SEVERAL YEARS AGO, through a series of bad experiences, I developed for a short time a quirky, negative attitude toward banks.
At the time, I ministered and provided for my family through free-lance writing and itinerant speaking, and we endured a long period of financial pressure. Any unexpected expense was a blow, and over a period of a month or two, several of those blows came from the bank. With no margin in our checking account, we made a recording error, writing a large check and not entering it in the register. Before we knew it, four checks had bounced, and for each one the bank charged an nsf fee of twenty dollars—eighty dollars in all!
Other things happened that compounded the pressure I felt.
I deposited a check from someone that later came back unpaid, and the bank charged me an extra fee for that person’s nsf check. In the local news at the time, a bank in Chicago incurred a public relations fiasco by announcing their intention to charge three dollars each time a customer used a human teller instead of the atm machine. To me, it seemed banks were suddenly becoming predators.
I was under pressure and my emotions spilled over one day at a convenient target. “Banks are leeches,” I said to my wife when I received one of the fee notices.
Sounds pretty irrational, but nevertheless I did not withdraw my vast fortune and stuff it under the mattress. And my sanity returned to where I understood that banks are a business with the same profit motive as any other business.
I admit this bit of foolishness in order to show you something about myself: under certain circumstances my thinking can become distorted. If I am under enough pressure and others inflict enough pain on me, I can become cynical.
Such was the case, as outlined in chapter 5, when some ten people rose up in opposition to my leadership and within six months our church declined in attendance by 40 percent. I had never before faced church people who seemed deliberately out to get me. Nor had I ever worked with people who assumed the worst about one another’s motives and as a result grossly misunderstood the actions and words of others.
On one occasion, for instance, a leader of one of our children’s ministries asked if the church would purchase Bibles and present one to each child as a gift. I said I thought it was a great idea but that the money should come out of the children’s ministry fund, not the general fund. I found out later that I was heavily criticized for this decision and cast as a pastor who was unconcerned about getting Bibles into the hands of our young people.
The whole experience was frightening and disillusioning, and it caught me completely by surprise. Frankly, I naïvely thought I was above such opposition. I believed my motives were right and I was doing my best, and consequently everyone should and would think highly of me. With deep sadness, I learned through this experience that no one is above conflict.
The incident threw my assumptions about life out of kilter. Those who “betrayed” me in this were leaders whom I had trusted, to whom I had given responsibility, and to whom I had been vulnerable. I had sought their good and not their harm. If I could not trust these people, whom could I trust? And so, though I continued to work in the church with determination, in subtle ways I grew pessimistic about people and relationships.
My low-grade pessimism expressed itself in various ways. One symptom was a suspicious attitude toward newcomers to the church. Whereas before I would rejoice over visitors and the possibility of their making our church their home, now I was somewhat wary of them, cautiously wondering who among them would turn on me down the road. And though I had at one time rejected the idea that pastors cannot get close to their people, now I was becoming resigned to it. When I was discouraged, little asides slipped out from my mouth unbidden, such as, “People are impossible.” But because cynicism is incompatible with pastoring I never really owned up to that jaded word.
For pastors, even low-grade cynicism can’t help but lead to despair, for the ministry is people work. A distrusting pastor is like a cabinetmaker who grows to dislike wood, or an artist who begins to hate to work with paint. I don’t know of any pastor who entered the ministry expecting to feel like an American cia agent in cold-war Moscow. It is natural that cynicism soon leads to a fainthearted desire to quit. Perseverance depends on hope.
Cynicism is not the automatic result of wounds suffered when relationships go wrong. Several of my own attitudes and beliefs provided fertile ground for the choking weeds of distrust.
Favorable environment
The most obvious and morally neutral reason for my cynicism was self-defense. To protect myself and my family from being hurt again, I tried to determine what I could expect from others in this newly dangerous church world, readjusting what I perceived as reality. I wanted to have life and people figured out, predictable (and therefore somewhat controllable).
With a car door, for example, I understand how I could be hurt by one if my hand is in the wrong place at the wrong time: I could smash a few fingers. I know what to expect from a slammed car door. I want the same predictability with people. I don’t want any painful surprises. Therefore, it figures that if I treat people as though they are potentially dangerous, I will not be surprised by anyone.
At a deeper level, I now see that I was trying to soften my mistakes, to lessen the degree of my guilt. (I don’t want to paint myself too darkly, though, because I tend to be self-critical and follow the maxim that if something is wrong I have somehow contributed to the problem and need to grow through the experience.) The truth is, I was convinced I was easy to work with because I was approachable and easygoing. What I did not want to admit was that in many ways I am in fact difficult to work with. I dislike administrative duties. I avoid policies, procedures, job descriptions. I don’t rush to give structure and discipline to the organization. I make decisions slowly, but I love to be spontaneous. This makes things easier for me but difficult for others.
