When Things Are Going Well

I’ve worked hard to get to the place where I can work hard.
— Knute Larson

Successes can be sweet — and sour.

The organ had started the prelude as would-be worshipers filed in for the third worship service. I was welcoming the people to our service at one of the doors.

I glanced at my watch; in only a minute or two I would need to make my way to the front of the sanctuary. I reached out and turned to welcome the next person.

“You’re the most wonderful pastor in the world,” the woman said, shaking my hand. Her husband nodded in agreement.

I smiled and turned to greet the couple standing behind them. As I reached out to shake the hand of the husband, he faked a punch to my solar plexis and said, “You’re the stupidest pastor I’ve ever heard of.” He seemed to have meant it, and his wife nodded in agreement.

I smiled again but chose to say nothing and then walked to the front of the sanctuary to begin the service. The couples had not overheard each other, but I clearly heard them both. The second couple had heard rumors about a particular staff problem at the time, and they chose to believe the worst about me.

As I tried to switch my mind and emotions to the next worship service, I asked God for grace. I concluded that if I believed either of those couples, I would be in trouble. But those sorts of comments come with the territory of outward success.

All pastors know times when things go well. We may not pastor a megachurch, but many of us pastor churches with a larger staff and budget than our previous charge. And no matter where we are, during some seasons of ministry, programs work, finances are healthy, and people are helped.

Though we may not be able to equate this outward success with God’s ultimate standards, it is a reality most of us will experience. And it feels good.

No matter how it feels, though, successes, like wealth, are resources of which we need to be good stewards.

Uneasy Achievement

The day before the last presidential election, President George Bush was on top of the world; he presided over the United States of America, the world’s sole military superpower. The day after, when Governor Bill Clinton won the election, President Bush was considered a loser, a “has been.” He went from world leader to lame duck in a few short hours. It’s a thin line.

Riding the crest of a wave is nice, but sooner or later the wave goes flat. That’s threatening. That’s just one downside to successes we must be prepared for. Here are some precarious aspects of success that I experience.

• Lonely decisions. I sat in a meeting with nine men, several of whom were ceo’s of strong corporations, discussing a $3 million building campaign. We had spent months in preparation and prayer for this moment, gathering data and getting everyone’s input. Now the decision to press ahead came down to this meeting. Suddenly it was silent.

Why is it so quiet? I thought. Why doesn’t somebody speak up?

Several years removed from that evening, I can still feel the jolt that struck my heart when I realized they were waiting for my direction.

“Let’s do it,” I finally said. My decision was not a knee-jerk. We all had prayed and planned for months, and the decision was unanimous; everybody was enthusiastically on board.

I work hard to make leadership at The Chapel a team effort, but I know the more successes I lead us through, the more people look to me for leadership. That, at times, can feel lonely.

• Fear of failure. Jerry Faust, football coach at the University of Akron, recently stopped by my office to wish me well after the papers reported the news that one of our part-time interns was accused of sexual misconduct. Jerry knows about the highs and lows of success. At one time he was the winningest high school football coach in the country. He then graduated to the “big leagues,” becoming head coach at the University of Notre Dame.

But Jerry’s tenure was brief, punctuated by negative press coverage. His past successes did not guarantee success at Notre Dame. And neither do mine nor yours.

Most leaders of successful churches experience doubts: Am I doing the right thing? and Will it work tomorrow? Such fear, while healthy in most cases, isn’t paralyzing. But it is a pressure.

• Insecurity. Recently a Michael Jordan jersey went on the auction block, and someone picked it up for a cool $27,000. But the jersey of the newest star of the NBA, Shaquille O’Neal, of the Orlando Magic, brought $55,000. Even the fame of Michael Jordan can’t last forever; a fresher, younger face soon comes along and captures the media’s attention.

That volatility in a church setting can make the successful pastor feel threatened; what worked last year may not work this year.

• Work begetting work. I’m not proud of this fact, but I probably work harder than any other staff person at The Chapel. And what has that gotten me? More work! I’ve worked hard during my twenty-six years of ministry only to get to the place where I can work hard.

