Page 3563 – Christianity Today (2024)

The rite of ordination does not override the rite of marriage. Both are noble callings, and one is not the “higher calling.” Both were instituted by God for the sanctification of his people. By some curious act of his grace, this sanctification includes the clergy.
Gregory P. Elder

Eventually, every minister’s wife runs into some element of church life that makes her life difficult. Sometimes the experience is jarring. Consider the following true story:

“We arrived at our first pastorate at the end of September, having been delayed by an accident on the way in which my tailbone was broken. Since I was nearly eight months pregnant at the time, it did not heal until after the delivery. I had to do my work alternating between periods of standing up and lying down. I carried an inflated rubber ring everywhere I went, since sitting on it helped to ease the pain a bit.

“Somehow, I managed to get some boxes unpacked, and even started toilet training my toddler. The ordination service, at which my husband was to be officially installed as pastor, was set for the end of October. I played the organ for the service while perched on my rubber ring. Afterward I served sandwiches, dessert, and coffee to about thirty people in the parsonage. Everyone seemed to think it was my job, and I never questioned it.

“Our second baby was born on November 14. This released pressure from my tailbone, so it started healing. I was nursing the baby, and all was going well. The basem*nt still contained boxes needing to be unpacked, many windows were waiting for curtains to be sewn, the toilet training of our toddler had hit an impasse, and I remember brief moments when I doubted that, should I live to be eighty, I would ever get my dishes and ironing all done at once, but all was well. My husband was enjoying his work, and the people were generous. We were showered with everything from eggs and chickens to cookies, honey, and cream.

“Then, about the middle of December, it happened. One of the Sunday school teachers asked me what I was doing about ‘the Christmas concert,’ referring to the Sunday school program. I had no idea what she meant. I repeated her words back to her, stalling for time: ‘The Christmas concert?’ Then she explained, as one might to a not-very-bright child, that the minister’s wife always took care of the Christmas concert. This meant she produced and directed it and usually wrote the script as well.

“The previous minister’s wife was an older woman with no children. She loved to do this sort of thing and had lots of experience. I, on the other hand, was a very young, very busy mother of two babies, one only a few weeks old, and I had never even taught a Sunday school class.

“The incredible part of this episode is that I did it. I really did, on two weeks’ notice, throw together some sort of a program. I still remember standing up there directing with perspiration streaming down my face. Immediately afterward I went home, nursed the baby, and collapsed in bed.

“They never should have asked, I never should have even considered the request, and my husband should not have allowed me to accept. But at that time none of us knew any better.”

An extreme case, perhaps, but this type of experience is not uncommon. Not many years ago, the accepted model of the minister’s wife was that of an active partner in ministry, and this was accompanied by certain expectations about how she would dress and tend the home, and what she would and wouldn’t do in congregational life. One wife said, “If I do too much, I’m ‘running things.’ If I’m quiet and reserved, I’m ‘not doing my share and fulfilling my role as the pastor’s wife.'”

Though most pastors’ wives I contacted said that changing times were easing some of the traditional expectations, some irritating assumptions remain. For instance, when the church can’t find anyone else for a particular job, “of course” the minister’s wife will do it, or “we can always get the minister’s wife” to give the devotions at the women’s gathering.

“It’s interesting that I’m the only woman in the church who is never thanked for doing a job,” observed one wife. “I like sharing my talents, but it’s hard to be taken for granted as if I’ve been hired to work here.”

Most wives find they are expected to fill in for their husbands as a listener and counselor. Many find that having people trust them with personal concerns is gratifying. Others, however, feel uncomfortable and ineffective in this role.

Some pastors’ wives take naturally to the challenges of the role. For most, however, there are at least moments when they feel lonely or out of place. According to the Leadership survey, it may be a greater problem than their pastor/husbands are aware of. When asked, “Has your spouse ever felt lonely or out of place in the congregation?” 68 percent of the pastors said yes. But when we asked the pastors’ spouses, “Have you ever felt lonely or out of place in the congregation?” fully 76 percent said yes.

One pastor who did recognize his wife’s feelings described the situation this way: “I have the greatest wife in the world, so any victory in ministry is a shared victory. But sadly, for her, the victory is always vicarious. But the loneliness is personal.”

The first step in addressing an issue is understanding the factors that contribute to the problem. What factors lead to this sense of loneliness?

Alone in a Church Crowd

Some of the factors can simply be peculiarities of a given church. For instance, sometimes the age of the pastor and spouse inhibits close friendships within the congregation.

“The leaders in our congregation, the people with whom we spend the most time, tend to be older than my wife and me. As a result, we feel a bit left out of relationships with people our age,” wrote a pastor on the survey. “Plus, we have no social life apart from the church.”

Neither are younger pastoral couples immune from the fact that mothers of preschoolers will naturally tend to feel isolated. “My wife’s most difficult times were when our children were very small and she was tied to home duties, while I was seldom at home during the day and sometimes not in the early evening,” confessed a pastor. “Her complaints struck sympathetic chords in me, but sympathy was not what she wanted!”

Another pastoral couple felt the same problem from the opposite side. “As we got older, the people who were coming onto our staff seemed younger and younger. We were mentors to them, but not exactly friends. We were old enough to be their parents. In the past, we’d been close with others on the pastoral team, but now they find their own web of relationships. And I think my wife feels the loneliness even more than I do.”

A more common reality that can increase the loneliness factor is that church members often see pastors and their spouses as different from ordinary folk. Some wives have mentioned that in Bible studies or small groups, people turn to them, expecting answers to troubling questions simply because they are married to a minister. These spouses feel awkward sharing their own honest doubts and unnamed terrors for fear of shaking the faith of younger, more fragile believers. Thus, instead of being a source of relief from loneliness, these groups only reinforce it.

“We pastored in a small town in the Midwest,” said one pastor’s wife. “The people were warm and friendly in church, but no one seemed to want to be close friends. I figured maybe they thought pastoral families wouldn’t be around long enough to form lasting friendships. But then I met a woman who seemed friendly and tenderhearted. She always asked how I was doing and how I felt about things. She would tell me she missed me if I was not at a service, but she never invited me to her home. After a Wednesday night prayer meeting, I invited her over for tea while our husbands had a meeting. She appeared hesitant, but she came. During the conversation, she told me she couldn’t be close friends with the pastor’s wife because it might offend other people. I was hurt, to say the least, and it made me hesitant to try to be close to any other woman in the church.”

Fortunately, not all churches share that attitude, But in any church, a bright spotlight seems to focus on the clergy marriage. The feeling of being watched can increase the feelings of loneliness.

David and Vera Mace, in their 1980 study of clergy couples, found that 85 percent felt their marriage was expected to be a model of perfection. They wrote, “Clergy couples are almost obsessed with the feeling that they are expected to be superhuman and to provide models for the congregation and community.” Another study notes that “Protestants consider their minister’s personal and family life as ‘tools for ministry.’ Unfortunately, family modeling is often measured by moralistic ‘thou shalt nots’ of public behavior rather than by how families handle deeper issues.”

The problem is not so much the high expectations but how the pastoral couple responds to them. If clergy couples are trying to live out other people’s expectations of a perfect marriage, it can be hard for them to deal with their own real marriage, which leads to a game of “let’s pretend.” As one minister said, “Congregations desperately need clergy marriages to work. They think that if their ministers can’t make it work, how can they? That’s an awful burden!” Even more stressful is when the couple knows they are falling short of these expectations, but they don’t feel able to ask for help.

Other contributors to loneliness emerge not from the congregation but from the natural tendencies of ministers themselves.

The education and emotional gap. A few years ago, I met Mary LaGrand Bouma, a pastor’s wife who has written Divorce in the Parsonage, and asked her, “What makes for meaningful communication in a ministry marriage?”

She said, “If I had to pick one thing, it would be commensurate education. That may surprise you — I know it certainly did me when I was doing research for a book on pastors’ wives. I interviewed two hundred ministry wives, and when I read through my notes, I said, ‘I can’t believe this.’ Healthy marriages in the ministry were those in which the wife’s education had not been cut short.

“Many wives work hard and long to put their husbands through seminary, and what do they get? A silent husband who assumes she cannot function on the intellectual level at which he has now arrived. I thought I had found an exception to this rule when I interviewed a pastor’s wife in Seattle whose marriage I knew was strong. I asked if she had studied beyond high school — and was suddenly embarrassed: she had not even finished high school. But as it turned out, neither had her husband. They were part of a group that didn’t require seminary or even college, and they had done a lot of informal learning together. As a result, they got along extremely well.

“The marriages in trouble were the marriages with big educational gaps. Why is that? You think differently once you’re college trained. That’s why I counsel ministry wives to get their college education, even belatedly if necessary.”

Another idea: “My husband and I would never have developed our common interest in evangelism if we had not gone to several seminars together. We would discuss the material and new ideas we had heard. After this refreshing time together, we would be inspired again for our ministry. We would set goals together to try some of the new ideas.”

The education gap can be narrowed, but often a major chasm, an emotional gap, remains.

David and Helen Seamands point out that this emotional distance often begins during ministerial training. “A communication problem often arises because the man is oriented to books and theology, and shows little interest in the practical things of the home,” says Helen. “He is attracted to the ministry because he loves studying the Word and digging into ideas; he conceptualizes everything. The kind of woman most attracted to the life of a minister’s wife is a warm, loving, people-person, who sees everything in terms of relationships. When these two get together, they have little common ground for communication.”