The darkest impulse within my pessimistic heart during this time, however, was subterranean anger, the inevitable fruit of pain, though again I did not recognize my anger as such because I wasn’t sitting around nursing malicious thoughts. I felt that my detractors had thoroughly ruined my dreams, caused my hard work to go up in smoke, and deepened my financial pressures. I consciously forgave these people, though, and was careful to speak to others about them with goodwill, even if cold currents of disappointment flowed through me like an icy river in my veins. I could not think about some people who had hurt us without having negative feelings.
Frankly, I found some satisfaction in cynicism. I think it is the warped pleasure of being wise in my own eyes. I wonder if a tinge of cynicism is not a common syndrome of those in their thirties. My youthful hand of idealism had gotten burned a few times, and then my eyes were opened and I thought I had everyone figured out: I knew their real motives, I knew what they might do someday, and I was not going to get snookered again. I am smarter than that. I am wise to you.
The most noble reason for my cynicism, however, was idealism. Someone has said that in the breast of every cynic beats the heart of an idealist. That observation indeed describes me. I believe the church can be a glorious community of Christlike people marked by unselfish love. I believe the fellowship of other Christians can be one of the great joys in one’s life. I believe the church is the hope of the world, So when my ideals fell in pieces to the ground, my disappointment was overwhelming. Overwrought emotions drove the pendulum of my once-soaring expectations to the opposite extreme—far past a realistic appraisal of human weakness. Cynicism is the mushroom cloud of exploded ideals.
That is why even pastors can be vulnerable to cynicism. We love people, follow stellar ideals fueled by Scripture, and have lofty expectations based on prayer and faith. We are true believers but we have tricky emotions.
The strength of a pastor’s negative reaction to the failings of his or her people can also arise from the closeness of the relationship, like a father with a prodigal son. The father believes in his son and wants him to be great. When his son goes astray, others assure the father, “He’s just going through a phase. Don’t worry. He’s a good kid; he’ll come out of it.” But these thoughts are not in the father’s heart, for this relationship cuts too close to the bone. The father is angry, disappointed, and ashamed beyond sound reason. The father cannot believe that his son, his own flesh and blood, the one to whom he has given sound guidance and constant love, could do what he is doing. He might even feel mercy toward someone else’s son in the same predicament, but not toward his own.
The bane of cynicism is that it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy: breeding just what it expects. Distrust spawns distrust. If you don’t trust me, I wonder what your problem is. For the pessimistic pastor, relationships become harder and harder.
Higher ground
For about two years I did not view cynicism as displeasing to God or offensive to others. But several influences came together to expose it for what it truly is, and I gladly came out from under its malignant shadow.
First of all, I gradually came to understand that due largely to the undertow of my emotions I had believed a lie. A cynical outlook does not conform to reality. Cynicism distorts my outlook by universalizing a few situations or persons. For example, if one person or five or fifty hurt me, I conclude that all of them will hurt me. One board is manipulative, and I assume all are that way. In effect, cynicism is prejudice—a prejudgment that others are untrustworthy before I even know anything about them. The cynic glosses over those who are kind and true.
Rarely do I make the same universalizing error in judgment about other things: because I am caught in a traffic jam on the expressway doesn’t mean I will always be caught in one, or if I buy a bag of apples and one of them is rotten, that doesn’t mean every bag I buy will contain a rotten apple. Normally I know this. (The more pain involved, however, the more likely will be the misjudgment.) Intense pain caused me to lose my sense of reality with people.
The second thing I learned about my cynicism is especially embarrassing to admit. With the added perspective of time, I came to see my response to some of the people in Arlington Heights as childishly naïve. I had acted like a kindergarten boy at the playground who expected everyone to be nice to him if he was nice to them. When a bully hit me with a rock, I bravely kept on playing, but inside I was sitting on the ground with my lower lip sticking out. It was time to grow up.
Thirdly, one day while reading the Bible I happened across 1 Corinthians 13:7 and its significance did not escape me. “[Love] always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres” (emphasis added). That cannot be what the Bible means, I thought. Obviously I cannot always trust or hope the best of some people. There are bullies in the world!
But I now realize that to some extent mature love demands that I go into ministry with my eyes open and take the risk. Love is not naïve, but it is not overly self-protective either. Love looks for the good in others, not the bad.
Paul wrote his words about a love that always hopes and trusts to the very Corinthians who had hurt him deeply. Many had spoken contemptuously against him and rejected his authority. Nevertheless, Paul could write, “I will very gladly spend for you everything I have and expend myself as well. If I love you more, will you love me less?” (2 Cor. 12:15). While the natural response to those who hurt us is to build walls against them, Paul writes, “We have spoken freely to you, Corinthians, and opened wide our hearts to you. We are not withholding our affection from you” (2 Cor. 6:11-12). Seemingly against all evidence to the contrary, he could even say, “I have great confidence in you” (2 Cor. 7:4). Paul followed his own directions to the letter.
If I am optimistic and realistic about relationships (that is, loving and truthful), I recognize the possibility that others may return bad for good, but I am willing to take that pain for the sake of bringing Christ’s best to them.
