle tracks. It was just as he feared: he had been tracking himself.

Self-evaluation can be a lot like tracking a Woozle: just a solipsistic exercise in navel gazing, especially for people like me who tend toward strong, individualistic leadership stances. I need some kind of outside perspective/ some objective input as to how I’m doing.

A covenant or support group of peers can do this. Invaluable was the pastors’ covenant group I was a part of for twelve years before I moved to a new pastorate. They were a godly and wise bunch of brothers who were able to give me a perspective on myself that I simply could never have acquired on my own. They loved me; they loved the church of Christ; they understood its special workings and challenges. And they were not embroiled in my particular set of circumstances. In other words, they were suited as few can be to give me an objective look at myself and my ministry.

Early in my ministry I was told by a wise and good humored veteran of ecclesiastical wars to weigh my criticism, not count it. I weigh heavily the criticism that comes from men like these. I am finding such a group in my new situation.

Does My Work Point Away from Me to God?

Success in the ministry breeds praise. And it sure feels good once in a while, doesn’t it? There is nothing wrong with this, and I think it is a special grace for a pastor to be able to warmly and humbly receive applause.

Over the years of my ministry, from time to time God has mercifully sent me a Barnabas, a “son of encouragement,” at the times I most needed to be reminded that my work was not in vain. Certainly it is a good thing for a grateful congregation to express its love and gratitude for the hard work we do.

We should receive the kudos but hold them lightly, for all success comes from God. We earthenware pots have the inestimable privilege of holding in ourselves the treasure of the Gospel, so that it will be obvious to all who see that the treasure is God, not us.

Am I content for this to be so? Am I satisfied to be mere earthenware? Or do I wish I were bone china or to be thought of as such? Does my ministry point away from me to the Lord? After I preach a great sermon, do my people walk away aware of how great God is or of how well I said he is great? My success or failure in the work of the kingdom hinges on how that question is answered.

Have I Taken the Long View?

That’s my final question for self-evaluation. Am I quick to remember that, as Paul put it, we should “judge nothing before its time”? No amount of praise and recognition and church growth is sufficient for me to make a final judgment on the success of my ministry. The final judgment comes only at the Final Judgment.

So I must relax and keep working until the end. The ministry is like farming: there is cultivation and planting and fertilizing and watering, and then waiting for the harvest. The proof of the crop is in the crop and not a moment sooner.

So what do I do as I wait? I do everything I know to honor God. I pray for greater love and wisdom, and lacking them, I sometimes sin boldly and cry out for God’s mercy. And I long to one day hear him say to me, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”