As a result, the wife can feel starved emotionally, because the husband is unable to express emotions well. “Often, instead of saying what he’s really feeling, he preaches at her a principle of marriage from Ephesians 5,” says David. “We’ve found that ministers who come to marriage enrichment retreats are tough to handle because they cannot identify or express feelings. Instead of sharing themselves, they preach.”

The secret is to work on staying in touch with one another on both intellectual and emotional levels.

The preoccupied pastor. Ministry demands concentrated energy and attention. Unlike an hour spent chatting about sports, an hour spent counseling a couple considering divorce can leave a minister emotionally exhausted. One pastoral couple described it as the difference between a bucketful of feathers and a bucketful of rocks — the measured amount is the same, but the scales tell a different story.

Many ministers struggle not to lose touch with their spouses in the midst of touching everyone else. If the ministry becomes a “mistress,” many times the children can adjust — they may not know any other lifestyle — but the wife is more likely to take it personally. She finds herself losing out to the other love in her husband’s life — his work. The irony is that part of the job of a pastor is to encourage marriage. As a pastor’s wife put it, “I know my husband is committed to marriage, but I’m not sure he’s committed to me.“

“At the church I’m a man on a mission,” confessed a pastor. “But at home my wife is asking, ‘But what about me?'” Even church successes can be misinterpreted. “I’m glad the ministry is going well,” wrote a pastor’s wife. “But when that’s the main thing he talks about, I feel that’s more important to him than I am.”

These factors, then, contribute to the all-too-common feeling among ministry spouses that they don’t quite fit. How can those of us in ministry help our spouses have a healthy church experience?

Helping the One Closest to Us

One ministry couple, Dennis and Barbara Rainey, discovered that the key to ministering to one another was shoring up one another’s self-esteem. Here’s how they described it in an article titled “What You See Is NOT All You Get” in the February 1988 issue of Christian Herald:

She was as smart as she was pretty. In fact, she was chosen as one of the university’s “Top Twenty Freshmen Women.”

As a child, this young lady received love and encouragement from her parents — and the example of a stable marriage. There was little stress for her. Life seemed perfect … until junior high.

While her other friends reached puberty quickly and began to develop physically, she did not. Her chest remained flat and her legs skinny, and her hips developed no contours. Throughout the first six years of school, she had felt confident, sure of herself, popular. But as she was slow to develop, she began to question her worth. This self-doubt was further fueled by her best friend, who one day asked, “Are you sure you’re a girl?”

Those words hit like a lightning bolt from a dark cloud. Fear that she would never develop began to whisper in her inner spirit. Her personality changed. She became quiet, reserved, shy. Comparing herself with others, she always came up short in her own eyes. She felt unpopular, unattractive, awkward, and alone. And no one knew of her fears.

Eventually, she began to blossom. In fact, she became very pretty, yet inwardly she continued to see herself as inferior, and she thought everyone else saw her that way, too.

Determined to forge a new identity, the young woman decided to go to an out-of-state college where she could start fresh. She succeeded. Honor after honor came her way. She pledged one of the top sororities on campus. She earned good grades, participated in numerous campus activities, and became very popular.

Yet no one, not even she, realized that at the heart of her performance was a little girl who was afraid to be known. The accomplishments gave her confidence a boost, but she still needed someone who really knew her to accept her for who she was apart from her achievements.

One year after her college graduation, she fell in love with a young man who appeared to have it all together. He was the extroverted, confident person she was not. Their whirlwind romance found them married after only four months of dating.

She later found out that, although he was secure, he had needs, too. He was impulsive, brash, and overzealous. And behind his air of bravado and pride, he was hiding some insecurities of his own.

After nearly a month of marriage, both began to realize much more was going on inside each other than they had bargained for. One night, after an evening out with some friends, they stayed up talking about how inferior she felt in public settings. Her questions about her worth stunned him. He couldn’t believe that this beautiful woman, his wife, could possibly feel that way about herself. He had confidence in her. But her withdrawn behavior at social gatherings began to irritate him. He silently questioned, Why does she retreat into her protective shell of silence, when I feel so comfortable with people? Why can’t she be like me?

After several of these late evening “chats,” he finally realized his wife really did have some serious self-doubt.

That young couple was us more than fifteen years ago. At that time, we had critical choices to make. Would Dennis accept Barbara fully and love her during her periods of self-doubt? And would Dennis be vulnerable and risk being known by a young woman who might reject him? The choices were real. The decisions were tough. In retrospect, we believe those days were among the most crucial in our marriage. In those initial months, the foundations of acceptance and the patterns of response were laid.

As our fears and insecurities surfaced, we also discovered the critical importance of a healthy, positive self-concept to a marriage. We began to recognize the magnitude of the responsibility we each carried in building up or tearing down the other’s self-esteem. And we both began to see that our own self-image either crippled or completed our marriage relationship.

This couple learned the importance of building up each other, which not only strengthened their marriage but also benefited their children and those to whom they minister. Because when people see how Dad treats Mom in everyday life, they also, without realizing it, develop an understanding of how Christ relates to us, his church.

What are some specific ways to shore up self-esteem in your spouse? Any good marriage book would suggest: showing warmth and acceptance, sowing positive words, seeing the past in perspective, offering freedom to fail, and so on. But in ministry families, the ministry to a spouse takes on some added dimensions.

Show her you enjoy your time together. You may not have twenty hours a week of private time together, or even ten, but carving out some relaxed, enjoyable time with your spouse is one of the most significant ways of telling her she’s important to you.

Robert Crosby, a youth pastor in New York, revealed the dawning of this realization upon him: “Twenty-five youth workers were, for the first time, cooperating to reach thousands of high schoolers for Christ. Definitely the biggest citywide outreach I had ever worked on was only two weeks away. Over the past six months, I’d spent countless hours of planning, promotion and perspiration. We were about to make history. I was ecstatic. My comrades were thrilled. My wife was disgusted. And I didn’t even realize it until I pulled out my personal calendar one day to look at the harried upcoming week only to find Thursday penciled in, please keep this day open for pam and kristi (my wife and daughter).

“We hadn’t had any heated debates or snide comments, but this action cut me to the heart. I had been having so much fun with the youth event that I had been perfunctory in my prior covenant of Christian service — spousing and parenting. Instead of a haven of rest and relationship, my home had digressed into a fast-food restaurant and a place to sleep at night.”

How do pastors find enjoyable time with their wives? Here were three of the more unusual ideas I came across:

1. “After the kids are off to school, my wife and I have a long, leisurely breakfast every Friday. We each take our calendar, and we talk about the schedule for the upcoming week and develop our ‘to do’ list. But we also talk about what’s happening in the family and make sure we’re looking ahead and asking, ‘When are we all going to be together this week, next week, and so on.'”

2. “My wife, Karen, helped me understand that staying away from home ‘to do the Lord’s work’ was oftentimes just veiled selfishness on my part. So we’ve divided each of our days into trimesters: morning, afternoon, and evening. We’ve agreed to give outside pursuits (including my church work) eleven segments, and no more than two are allowed each day. So, if I work in the morning, and I have an evening meeting, I do not work in the afternoon. Unless an emergency arises — and it rarely does — after eleven segments, I’m done for the week. It was difficult, but in time, I worked five days a week. At the same time, Karen enjoyed two sacrosanct segments per week to be away from the children (and me, if she desired).”

3. “Between the kids and church activities, we have virtually no uninterrupted hours in the evenings. At night we’re both emotionally exhausted, and I realized if that was the only time we were spending together, that was poor planning. So we look forward to a regular midmorning rendezvous. The kids are off to school, and I’ll come home from the church for a couple of hours. It’s quality time to get reacquainted emotionally and sexually.”

Protect her from the system. At times, “the system” — the expectations of a church — can become overwhelming. One way to build self-esteem is to help confront those unrealistic expectations. Sometimes it’s easier for the pastor to say “enough is enough” for his wife than it is for her to do it herself, and this support is a powerful affirmation. Here are a few ways this has been done by pastors surveyed:

“I recognized that I’d encouraged my wife to be involved in church ministries — Sunday school, children’s church, etc. — which is good, but in our case it had been overdone. She was missing valuable contact with people our age. She didn’t have any fellowship. We worked together to be sure she had a chance for social times.”

Another pastor on the survey wrote: “My wife has sometimes felt out of place, usually as a result of unfair criticism or gossip suggesting she does too much or not enough, says too much or not enough, etc. We talk it out, and then, at times, I’ve stepped in with a loving confrontation with the critics over the phone or in person. In most cases, this has resolved the issue — and it’s certainly brought my wife and me closer together.”

A pastor’s wife wrote: “Recently a group in our congregation asked my husband to volunteer me for a certain job that he knew would have been an emotional trauma for me. He told them he wasn’t even going to ask me, because he knew it was not something I should be doing. I was grateful he protected me that way. Knowing he’ll back me up is a big morale booster.”

Encourage her search for friendship. Most pastors recognize they cannot be everything their spouse needs: confidant, companion, counselor, pastor, closest friend. As one wife said, “When my husband is my pastor, I keenly feel the lack of having someone else to turn to in times of personal or spiritual need. If I’m ‘spiritually dry,’ for instance, or if I’m having difficulties with my husband, I wish I had another pastor to go to.”

In addition, because of their position, pastors’ spouses may find it harder to talk to a counselor — sometimes because of their own reluctance to admit difficulties, other times because of the attitudes of would-be counselors.

One wife told of being at a large hospital during the time her son was dying. She desperately needed someone to talk to besides her husband. A social worker came to see her, but as soon as she learned this grieving mother was married to a minister, the social worker said, “Then you won’t be needing me.”