I can’t walk by a piece of paper lying on the church parking lot, for instance, without picking it up. I carry within me a burden for the well-being of the entire church, and that can feel overwhelming at times. When I look in the mirror, I don’t say, “Boy, I am successful!” I can’t ever remember such a thought. Instead I say, “I’ve got another challenge today.”

Recently a pastor said to me, “It must be nice having a staff as big as yours.” At that moment, embroiled in a staff controversy that was consuming my waking thoughts, I didn’t feel so lucky. He didn’t realize that leading a staff successfully doesn’t take work away. In many areas of ministry, when things go well, it means more opportunities for ministry. Success breeds success. And that breeds work.

• Less intimacy. Not long ago I ate breakfast with a leader from a denomination. He wanted to “pick my brain” about leading a church like The Chapel. I felt uncomfortable during our breakfast because throughout our conversation he insisted on calling me “Dr. Larson.”

“Please call me Knute,” I said. And I repeatedly called him by his first name. As we shook hands to leave, he said, “Dr. Larson, what a privilege it has been to be with you.”

Oh well.

• The weight of responsibility. Shortly after the revelation about the part-time intern who had been accused of molesting boys, a group of church leaders with whom I meet regularly wanted to know how I was holding up.

“We know you’re not to blame,” one of them said. “As the captain of the ship, though, we suspect you’re feeling some heat.”

I appreciated that comment because it communicated their genuine concern for me. Yet I couldn’t help but hear an underlying message: “You are the captain, and this happened on your ship during your watch.”

I feel the weight of responsibility also when I realize what a difference I make in people’s lives. About once or twice a month, some mother brings up her little boy who says he wants to meet me. He shakes my hand as if I’m a major league star. When I lean down and talk to him, he doesn’t say anything. He just stares.

That’s scary for him — and for me. He looks up to me as a model of goodness, perhaps even of God.

• Less energy for people. Recently my wife and I were invited over to a church member’s home for pizza on a Sunday evening. Several other couples from the church would be there as well. The day of the pizza party — a Sunday — I had spoken six times. By evening I was emotionally and physically spent.

Driving over to the party, I asked my wife, “Why are we doing this?” The last thing I was ready for was two hours of small talk.

Less time for spontaneous relationships is a sacrifice of pastoral life. And as I mentioned, things are busier when things are going well. When I do carve out time for relationships outside my inner circle, I fear raising the expectations of others, who, seeing me at a dinner party of one of their friends, expect me to accept an invitation to their party.

Each week I keep a couple of appointment slots open for spontaneous meetings, and I try to have lunch once a week with a visitor. I also teach a restaurant Bible study every Tuesday morning, which is open to everyone, and I roam the halls before and after all services.

Living with Success

Successes, like all of God’s gifts, are meant to be enjoyed in freedom. God put taste in food so we’d enjoy it, not just so we could tell the difference between steak and peas. He gave pleasure in marriage and sex for the joy they can bring us. Similarly, it’s proper to enjoy outward pastoral successes. They give more freedom to try new ministries, more respect from our community, and more glory to God.

I’ve been pleasantly surprised by success. I never expected to pastor such a large church, and I’m regularly grateful for our growth in people, budget, and programs. God has been good!

Still we are wise to remember that success brings with it numerous temptations — pride, sloth, and ingratitude, to name three. Though I use a number of strategies to maintain my character, these are the most helpful.

First, as I mentioned, I keep up the pace, working as hard as ever. If you took a cross-section of national Christian leaders and attempted to identify common denominators of their success, I think you’d come up with only two: a passion to serve Christ and hard work — no matter the work involved. Methods will vary but usually not these two conditions.

Recently one of our talented but boisterous interns made his feelings known about administration: “I don’t like this paper work you’re giving me. I want to lead people.”

I asked, “How can you lead without some administration? Impossible. See it as a way to lead.”

Many tasks of even a successful ministry are not grandiose or high-powered executive privileges. They are work that simply needs doing.

Second, I try to be generous with praise. That’s hard when I’m striving to work ever harder at being faithful to my calling.