Magazine articles also helped me to see cynicism and hope for what they are. For some time I regarded magazines such as Guideposts as Pollyannish. On the other hand, magazines like Time had a gritty, negative edge that I enjoyed. But as time passed, I grew tired of all the unremitting bad news and negative perspectives. Cynical journalism caused me to despair, and it certainly was not painting the whole picture. Gradually, seeing cynicism as gloomy and unhealthy, I lost my appetite for it. I wanted to read things that face reality but at the same time are redemptive, and choose to hope.
I remember the first time I heard the word redemptive and thought of it as something other than a theological term for salvation. It should be the Christian approach to life, As a group of editors, we were weighing the merits of a particular manuscript that told of one pastor’s dark experience. Marshall Shelley, editor at Leadership, asked how the writer could add something redemptive to the story. His question hit me like a lightning bolt as I realized its significance for my current pessimism about people.
Our gospel is all about redemption, I realized. This includes the redemption of people and churches who bruise pastors. God takes people in the grip of evil and turns the situation around for good.
Redemption is a crucial concept for the healing of a cynic. Redemption looks straight and hard at the evil in the world and the capacity for sin in humanity, yet does not give up. Redemption takes hold of fallen humanity and restores it to the glorious state God intended. Our God is our Redeemer. He brings good out of evil and takes hope to the darkest corners of this world.
Another eye opener for me was an anecdote in an editorial by David Neff in Christianity Today. 1 “About five years ago,” Neff writes, “Christian social critic Richard John Neuhaus was being driven from the Pittsburgh airport to a speaking engagement. During the drive, one of his hosts persisted in decrying the disintegration of the American social fabric and the disappearance of Christian values from our culture. Cases in point were too numerous to mention, but Pastor Neuhaus’s host tried anyway. After the tedious drive, Neuhaus offered these words of advice: ‘The times may be bad, but they are the only times we are given. Remember, hope is still a Christian virtue, and despair is a mortal sin.’ “
That was a paradigm I had not considered. Cynicism should be respelled s-i-n-i-c-i-s-m, and like all sin it takes a terrible toll, especially on pastors.
Warped but glorious
Out on itinerant speaking assignments, I talked over Sunday lunch with more than one pastor who was smarting from what church people had done to them, and I saw how their pain had poisoned their attitudes toward people and toward ministry overall. I saw myself in them and realized I didn’t want to be like that.
I thought about my father, an attorney, who in the pursuit of justice has seen the nasty side of others on plenty of occasions, yet he remains a positive, joyful person. I realized that his outlook on life must be the result of a conscious choice.
A pastor friend caught my attention one day as we talked about the ministry. He said, “I don’t have trouble working with people. That’s the easy part of ministry.” At that I did a double take; I didn’t think anyone could feel that way!
His comment confirmed something to me that is obvious but not quickly accepted by someone like myself. Relational and administrative skills have much to do with how others respond to a leader. Some of my troubles in Arlington Heights were due not only to the faults of others but also to my own. And I have a fair share of them. One weakness I have that ironically multiplies problems with others is a great reluctance to confront. By temperament I seek consensus, peace, and good feelings among people. In the past I have rarely confronted anyone. What this neglect does is delay and aggravate many relational and organizational problems. I am finding that as I practice confrontation, when necessary, in most cases I am drawn closer to others.
For example, one of our church leaders was beginning to slip in Sunday attendance, and then he missed a leaders’ meeting without informing me beforehand. Later when I saw him, he said nothing about having missed the meeting. Finally one night I talked to him about the problem, and with a mature attitude he admitted his fault and apologized. We ended that meeting more closely knit in understanding and love than we were before.
As I work on my relationship and leadership skills, I find that I am edging toward the feeling of my pastor friend who said he had no trouble working with people. I feel I am getting somewhat of a grip on how people and organizations work. I thoroughly enjoy the process of church ministry and delight in people who call themselves Christians.
Albeit an irregular hobby, I enjoy woodworking. I find pleasure in the sweet smell of wood, especially when it is cut with the saw. I like sanding wood and feeling its smooth texture, and I appreciate the difference in color, grain, and hardness of the various woods, such as the contrast between pine and cherry. With no small satisfaction, I watch wood slowly take shape into useful things.
Of course I get the stubborn splinter on occasion. Knots as hard as rocks sometimes prevent me from sawing a board as I would like. Sometimes the only boards at the lumberyard are a bit warped, and begrudgingly I make the best of them. On occasion I err with pencil and ruler or drill. Woodworking has its downsides, but I am not put off.
Oscar Wilde says a cynic is someone who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing. A cynic knows everything about barbed splinters, bruised fingers, pinched skin, warped boards. A pastor sees a “carved” parishioner that sooner or later reflects the glory of Jesus Christ.
Christianity Today (April 3, 1995): 24.
Copyright © 1998 Craig Brian Larson