The answer, of course, is to find a friend. For some, this has been someone in the congregation; for others, someone from the community; for still others, another minister’s spouse has become a close friend. But for both the spouse and the pastor, these friendships have proved a treasured gift. As one pastor wrote, “The greatest help for me in dealing with the pressures of ministry was when my wife found some other ministers’ spouses who shared her outlook on life and ministry.”

To Serve and to Protect

One of the most sensitive issues in the husband-wife relationship is whether or not to have secrets. Are there things that should not be shared with a spouse? This is a particularly complex area for ministry couples.

The task of a spouse is to both serve and protect his partner. Serving includes self-disclosure — discussing what’s going on, especially things that affect your emotional condition, job performance, or future in the church. On the other hand, pastors must maintain varying degrees of confidentiality, which may preclude telling everything they know. In addition, a number of pastors feel that “to protect” their spouses includes not revealing information that would only cause unhealthy emotional distress.

Here’s how some pastors have sorted the times to share and not to share.

What to share. Michael E. Phillips, who pastors at Lake Windermere Alliance Church in Invermere, British Columbia, discussed in a 1988 Leadership article some of the things he makes sure to tell his wife: “Almost everything that goes on in my life. From the seedling thoughts of a sermon series to the interesting details of a half dozen home visits, my wife shares my day. She relishes the high points, looks appropriately concerned over the troubled moments, and adds her observations whenever she feels it’s proper.”

That scenario holds true in most pastors’ homes. But to be a bit more specific, Phillips identifies two subjects that he’s always prepared to discuss with his wife:

1. Difficult decisions. “Every so often, my wife and I celebrate ‘Want Ads Day.’ It’s an event that is cherished by neither of us but demands dual participation. At regular intervals, the pressure of pastoral responsibilities convinces me there must be a softer wall to beat my head against. Therefore, I tell my wife that we are going to look through the classified ads to see what other job I could pursue. Kathy’s role is to convince me I really don’t want to do anything else. But she has to be subtle; I feel I’m facing a tough decision.

“At the end of this madness, we fold the paper, and then my wife asks me what’s getting under my skin. Usually, I’m trying to decide if God is calling me to adjust my ministry, or even to change the location. It’s always a difficult decision, so I share it with the one who would be directly affected by it. Life throws up difficult decisions the way a plow digs up rocks. They seem to be always there, always annoying, and always tricky to handle by yourself.

“Several months ago, I became concerned that most of the elders were not attending prayer meeting. I decided to confront the issue at the next board meeting by proposing changes in the format of the prayer time, lecturing the board, and soliciting their attendance on Wednesday nights. With glee, I described my plan to Kathy. Her face soured, and she came right to the point: ‘Do you really want a prayer meeting full of guilty, shamed elders? Maybe they all have good reasons for not being there.’ She then left the room, leaving me to my decision. I knew instantly that she was right. The beauty of her intimate counsel is that it combined objective integrity with conjugal caring. She knew me and she knew my board. And because she wasn’t directly involved, she saw the problem with greater discernment than I did.”

2. Points of growth. “In my ministry, I take great pains to be transparently honest, showing the congregation that I’m flesh and blood, failing and burdened. I believe it has been effective in that people accept the Word of God from their sinner-pastor with a belief that if I can live it, so can they. Over the years, I have found it progressively easier to discuss intimate failures and personal points of growth.

“Yet it is so hard to do the same with my wife. She even remarked to me a few years ago that if she wanted to find out what God is teaching me, she would have to pay closer attention to my sermons. I was properly corrected. It’s part of human nature to fear pain from our most intimate relationships. But it’s part of good mental health to overcome that part of human nature.

“A caution: it’s essential to understand our problems prior to laying them out before anyone else. We need to be sure we can describe things accurately before we alarm our loved ones. Can you imagine a company’s telling its stockholders every conceivable problem in the firm? The stock would be worth zero, even if the company had very little the matter with it.”

Other pastors have added a third category of subjects that should be shared with spouses.

3. Problem resolutions. A pastor in Kansas told this story: “My temptation is to tell my wife about church problems, but when the problem is resolved, I’ll forget to tell her how it has worked out. As a result, she can get a picture of the church that’s skewed toward the negative.

“I had a problem with our former pastor talking with members of our congregation and second guessing my initiatives. I shared my frustration with my wife, and she joined in my feelings. Later, when I was able to sit with the former pastor and clear the air, I discovered he had not been trying to sabotage my ministry; the people in the congregation had misrepresented what he’d said.

“My mistake was in not talking about that with my wife. Oh, sure, I told her I’d patched things up with Mel, but I’d spent hours talking about the frustrations and a minute or so describing the resolution. It wasn’t fair to my wife. I notice she’s still defensive when we’re around Mel. I did her a disservice by poisoning her attitude.”

What not to Share. Marriage counselors talk about open, honest communication between husbands and wives. But there are dangers in openness, depending upon the spouse’s interests and capacity to handle stressful information. As one Canadian pastor said, “God lays upon each person a different yoke. There are aspects of my calling that my wife is not called to bear.”

One pastor who responded to the survey was concerned about raising his wife’s frustration level with a troubling situation when she couldn’t do anything about the situation: “When I return from a difficult meeting, usually I can work through the personalities and pressures that cause people to criticize me, but if I give too detailed an account to my wife, she carries it around for several days, and it affects the way she sees these people. So there are some things, especially conflicts, I don’t share with her because I’ve learned she doesn’t take it well.”

Other pastors want their spouses to be unbiased toward certain people, so they don’t share negative things that might prejudice them. Others want their spouses to be free of intra-church controversies as much as possible. “My wife finds that some people will test her to see how much she knows,” says one minister. “They’ll say things like, ‘It’s a shame about MaryLou, isn’t it?’ And my wife is glad she can honestly say, ‘I don’t know. What happened?’ It allows her to be free, spontaneous, and affectionate toward people.”

Michael Phillips identifies a few other categories of unwise topics of conversation.

1. Others’ attacking me. “I once asked my wife to describe the one thing I had told her that was harder to handle than any other. Without hesitation she said, ‘The letters you showed me last fall.’ The previous autumn, I had received a series of nasty notes from a former member of our congregation. Clothed as prophetic words, they were vindictive slanders and generally throw-away advice. After a while, they were laughable. Without thinking, I showed them to Kathy one night. It took her a long time to go to sleep that evening. All she could think about was the dirt this person had thrown my way.

“She was much more upset than I was. Her protective feelings were creating a whirlwind of emotions, alternating between bitterness and anger. Thus I learned that it’s a major mistake for us to unload second-hand attacks on our wives.

“What I do now with a situation like that is simple. If I have to tell someone, I tell my prayer partner. He’s a good friend, has broad shoulders, and never gets upset at attacks on me. He thought the letters were funny; he even got me laughing over them. Kathy still doesn’t laugh when she sees the letter writer and his wife downtown. She has, however, worked her facial muscles up to a smile, bless her protective heart!”

2. My attacks on others. “Inevitably, I will have opinions on various members of the flock I pastor, some of them negative at times. This doesn’t mean I don’t love them and desire the best for them, and God is able to adjust my opinions in the course of time, too. But when one person in a family lets off steam, pressure begins to build up in those who are listening. If I voice my personal misgivings about others to my wife or children, I no longer have any control over what those careless words will produce. Understand that my wife is not a gossip and is certainly not vindictive. My comments will taint her viewpoint, however, even if only slightly.

“Several years ago, we had a young Sunday school superintendent who I felt was not getting the job done. I told my wife about his mistakes, and I told her on numerous occasions how upset I was with him. Finally, God convicted me of being the one in the wrong, for I had not spent any time praying for and training the man. As I rectified this, he showed smooth progress in his ministry. My wife was not aware of this turnaround, however, and I noticed over a year later that she still had a critical attitude toward the man. The blame lay firmly on my shoulders. I apologized to her and asked her to forgive me for tainting this young man in her eyes. I also vowed inwardly to keep my most vindictive vents of steam to myself.”

3. Ultra-sensitive issues. “With one of my college professors, it was common knowledge that if you asked him a question about black holes, even if it were only remotely connected to the topic at hand, he would wax eloquent on the subject, and the rest of the class would be history. We used to call him ‘Black Hole Rollie.’ We knew the topic that set him going. In the same way, I know the kinds of discussions that set my wife’s mind buzzing. Each person, and each pastorate, has a different set of these terrible topics. For some of us, it may be learning of a church member’s financial irresponsibility or doctrinal deviation. For others, hearing about even long-past sexual misconduct may create only unhealthy agitation. For still others, talking about how other people discipline their children gets the blood boiling.

“So Kathy and I have discovered that there are some issues too sensitive to discuss — unless we’ve got a long, uninterrupted time together to fully process the topic. Ours are so sensitive I’m not even going to tell you what they are.”

Phillips offers some help in discovering what those ultra-sensitive issues might be. You’ve probably found one when you uncover a topic that:

1. Contributes to obvious feelings of uneasiness in your spouse;

2. The two of you cannot constructively deal with;

3. You yourself feel uncomfortable discussing;

4. Leads to conversations whose long-term effect is only negative.

It takes time and mistakes to discover what these “don’t tell me” issues are — for yourself and for your spouse.

These elements help a spouse have a healthy church experience. But perhaps the most critical element is developing a vital and authentic spiritual life as a family, the subject to which we now turn.

Copyright ©1988 Christianity Today

Children of the ministry are not volunteers; they are conscripts.
Doug Toussaint

My job as a parent is a temporary responsibility with eternal consequences.
Tim Kimmel

What do Alice Cooper and Cotton Mather have in common? Not much, except that both grew up as sons of ministers.