On anonymous surveys I have asked the church staff to give me, I rank lowest on giving praise for things accomplished and highest on identifying dreams still to be achieved.

Okay, I accept I often forget to praise our staff enough for each year’s Christmas production, for example, taking extra time to celebrate the success. (They are great!) The day following a big production I’m likely to be looking ahead to Easter. My mind naturally and immediately races to the next item on my agenda.

I’m working on this at home, too. When my wife has to say, “Wasn’t that a good meal,” I know I blew it. At both church and home, I’m learning the importance of stopping and saying, “Thank you” both to God and the people who have done so much to make this or that program a success.

Third, I try to stay patient. When things go well, the natural tendency is to expect more of the same, and the sooner the better. When the next success doesn’t happen as quickly or shine as brightly, we’re tempted to get angry at the church or move on to greener pastures.

As I mentioned earlier, after eight years of steady growth in Ashland, the first church I pastored, I still enjoyed my ministry but wanted some additional challenges. In God’s grace, I was asked to be executive director of my denomination’s national department of Christian education and church growth. I also did some teaching at their seminary. Much of my work I did by phone, but I also traveled once a month to the national office.

As a result I stayed an additional seven years, for a total of fifteen, at that church, and there enjoyed seeing more people come to Christ and more programs meet people’s needs.

Fourth, I don’t spend much time thinking about success. When I’m playing basketball, if I bask in how well I’m playing, I’ll stop playing well. Instead, I think about what I’m supposed to do next: Should I set a screen? Get the ball and shoot it? Position myself for a rebound?

In ministry, I don’t want to spend a lot of time thinking about what I’ve achieved. Instead, I want to concentrate on what I’m to do next: finish a sermon, prepare for a board meeting, listen to a secretary. If I concentrate on doing the next thing well, I’ll better my chances that things will continue to go well.

Fifth, I try to remember from where I came. That is perhaps the quickest way to regain a sense of humility, a sense that God has given me any success I’m enjoying.

Looking at my upbringing and the experiences of my early years, I am indebted to the grace of God. My parents divorced when I was young, and I remember as a child once stepping between my parents when they became angry. My report cards in the third and fourth grades reflected my anxiety; they were regularly marked with the comment, “Restless, inattentive.”

I lost a 14-year-old sister one Father’s Day; she fell off a horse and died. My mother never got over her death, and it probably contributed to her own death a few years later, in her mid-forties.

Though I grew up in several good churches, I have painful memories of the church being not so good. When my parents waved good-bye to each other, their church waved good-bye to them. Often I experienced tight legalism and gossip-filled infighting, so much so that initially I declared I would never be a pastor.

How God used that background to give me gifts and opportunities to minister to so many people today is beyond me. It simply confirms a recent sermon I preached: “Live with a Semicolon.” The semicolon statement of all of life is this: I am a sinner; I am in Christ. That is how I think about my past troubles, even my past failures; they are semicolons on the way to Christ’s redemptive work in me and through me. When I remember that, success doesn’t have a chance of going to my head.

Finally, I stay on my knees. Martin Luther once said that normally he spent an hour in morning prayer. But when he had an especially busy day ahead, he would spend two.

The specific numbers may not apply, but the more successful I am, the more I feel the need to be on my knees. Frankly, my passion for the Lord is harder to keep up now. I’ve learned over the years how to preach sermons and teach in a way that will answer people’s questions. I also know how to say a prayer that’s personal and yet canned. In order to prevent putting my ministry on auto-pilot, I have to work ever harder at private devotions with God. I really do want to talk to him, cry to him, express my love to him, and keep my heart warm.

The main issue is Christ. When I do walk with him, I can better seek his pleasure, relax in his sovereignty, and grow through pain and joy.

Corrie ten Boom was once asked how she handled all the accolades of people. She said, “Well, I take the flowers, and I thank the people, and I enjoy the flowers a little bit. Then each evening, I put them in a bunch and give them back to the Lord where they belong.”

That’s how I ultimately want to handle my successes.