The same is true of Aaron Burr, Orville and Wilbur Wright, Walter Mondale, John Tower, Marvin Gay, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Sir Laurence Olivier. Other “preacher’s kids” include Albert Schweitzer, Christian Barnaard, and Harriet Beecher Stowe.

There’s no guarantee, of course, that any child — whether born into the home of a preacher, professor, plumber, or prince — will decide to live in a way that brings honor to God and joy to parents. Nor can pastoral couples guarantee even that their children will find church a place to enjoy rather than endure. Some factors are beyond parental control — critics, conflict — but parents can help prepare children for church life, interpret what’s happening, and create an atmosphere that makes church life much more appealing and increases the chances of the child’s developing a strong relationship with God.

Let’s look at some of the key elements in helping kids have a healthy experience in their church life. Family-conscious ministers have identified several general strategies.

Fathering or Pastoring Your Family?

The first is to recognize the difference between being a father to your family and being your family’s pastor.

When your family is part of your congregation, you’ll wind up pastoring them. As one Nazarene pastor pointed out about his children, “I’m the only pastor they’ve ever had.” Through preaching, counsel, and example, pastors provide spiritual direction for everyone in their congregations, including their families.

But there’s danger when a pastor sees his family only as objects of pastoral care and not as intimates with whom he has a qualitatively different relationship from the one he has with ordinary members of the congregation.

“I may pastor my family, but I don’t want always to be their preacher,” says a pastor from San Diego. “I struggle with dads who preach at their kids but don’t listen, who have an agenda for every conversation: Dad speaks, kids listen. I have a tendency to be like that. But I’m grateful that God gave me a wife who won’t let me. I don’t want to be the family preacher, except on Sunday.”

A pastor from Michigan says, “I don’t think of myself as my family’s pastor. I do pastor them on Sundays. But when I walk in the door at night, I don’t think of them in congregational terms. My home is my escape, a place where I don’t have to be The Pastor.”

In some ways, fathering is a much easier role, a more natural fit, one that doesn’t require us to maintain the poise and energy level of pastoring. But in other ways, it’s a more uncomfortable role.

“I can stand up in front of hundreds of people on Sunday and articulate a spiritual principle and illustrate it. People even take notes. But that afternoon, sitting with my wife and kids, it’s a lot harder. No notebooks come out!” says Joseph Stowell with a smile. “I’m not nearly as articulate or convincing. I’ve given talks to teenagers on dating, morality, and handling temptations. I tried to sit down and cover that with my kids. It didn’t work. I wondered, What’s wrong with me? I just lost the gift. That’s the difference between fathering and pastoring. Fathering is a very different role — our impact goes beyond the realm of precept. Our impact comes from our character, attitude, integrity — our caring and love for them.”

One way to make sure the preacher/authority role is occasionally shucked for the “just plain ol’ Dad” role is to capitalize on situations where we are not in charge. A minister living in New Hampshire illustrates: “My son plays soccer, and I enjoy games as a spectator. But I’ve turned down all invitations to coach or even be an assistant. Why? Because whenever Mark enters my world, he always sees me in charge. I want soccer to be one area where he is in charge, where he knows more than I do, and where he knows he knows more than I do. All I do is show an interest, ask questions, and learn from him.”

Orienting Children to the Ministry

Orientation is important in helping children handle the realities of life in a ministry home. If they are prepared, they aren’t as likely to be jolted by difficult people or situations.

Most pastors and spouses surveyed indicated they brief their children to expect people not to be perfect. But they also try to help them see the importance of ministry.

“I try to teach them that the church is not above hurts, criticism, and conflict. These are growing areas — great teaching times,” writes one pastor. “As a family, we endure the bad, enjoy the good, and grow in both. We’re teaching them to be liberal in gratitude, and to write notes of thanks and praise to encourage others. I often speak of the faithfulness of God’s people through the ages.”

“We pray as a family for hurting members,” writes another.

Yet another pastor is not quite so delicate in his choice of words: “The number one issue for me has been to let them know I love the Lord and the church he died for — and because sheep are sheep, there’s frequently lots of sheep dung to clean up. So we’re not shocked when sinners sin.”

Each of these expresses in a different way the same truth: children of ministry benefit from periodically being briefed on what to expect.

Entering Each Other’s World

Parenting books stress the importance of spending time with your children. And who would argue? But many of these books leave the impression that parents should eliminate the important and interesting activities they enjoy and bore themselves silly with coloring books and Parcheesi.

While it probably wouldn’t harm any of us to join our preschoolers with the Play-Doh or our junior highers with the video games, involvement doesn’t always have to mean descending to the level of a child in order to relate.

Preacher’s kid Tim Stafford describes his own upbringing: “My father didn’t join the neighborhood football games; we probably would have been embarrassed if he had. He never played Monopoly with us. He encouraged us in our chosen vocation of fishing, but he never bought a rod and reel himself. I always had the impression that we were kids, allowed the kiddish dignity of going about our kiddish affairs in all seriousness, without adult interference.

“I am not certain I can recommend my father’s lack of involvement in our interests, but I strongly recommend his alternative — involving us in his. He allowed us to enter his world when we were interested in doing so. He and I trekked hundreds of miles in the back country of the Sierra Nevada together, not so much (I believe) because he was being a good father but because he wanted to go. We talked baseball because he was avidly interested. He also liked taking us to meetings with him. I remember particularly one Sunday night when after the evening service, I went with my father to a hotel restaurant to join a small circle of pastors chatting with Addison Leitch, one of my father’s most admired seminary professors. I didn’t know what they were talking about, but to this day my memory can bring back the rich pleasure of being allowed in adult male company as a sort of equal.”

In some ways, the elder Stafford was showing his son the same respect he’d show for any friend — he sought common ground. Hopefully, one of those mutual interests will be ministry. This was the situation for another pastor’s son, who grew up to become a pastor himself: “I was raised in a parsonage, and my dad was never there. Most nights it seemed he had some meeting to attend. But I never resented it because he included me in his life.”

One way to begin doing this is, as some church leaders do, to grant kids an open-door policy.

Bill Bright, the founder and president of Campus Crusade for Christ, says that when his children were small they always had access to him. No matter what important visitor might be in his office, the boys were always allowed in for at least a brief greeting. Dr. Bright wanted them to know that their concerns took precedence over any other problems he might be dealing with. He did not want them to feel they had to make an appointment to see their father.

Developing a Ministry Mindset

Most pastors would love to have family members share their commitment to ministry. How can that commitment be encouraged?

One key is to teach children to do what we are trying to do — live for God’s glory and not our own. This results in their becoming what sociologist David Riesman calls “inner-directed.” They learn to act on the basis of the strength God gives, to do what they know is right, instead of bowing to pressure from their peers (or even their parents).

A pastor’s wife from Indiana offered the following example from when her daughter was in third grade. “One of her classmates had parents who both worked during the day, and he would come home to an empty house. One day he started playing with a cigarette lighter, and the house caught fire and burned to the ground. After that, everyone at school made fun of him and called him ‘Lightning Bug’ or ‘Firefly.’ When he would take his lunch to a table to eat, the others would get up and move away. Our daughter told me about it; she was quite upset. She explained that he was not a special friend of hers — she didn’t even like him very much — but she was concerned about the way he was being treated.

“I asked, ‘What do you think Jesus would want you to do about it?’ She thought a minute and said she thought Jesus would want her to take her lunch and go sit with him. I agreed. So the next day at lunch she sat next to him, taking her little sister along for moral support. The following day a couple of others joined them. By the end of the week he was integrated into the group again. This was an amazing incident for me to observe. A basically timid child had found the power to resist peer pressure to help someone in trouble.”

By pointing the child to God, this approach can help avoid a contest of wills between parents and child, because the parents aren’t saying, “This is what we want you to do.” They aren’t even saying, “The Bible says.” They are helping the child to develop his conscience and to make decisions on the basis of his growing knowledge of God and faith in him. This, of course, is much different from using “God’s will” to pressure children into bowing to “parents’ will.”

One minister’s 12-year-old daughter, who had been raised with a ministry mindset, was able to use her sanctified social skills to help some of her friends at a party. During the games the popular boys were continually choosing her and her pretty friends for partners. The hostess, who was not pretty or socially skilled, was being neglected. The minister’s daughter was sensitive to this and cornered two of the most attractive boys. She told them they had a responsibility to pay attention to the hostess. After all, they had accepted her hospitality. “We can take care of ourselves,” she said. “You go pay attention to her.” And they did.

These, then, are some general strategies for helping children have a healthy church experience. Now let’s turn to specific situations.

When the Children Are Young

Pastors have several techniques when their children are preschoolers or in the early elementary grades.

Bedtime briefings. Even preschoolers can benefit from briefings, if they’re handled simply and with imagination.

One church leader says that bedtime has proved the best time for this with his daughters. He explains: “Saturday night, or any night before a church event, as I’m tucking the girls in, I tell them about the good things to expect the next day — the friends they’re going to see, the things they’re going to do. And I’ll try to tell them what to be listening for; I give them a foretaste of any lesson or sermon they’ll be hearing. If I know the Sunday school lesson, for instance, I’ll tell the Bible story. My girls like that because (1) they feel more confident the next day when they hear the story, and (2) I throw in more detail than their teachers usually do. Our daughters especially like to know names for each of the characters.

“Once, for instance, my 3-year-old’s teacher was telling the story of Jesus’ healing the blind man. Stacey was eager to tell the class, ‘His name was Bartimaeus!’ a detail the teacher had somehow managed to overlook. Right now, our daughter is troubled because she knows the names of Noah’s sons — Ham, Shem, and Japheth — but I can’t tell her the names of the sons’ wives who were on the ark, and her inquiring mind wants to know! But I’m glad to supply her with little details. I like to fire her imagination for the next day’s activity.”

Church as second home. Because they’re at the church so often, children will naturally begin to see it as their second home. A number of pastors have tried to use this fact to their advantage.

“As our children were growing up, we tried to let them see the privileges that go along with the pastorate,” said Kent Hughes. “For example, they got the run of the church building during the week — gymnasium and all.”

Jamie Buckingham, now pastoring in Florida, said that when his kids were small, “we wanted them to feel the church was an extension of their house, so they were welcome in the office — and occasionally during worship one of them would come up on the platform and stand with me during the congregational singing. I allowed that because it didn’t disrupt our worship, and it helped reinforce that the church was their place, too.”

Warm associations. Many pastors try to make sure their kids associate church with positive feelings. Part of this comes naturally through friends, caring teachers, and the positive perspective of parents. But at least one pastor did even more.

“I’ve always sat on the front row with my family during worship services, not up on the platform,” wrote this pastor. “I go to the pulpit only when I have a specific task to perform. Otherwise I’ve always been sitting there stroking my children’s hair, scratching the back of their necks, kneading their shoulders — and they never wiggled a muscle for fear I would stop. We never had a behavior problem in church with either of them. Now that they’re older, they simply would not miss a church service — and I’ve pondered whether their faithfulness is not built to some extent on a subconscious association with good feelings of warmth and intimacy.”

Avoiding after-service neglect. The period right after the worship service is an important time for the pastor to make contact with people. But a crowded narthex can be a confusing place for young children, especially when both parents are concentrating on greeting worshipers.

One pastor’s daughter told about trying to talk to her father in the foyer after the Sunday morning service. She shouted, “Dad, Dad,” but she couldn’t get his attention. Finally she said, “Pastor!” and got his immediate attention. Understandably, she felt her father was more interested in others than in her.

“I know that my children will superimpose the image of their father, to some degree, upon their understanding of God,” says David Goodman, pastor of Winnetka (Illinois) Bible Church. “Most kids do. I don’t want my kids seeing God as one who is interested only in others and not in them. At the same time, the time in the foyer after a Sunday service is crucial ministry time.”

So he has devised an arrangement. “We get someone, usually one of the single women, to get our two youngest kids from their classrooms and watch them for the forty-five minutes right after church while we’re busy. We pay her, and sometimes she takes them to the park across the street, or, if the weather is bad, she plays with them in a room in the church.

“We don’t need child care for our 10-year-old; she’s seeing her friends and talking to other people. (I think one of the advantages for kids growing up in a church home is that they tend to be well socialized; they get more interaction with adults.) But for the two younger ones, we had to get child care because otherwise they get into mischief. After all, they’ve been in church two to three hours already, and if we’re too harsh on them, they begin to resent the whole experience. That’s the last thing we want. We want them to enjoy going to church as we enjoy going to church.”

When Children Are Older

In the later elementary-school years and beyond, strategies change. Here are some methods used by ministry parents who have preteens and adolescents.

The first and most common is to involve the children in various aspects of the ministry. One way is to pay them for office work. “I’ll often bring one of my kids to the church when he or she needs to earn a little money,” said John Yates of The Falls Church in northern Virginia. “There’s always some filing or sweeping that needs to be done, and I pay them out of my pocket.

“My dad was in the department store business when I was young. I started working there when I was 12, and he’d pay me out of his pocket. It made me feel special that my dad was in charge of this organization, and that I could work there, too. And the employees loved Dad’s children. Well, I see that same kind of feeling among the children here. This is a happy church, and my kids feel loved when they come here to work.”

Another way to involve children is to take them along on certain kinds of visitation. Hank Simon of Signal Hill Lutheran Church near St. Louis, Missouri, takes his 10-year-old along every time he visits Mrs. Keller, a long-time member of the church who is a shut-in. And over the years Christy has grown very close to “her shut-in.” Mrs. Keller often has little treats for Christy. For instance, when Christy took her an Easter basket, Mrs. Keller had some chocolate-covered peanuts for her.

“Christy is learning that caring is part of the Christian life,” says Mary Simon, Christy’s mom. “Now she’s worried because the woman’s cat is more than 14 years old. Recently she asked me, ‘What will Mrs. Keller do when her cat dies?’ I was touched that a 10-year-old could care so deeply for her elderly friend.”

Another time, Mary Simon remembers, Christy stood on the footrest of a wheelchair so one of the blind people could feel her face. Finally the woman said, “Thank you. I’m so glad to see you.”

“Our daughters remember visiting the 101-year-old lady in the nursing home — and going to a funeral of a young child,” said Mary. “By being involved in ministry this way, they have developed a good sense of life’s stages.”

John Yates took his 11-year-old son to a dinner where John was to be the speaker. “They invited my wife and me, but Susan was busy that night, so I asked if I could bring my son. The hosts agreed. Well, you might think he would have been bored stiff at a formal dinner with a bunch of old people. But he wasn’t. Afterward he said, ‘Dad, that was a great talk.’ And he even enjoyed talking with some of the people. Later one of the older ladies wrote him a letter and sent him a gift — a Bible. It turned out to be a great experience for both of us.”

Yet another strategy is occasionally to single out children for special treatment. A number of pastors’ kids recall their parents doing something especially for them, even amid the busyness of ministry. This event often made a profound and lasting mark on their attitudes toward ministry.

Richard Strauss remembers: “When I was about 5, my dad had a portrait taken of just him and me with our arms around each other, and he wrote across that portrait, Pals. He hung it in his study. I used to go in when he wasn’t there and just stand and look at that picture. It meant more to me at that age than anything in life. In fact, I’ve got it at home now.”

At times, pastors’ kids seem to need an occasional reminder that they’re “more special” than the members of the congregation. One of the best reminders: periodically spending time one-on-one. Sometimes this requires firm resolve. One pastor, who was also the son of a pastor, recalled a key moment in his upbringing.

“In addition to pastoring, my dad worked a second job, 3-11 p.m. five nights a week, to support our family. But about once every other month, he would do something one-on-one with each of us kids. One Saturday morning, it was my turn, and Dad and I were getting ready to go hunting.”

Suddenly a car pulled in front of the house. It was Wilbur Enburg, one of the elders, and he wanted the pastor to come with him.

“It’s Joe and Laura,” Wilbur said. “They’re upset and say they’re going to leave the church. I think you should go see them.”

“I talked with Joe last week, and with Laura the week before that,” the pastor said. “The situation can wait.”

Wilbur wasn’t happy. “I think you should see them today.”

“Sorry,” said the pastor as his son watched silently. “I’m going hunting today.”

Wilbur’s face got red. “If you go hunting, don’t bother to come back.” Then he turned to get back into his car.

“I don’t think you mean that, Wilbur,” the pastor said. “I’ll see you in church tomorrow.”

The pastor’s son reflects, “As Dad and I headed off to the woods, I had to ask, ‘Is this going to cost you your job?'”

“‘I don’t think so,’ Dad said. ‘But if it does, the job is not worth keeping.'”

Sure enough, the matter with Joe and Laura was not an emergency. They did not leave the church, and the pastor’s ministry remained intact. And the pastor’s son learned a lasting lesson: his dad considered him more important than pleasing a particular elder. That affirmation has lasted nearly forty years.

This story, however, raises another question in giving children a healthy church experience: How to handle the conflicts and difficult people that arise in any church? How do these affect the children?

The Critical and the Contentious

When difficulties arise in church life, parents face the challenge of explaining to the kids what’s happening without souring the children’s attitudes toward the church. The approaches will differ depending on the ages and maturity levels of the children, of course, but some of the key principles remain constant.

Most pastoral families try to shield their children, especially in their younger years, from exposure to the criticisms and conflicts of church life.

“We don’t want to poison their attitudes toward the church or toward any individual,” said one minister’s spouse. “So we don’t roast the congregation at the dinner table. We try to focus on the positive things happening in the church.”

Of course, there will be times when children will eavesdrop on conversations, or, when a critic phones you at home, they’ll overhear your side of the conversation. They may sense your discomfort or hear you desperately trying to phrase an appropriate response. Then, after you’ve hung up the phone, what do you say?

“After I’ve been discussing a church problem on the phone,” said a California pastor, “often our young children will ask me, ‘Who was that on the phone?’ I’ll say, ‘Someone from church,’ and if they press for details, I’ll simply tell them, ‘It’s not your conversation.'”

As children get older, however, and begin answering the phone themselves, they’ll know who the other person is, and when they sense from your responses that there is tension, a bit more explanation may be in order.

Most pastors let their children know that other people often see things differently — and that’s okay. They don’t bad-mouth the people but try to explain the differing points of view.

One tough situation is explaining why a particular family is leaving the church.

“I’ll try to give people the benefit of the doubt — ‘they felt they had legitimate reasons, and people need to find a church where they feel comfortable,'” said one pastor on the survey.

The most important principle seems to be: Don’t overstate the seriousness of the conflict. If you’re going to err, err on the side of understating the problem. Children don’t have the perspective their parents do. They have a hard time understanding that “5 percent of the congregation is giving us a hard time.” Instead, their lasting impression is likely to be “the whole church gave us a raw deal” — an attitude that can have long-lasting effects.

One pastor tells of a mistake in handling church tensions: “A man has been harassing me recently. He wants me to do something I can’t do. Our board has discussed the issue, and their decision has been clear. But this man feels I should override the board’s decision. He and I have discussed the situation many times; he has called me at all hours — even 4 o’clock in the morning! I had to hang up on him a time or two.

“The other night my 11-year-old daughter answered the phone and told my wife that Mr. Smith wanted to talk to me. I was upstairs, but my wife, knowing the situation, said, ‘Tell him your Daddy can’t talk to him right now.’

“My wife immediately regretted that she hadn’t told Mr. Smith herself, because it tore up my daughter. She didn’t know the situation, but she knew I was home. She naturally wondered, Why won’t Daddy talk to him? She sensed the tension, and she was scared. So that night I tried to explain that I’d tried to help the man, but couldn’t, and he kept bothering us. When she realized there wasn’t a genuine need, she could accept that. But she should never have been put in that position.”

Learning from that mistake, the parents now vow to handle such encounters themselves.

Gordon MacDonald, reflecting on his three pastorates in three different states, said: “I don’t think the kids ever heard us talk negatively about people. Frequently Gail or I would say, ‘This is a tough week for us, kids. Dad’s under a lot of pressure.’ Or ‘Dad’s had a few disappointments, so I may not be myself.’ But I wouldn’t say, ‘Joe Brown is really socking it to me this week.’

“Yes, there would be times when they knew somebody had called frequently. So it was not unusual to say, ‘You need to know that Mr. and Mrs. Smith are having a rough time these days. Mom and Dad are helping them. You may see them here at the house for a while tomorrow night. We’d really appreciate it if you’d just breathe a prayer for Mom and Dad that we can find the best way to help.’ As the kids grew older, they would join us in praying for these people and would delight when we would bring them good news about so-and-so. We didn’t break confidences. But we did paint broad-stroke pictures for them so they understood the things they observed.”

Another pastor, F. Dean Lueking of Grace Lutheran Church in River Forest, Illinois, established specific ground rules for talking about church conflicts.

“I always try to operate by this principle when I’m with my children: to talk about adversaries in such a way that if they were present, they’d feel their views had been fairly represented. I often find myself saying, ‘I can see why he feels that way, even though it distresses me.'”

This practice gives children a healthy perspective on conflict. They see that even while people differ, respect can be maintained.

At times, though, Lueking found he needed to invoke a second ground rule, “our four-minute rule.”

“Especially at the dinner table,” he says, “we would put a limit of four minutes on conversation about congregational troubles. Then it would be on to the Cubs, vacation plans, our reading, or whatever. Pastors can go on and on about church problems, and I wanted to make sure that didn’t dominate our talk and our thoughts.”

Dealing with the Curious

Sometimes parishioners treat the pastor’s kids as sources of inside information. One pastor reported the following encounter:

Ed Bailey, a middle-aged parishioner, approached the pastor’s 10-year-old son in the narthex after a morning service.

“Hi, Josh. How’s school?”

“All right,” said the pastor’s son.

“That’s good. Say, you know Marilyn Mason, don’t you?”

Josh nodded. Marilyn was a single woman who sang in the choir and occasionally helped in his Sunday school class.

“Has she ever come over to your house?”

Josh didn’t know what to say. He knew Marilyn had come over to talk to his dad and mom, but he didn’t know about what. So he said, “I think so.”

“How many times has she been there? A lot? Did you see her there this week?”

“I don’t know,” said Josh. Finally Ed quit the inquisition. Josh felt uncomfortable, and at home that afternoon he told his dad what had happened.

The pastor was irritated. “Marilyn had been coming to my wife and me for encouragement and counsel about some family concerns. Ed was a friend of Marilyn’s older brother. I told my son that the situation was none of Ed’s business and that I was sorry he had been put under that pressure.” He let his son know that he had done the right thing in pleading ignorance. “I told him it wasn’t his fault and assured him that I would handle the situation. I wanted to take all the burden for this off my son.”

So later that week, after he had calmed down, the pastor called Ed. “I told him that Josh had mentioned the conversation and felt uncomfortable because he didn’t know what to say. I asked Ed please not to put my children on the spot. I suggested that if he needed information, he should get it from me.”

Ed was silent. He didn’t offer an explanation for his curiosity, nor did the pastor ask for one. But the calm confrontation was effective.

“That was two years ago,” says the pastor, “and Ed didn’t seem offended. More important, he hasn’t grilled my kids since.”

How do you prepare children to respond to nosy members of the congregation?

Some ministry families tell their children only what they would be willing to share with the whole church. This is reasonably effective with younger children, but as they get older they will naturally observe the seamier side of ministry — frayed nerves, differences of opinion, criticism, conflict. Some children develop a sixth sense for what is appropriate to talk about with church members; other children may need some guidance.

One pastor instructs his children simply to say “I don’t know” or “You should ask Dad about that” when people ask for information about specific people.

Another ministry couple teaches their children that certain things are talked about only within the family. “When our kids were young, we distinguished between ‘good words’ (which they could use anytime) and ‘bad words’ (which they were never to use) and ‘secret words’ (mostly bodily parts or functions, which we were to talk about only within our own family). They’ve been pretty good about honoring our understanding about secret words. As they’re getting older, we’re able to build on that concept to explain that other kinds of things also stay within the family.”

Another pastor put it this way: “We’ll tell our children what other people in the congregation are likely to know. We want them to hear the story from us rather than from anyone else, if possible. So with sensitive information about someone, I’ve often said, ‘Here’s what other people know, but let’s not be the ones to talk about it, okay? That’s gossip.’ Our kids respond well to that. We let them know we’re trusting them, and we want to continue to develop that attitude of trust.”

Capitalizing on the Compensations

Perhaps the most important element in helping children have a good experience in the church is not to prepare them for the bad times but to accentuate the good experiences.

“I remember how rude people at church seemed to be to us kids,” says Chuck Smith, Jr. “After a service, I’d be standing there holding Dad’s hand, and they would step right between Dad and me — coming between us both literally and figuratively. They either ignored me or seemed annoyed that I was there, since their lives were falling apart and they had to talk to the pastor. I grew up hating adults, these people I always had to be polite to.

“But Dad was sensitive to what I was feeling. He would let me hang on to him, grab his pant leg, and I never heard him say, ‘Go away. I’m trying to talk to this person right now.'”

In addition, Chuck remembers his father’s going out of his way to make sure his son also realized the benefits of being the preacher’s kid. “He had a saying — ‘When your dad owns the candy store, you’re treated to certain privileges.’ For instance, one time Dad was the director of a week-long summer camp. He took me along, and most of the time I was kind of lonely because he wasn’t really there for me. There was always a crowd of people around him. I caught him only coming and going.

“But one evening, everyone was finishing dinner, and he came to my table and whispered, ‘Grab your swimsuit and meet me at the pool.’

“The pool was closed then. But he opened the lock and we got in. I’ll never forget it — just Dad and me swimming in the pool. It was like he ‘owned the candy store’ that weekend. As camp director, he had access to the pool, and he wasn’t breaking any rules by going in there with his son. Things like that were very special to me.”

Copyright ©1988 Christianity Today

It’s a strange and tragic truth that spiritual things can be unlearned.
Art Glasser

People, like trees, must grow or die. There’s no standing still.
Joseph Shore

Once you bring a baby into the world, you’ve got to raise it till it’s ready to fend for itself. But what’s the best way? There are as many methods as there are child psychologists, from Spock to Dobson and everything in between. Choosing the right approach is one of a parent’s biggest responsibilities.

In the same way, once people have been won to Christ, the local church has the responsibility to help them mature. But churches differ in their approaches to meeting this need. Which methods are most effective, and what are the keys to making them work? Dean Merrill, formerly senior editor of Leadership and now editor of Christian Herald magazine, explores three common approaches.

Have you noticed that the most essential parts of a process are often the most complicated?

It is far easier for an architect to sketch a dashing roof line than to work out the tedious schematics. It is always more fun to invite guests for dinner than to cook the meal and do the dishes afterward.

In ministry, when we invite a person to follow Christ and the answer is yes, there’s a surge of rejoicing all around. Darkness has given way to light; a new life has begun. The next stage, however — the crucial stage if this spiritual newborn is to survive — is the developing, forming, nurturing, establishing, rooting, confirming, and discipling of the new Christian.

As the previous sentence illustrates, we in the church use varying language to describe the task. But there is no question about the importance. From the moment Jesus stared down his most impetuous disciple and said, “Feed my lambs,” the value of caring for the spiritually young has been set. Church leaders agree that answering an evangelist’s public call is not enough. Becoming a member is not enough. Without subsequent feeding, the act of beginning becomes a dead end.

We cringe as we eavesdrop on John Wesley storming at his preachers, “How dare you lead people to Christ without providing adequate opportunity for growth and nurture! Anything less is simply begetting children for the murderer.”

And in our own time, we affirm Lyle Schaller’s premise that “it is not Christian to invite a person to unite with a specific congregation and then not accept that person into the fellowship of that congregation.”

The Daunting Task

Yet the task looms so large, so intangible, that we aren’t immediately sure where it starts, and especially where it finishes. What does it take to bring a person to spiritual maturity? What stages of growth can we anticipate? How do we guide the new Christian from A to B to C? Do we ever reach a point where we can quit?

Any parent knows the peculiar sinking feeling that hits, often within days or weeks of bringing the firstborn home from the hospital. The celebration quiets down, the grandparents say good-by, and in the silence late at night you’re suddenly struck with the awesomeness of what it means to raise a child to adulthood.

It’s up to us to do and be everything this new little life needs from now on. Yes, there’s a pediatrician to consult (for a fee), and miscellaneous friends and relatives with free advice, and later on a school system to help educate. But the buck stops right here, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, till independence do us part.

As philosopher Michael Novak says, “The raising of children … brings each of us breathtaking vistas of our inadequacy.”

The rearing of spiritual offspring is, if anything, even more intimidating, since indicators are less tangible (no height-and-weight charts, no report cards) and our chances to do our work are scant compared to the twenty-four hours a day natural parents have. We all carry dreams of what we hope for: the eager, committed, young Christian who devours the Scriptures on a daily basis, begins changing his or her lifestyle to match what is read, participates fervently in public worship, seeks out a place of service in the church, prays freely and sees answers to those prayers, and speaks openly of his new allegiance to Christ without embarrassment.

But deep within, we know such pleasant results are not guaranteed, and if they fail to materialize, we assume it will be more our fault than anyone else’s.

So we mull over our parenting strategies. Is it better to jar the new Christian with a sense of all-things-new? Should we meet several times a week and require homework, for example? Or does that seem cultish? Shall we rather set an easy stride (after all, these are adults) and keep things comfortable?

A wide difference of opinion exists not only on the level of intensity, but also on where to begin. Some churches are firmly of the “learn and grow first, then serve” philosophy, while others lean strongly toward on-the-job training.

What follows are descriptions of three different “ways to raise a baby.” None would claim to be the only way. From these accounts, church leaders can study, imagine, and pick and choose in order “to prepare God’s people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up until we all … become mature, attaining to the whole measure of the fulness of Christ” (Eph. 4:12-13).

One Friend to Another

West Valley Christian Church in Canoga Park, California, is not one of southern California’s megachurches. It began in 1976 under the leadership of church planter Glenn Kirby and is now a congregation of four hundred. Single-family homes surround the church on three sides; to the west lies a public school playground.

West Valley’s emphasis on helping new Christians grow emerged almost unintentionally. The church has had a private school almost from the beginning, and it was the first school administrator who “kept after the rest of us about the need to give people some kind of big-picture approach to the Bible,” says Kirby. “He put together some material, and we went through it as a staff. Later on, I revised it, and in January 1980, we offered our ‘Bible History Overview’ for the first time in the adult Sunday school classes.”

Kirby was not yet to the point of thinking specifically about new believers. He and Gary Olsby, then minister of Christian education, simply wanted to give members a handle on the big, thick, black Book. So they spent nine months going from Genesis through to the early spread of the church, helping people understand who lived where and who preceded whom. Were members turned off by this large a dose of history?

“Most Christians don’t have the story line in their heads,” says Kirby. “They got excited as they began to acquire the overview.” Sunday school attendance, in fact, went from 150 to 210 during those nine months.

What next? Specifically, how could newcomers to the church get the same foundation? It was at this point that a Laubach-style “each one teach one” concept entered Glenn Kirby’s mind. Before long, he and Olsby boiled down the course to a blue, 61-page workbook, complete with maps, charts, and fill-in-the-blanks. The nine-month class became a set of thirteen (and later eight) lessons for informal use.

“We asked how many graduates of our Sunday school class would be willing to reteach the same material — not to a roomful, but to one or two others in their homes,” Olsby remembers. “That sounded easy enough, and fifty people said yes.”

So they were put to work. Many of them gathered their own students: friends or neighbors who responded affirmatively to the question, “My church has this eight-week Bible History Overview course; would you like for me to take you through it? We could even do it at your house if you like.” Those who lacked prospects were matched with recent visitors to the church or others who wanted to brush up on the Bible.

The course is a simple who-what-when-where. It does not attempt to cover the Old Testament’s Wisdom Literature or the writings of the prophets. Nor does it tackle the New Testament Epistles. It simply lays out a parade of people who walked with God (Enoch, Noah, Abraham …) and another parade of those who didn’t (Jereboam, Manasseh …), showing the advantages of the first over the second.

Week by week, in homes across the valley, interesting things began to happen. Some had more to do with evangelism than discipleship or Christian education. Rod and Rita White led five separate studies, four of which resulted in conversions and baptisms. One couple they touched were the Setsers.

“When Bonny and I came to West Valley,” says Bob Setser, “the Holy Spirit had just begun to make us aware of our spiritual needs. Bonny came from a totally nonreligious home, and I’d turned away from the church in my late teens. But we both felt a void in our lives and wondered if the Lord could fill it. After a few visits, Glenn Kirby asked if we’d like to do an overview study of the Bible with another couple as teachers. We agreed, and that’s how we met Rod and Rita. Over the next several months as the historical panorama of God’s plan was explained, the combination of the Holy Spirit’s work plus Rod and Rita’s guidance and testimony convinced us we were on the right track. Before we completed the study, we asked Jesus into our lives.”

Subsequently, the Setsers became teachers of the overview, and their first students, the Paladinos, also joined the church. The network of influence has by this time become extensive.

“This course was our evangelism program for several years,” the ministers remember. Now West Valley has developed a calling program and some other outreaches, but the overview continues to draw people toward a Christian commitment. The eighth week specifically stresses Peter’s appeal to the crowd at Pentecost (Acts 2:38), and the workbook says, “To become a Christian today, we should do the same things these people did.” This is often the point of conversion for those who haven’t reached it earlier.

After seven weeks of learning and informal conversation, this decision is not as threatening. “Sometimes a student may feel lost or be very shy,” says Olsby, “and initially the teacher must do all the talking. Other times a student can’t read very well, and the teacher must do all the reading from Scripture. But most sessions are a free-flowing discussion with plenty of time for personal questions.”

West Valley has since added a second course (taught mainly in Sunday school) that looks much like what other churches use first. “Basic Teachings of the Christian Faith” has eight lessons on prayer, the church, service, sharing your faith, dealing with temptation, and church history. A third course on spiritual gifts includes a diagnostic questionnaire to help people identify their gifts and put them to use.

“Eventually, we want all our members to go through all three courses,” says Kirby. “Together they take a beginning person from salvation through to grounding in the faith and on to serving.”

The church is now using the one-to-one concept to try to accelerate older Christians’ spiritual growth. The elders and ministers meet in pairs each week for sixty-to-ninety-minute sessions emphasizing accountability. Partners set specific weekly goals (pray with my wife five times; memorize a portion of Scripture) and pray for each other. The following week, they compare how close they came to reaching their goals. Kirby and current minister of Christian education Steve Hanco*ck hope to have all members in these long-term partnerships eventually. That’s likely; through the Bible History Overview, West Valley members have grown accustomed to a close, one-to-one approach.

“I admit we’re tempted sometimes to form more groups rather than keep finding teachers for one-to-one sessions,” Kirby says. “But we feel we’d be giving up too many benefits.” Among them:

— More and more people gain experience teaching.

— New teachers overcome their fears, because they’re already familiar with the material and can simply follow the workbook.

— The new believer builds a solid, close relationship with an experienced Christian.

— People are grounded in the flow of Bible history from Creation to the church.

— Instructors model how to live the Christian life and how to study the Bible, two keys to discipleship.

— It builds bridges into the church.

And the bonus is this: It seems to generate more Christians along the way.

Mainstreaming

A second approach to nurturing new believers might be called “mainstreaming,” to borrow a bit of jargon from the educational world. In recent years, many school administrators have backed away from the earlier practice of segregating students with special needs or handicaps. Instead of filling up special classrooms with atypical students, they have tried placing as many as possible in the same rooms with “normal” students, for two reasons: (1) to surround them with examples of what “normalcy” is, and (2) to heighten sensitivity among ordinary students for those with special needs.

Some church leaders are taking a similar approach to new Christians. Having set an environment that says, “We are Christians in process, and we all have a lot to learn,” they guide new believers into the mainstream of congregational learning as quickly as possible, with a minimum of special attention.

One such church is Peninsula Bible Church in Palo Alto, California. The church is not as massive architecturally as many readers of the book Body Life and others by Ray Stedman, pastor, might have imagined. Packed into the middle of a block, with less than 150 feet of frontage, the plain, 1,000seat auditorium extends back toward parking lots that hide behind adjacent houses. A one-lane driveway snakes along one side of the building and empties out on the other. “We’re as far as we can go on this property,” says Paul Winslow, a staff pastor since 1972, “but God provided a second building (seating 450) in Cupertino, ten miles south.”

So Peninsula Bible Church has taken to providing five Sunday services, two at one location, three at another. It has also parceled its pastors out all over the peninsula, with encouragement to develop the body of Christ not just at 3505 Middle-field Road, but throughout the region, from San Jose to the edge of San Francisco. More importantly, the leadership has honed a precise self-definition.

“We’re a church that ministers to believers,” says Winslow, choosing his words carefully. “The nonbeliever is never addressed corporately here; we don’t have revival meetings or altar calls, for example. All the evangelism happens ‘out there,’ in the world. And believe me, there’s plenty to do; we’re only forty miles from San Francisco, what many say is the most evil city in the world. Our area is also incredibly affluent: more Porsches and Mercedeses per capita here than in Germany. Stanford University is less than two miles away.

“How do we affect this peninsula for Christ? We’ve decided to pour all our efforts into maturing and equipping the believers. We’re not a center for evangelism but for teaching. Our goal is not for people to be won by the professional pastors but by the regular Christians — they’re the evangelizers. And when they lead someone to the Lord, they don’t hand them over to PBC for follow-up care. They involve them in the same processes that helped them grow when they were new Christians.”

Thus, the Sunday meetings are consistently geared to a single purpose: exposition of the Word. When Stedman, Winslow, or one of the others steps to the pulpit, he means to do one thing only: unfold and apply a passage of Scripture. One gets a glimpse of this when walking in the church’s front entrance: two imposing racks line the narthex walls from floor to ceiling, with slots for as many as a thousand different “Discovery Papers” — transcripts of past messages. A thirty-page index lists available titles. New Christians along with all the rest are surrounded by this abundance of Bible teaching.

On weeknights, Discovery Seminars are held at the church: two-hour classes that require tuition and run the gamut from “Friendly Toward Jesus?” (Peninsula’s sole accommodation to new Christians, offered spring term only) to “Modern Church History” to classes on hermeneutics. Other electives covering books of Scripture are offered on Sunday morning, although space is a constraint.

“The whole church gravitates toward studying and applying the Bible — it’s in the air,” says Winslow. “If you don’t enjoy that, you start to feel uncomfortable here. We don’t have enough of the other usual trappings — a large music program, gymnasium, or social activities, for example — to hold you. You get bored if you don’t get into the Word.”

One reason this works at Peninsula Bible is that its Silicon Valley constituency is highly educated, eager to read and learn for themselves. They take notes during the preaching, snap up the Discovery Papers on their way out, and may stop to buy a book in the church bookstore.

Not everyone, of course, can find his own way to grow. Pastor Ron Ritchie, who ministers to singles each Sunday in the upstairs room of the Menu Tree Restaurant in Mountain View, knows the difficulty.

“Sometimes I’ll wake up at three in the morning,” he says, “and the Lord will say to me, ‘Ron, where’s Bill?’ Then I remember I haven’t seen him in a while; he’s fallen through the cracks. I look him up as soon as I can and give some personal attention.

“In that sense, caring for the new Christian is the responsibility of us all,” he continues. “There’s no program, no delegation. But if you find the Lord at PBC — and don’t move out of the area — I can guarantee there will be more ‘food’ than you can eat. That’s our whole purpose as a church.”

What are the pros and cons of mainstreaming as a way to care for the spiritually young?

Its advantages are that it sweeps up new Christians in a mass movement of sorts, a large band of pilgrims all headed the same direction. They aren’t made to feel a breed apart, rookies to be given unusual treatment. They quickly rub shoulders with Christians of all types and experience, learning what they can from a multitude of sources.

Such an approach largely dismisses questions about sequence. If you happen to drop in at the point where Ray Stedman is in the eleventh week of 2 Corinthians, that’s just the way it is. The Word is alive in all its parts, and nothing will be harmful for you; the Spirit can be trusted to guide you and personalize the message as needed. Eventually, all the bases will be covered.

Some church leaders will endorse the previous paragraph, while others will not. All can probably agree that mainstreaming does require a sizable amount of weekly Bible presentation with practical application, else the bases will not be covered for a long time, and new Christians may falter. Certainly mainstreaming should not be viewed as an easy way out, and its best practitioners do not do so in the least. Their desire is rather to keep from overcomplicating the new life in Christ, to make it as natural and as accessible as possible.

The Short Course

Many churches include some kind of brief, church-based orientation class in their overall ministry to new Christians. We turn now to those for whom such a class is the prime element.

“When you finally get up the courage to try church — and you haven’t been there in years — it’s scary,” says Don Bubna, former pastor of Salem (Oregon) Alliance Church. “Every human being has at least some tinge of fear at being rejected by a new group. You might manage sitting through a morning worship service all right, but beyond that, you’re not at all sure you’ll survive.”

That’s why Bubna created “The Welcome Class,” a freewheeling, no-demand “guided happening” every Sunday morning, year round. The only qualification to attend: you had to be a newcomer or visitor to the church. People were welcome to stay as long as they wished, although they’d notice after three months that the topics started to recycle. It was their special zone in which to relax, breathe, laugh, find out what the Christian life is about, get close to the church’s leadership, and begin to put down roots.

Bubna got the technique down to a science. He first experimented with it while pastoring a small church in San Diego in the early sixties. When he went to Salem, the class became a permanent fixture. As of this writing, 80 percent of the eleven hundred people who regularly attend Salem Alliance have gone through this portal. Bubna calls it “the single most significant contributor to two decades of growth.”

A typical morning would begin with thirty-five to fifty people entering the pastor’s study (actually a large classroom that he enjoyed throughout the week in order to host the Welcome Class on Sundays). There they found an incomplete sentence on the chalkboard: “You would know me better if ____” “Some of the best advice I ever had was _____” or “Something I learned from a tough experience was _____.” (On some Sundays, people were given the option of asking anything about the church’s practices or beliefs.)

While thinking of your answer, the pastor, his wife, or associate teacher Darrel Dixon would put a cup of coffee or tea into your hand and introduce you to someone else nearby. Soon the session began with the gregarious pastor saying, “I’m Don Bubna, and you’re the Welcome Class. This is a gathering of new people and visitors who meet each week to discuss things Christians commonly believe.

“It’s a place where people are important. That’s why we take time each week for each of you to introduce yourself. The open-ended statement on the board will also let you tell us a little more about yourself — if you want to. You may complete it seriously, humorously, philosophically — or just pass. Who wants to be first?”

Often one of the leadership team broke the ice, being careful not to sound too theological. Soon the comments were flowing freely, and if somebody said he was from Spokane, others were welcome to find out whether he knew their cousin who lived there. It was common for someone to spill the news of a sick child, a job loss, or a family concern. Would the person like prayer about that? Someone was promptly invited to lead out.

Then came the Scripture for the day, with Bibles handed out for those who needed them. Bubna did not assume people knew how to find Psalms or Acts; he guided them by saying things like “about three quarters of the way back in the book.” Everyone read the text silently and then framed a comment about it. There was no lecture waiting to be unleashed, however. The teaching was done via discovery, with plenty of give-and-take and frequent life application.

Says Tom Riordan, a lapsed Catholic whose wife talked him into attending in late 1983, “The format was essentially educational, but it worked on such an intimate level that at times it was, for me, really moving. I would get caught up in what was happening, and the more I opened up, the more I gained.” He eventually came to realize his commitment to Christ was still unformed, and Don Bubna led him to solid commitment in a restaurant the following March.

Tucked away in Bubna’s notes, of course, was an agenda. “We were teaching basic Bible doctrine, but we never called it that.” The five areas to be covered: Scripture, God, our human predicament, Jesus Christ, and the church — what it means to be the people of God. The last topic took as much time as the other four put together.

Sometimes the Bible study wrapped up early, leaving time for general questions such as “Share one thing you’ve been learning about God,” “Tell us where you are in your pilgrimage of faith,” or “What were the circ*mstances that surrounded your coming to commitment to Christ?”

Certain logistics are important, says Bubna:

1. The right location. He feels the pastor’s study carries a certain sense of privilege to it that attracts some people.

2. The presence of the church’s preaching pastor and his wife. “New people want some kind of identification with them. This also provides personal contact with those who most likely will merge into the congregation before long.”

3. A solid associate teacher to provide continuity when the pastor must be out of town. Darrel Dixon had been on the scene in the Welcome Class for more than ten years.

4. A visiting elder each week, who is always introduced. This furthers the exposure of leadership and sets up more relationships.

5. Periodic promotion. Although newcomers might enter the class at any point, special letters of invitation were mailed just ahead of the first Sunday of each quarter to those who had recently signed a friendship pad in the main service. It told them where to find coffee, a sweet roll, and comfortable give-and-take with the pastor next Sunday morning.

The class was also occasionally announced in the bulletin and from the pulpit. But most new people were brought or referred by friends, previous attenders of the class who liked it and wanted others to experience it for themselves. Visitation teams also followed up first-timers with a personal presentation of the gospel in their homes.

Along the way, those who professed faith in Christ were invited to separate baptismal classes, two or three sessions that prepared them to give their public witness at the time of baptism.

Eventually, members moved out of the Welcome Class to other kinds of learning: adult electives, home Bible studies, or intensive, ninety-minute discipling classes on Wednesdays. Yet even these retained the discovery approach, the warmth, and the humor of the Welcome Class. Don Bubna’s goal in each structure was to live out the words of Romans 15:7: “Welcome one another, therefore, as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God.”

The short-course approach to forming new believers is an easily grasped, conventional strategy, particularly in our current era of adult education. Many North Americans are well conditioned to taking courses in order to learn whatever they want to know. And they give such courses a measure of seriousness.

Such structure tells people there is a body of information to be covered here, enough that it will require more than one sitting. Yet it isn’t endless; you can finish on a certain date and feel you’ve accomplished something.

The class also tells the congregation each week as they read the church schedule in the bulletin that early discipling is going on. It keeps veteran Christians in touch with the fact that, among other things, this church is a continual “nursery.”

However, if the class is not more than a class, the new life in Christ can be reduced to gray academics. That’s why the style of the “Welcome Class” is especially noteworthy. Bubna worked hard to join fellowship with learning, the heart with the head.

The problem of sequence is not entirely solved. Those who enter midstream end up getting some first things second. That is partly why these are short courses. Students don’t have to wait a long time to fill in the missing blanks, and as we have noted before, the question of whether sequence is important is debatable anyway.

The short course, in the end, is neither the most daring nor the most demanding form of nurture for new Christians. But it is practical, manageable, and can be significantly effective.

An Untidy Operation

The one-on-one, mainstreaming, and short-course approaches are just a few of the ways congregations care for the infants in their midst. Some churches use “covenant groups,” intense “Timothy-ing” in a small-group setting. Still others rely on a full-blown school, offering an array of courses in the Christian life with professors, credits, and electives. The styles and techniques vary according to pastoral temperaments, congregational strengths, and regional needs.

Perhaps we should accept the fact that forming new Christians will never be a tidy operation. We will always have questions about whether we are doing enough of the right kinds of things. We will probably go on wondering about the proper sequence, or whether sequence matters. We are forced to live with residual levels of uncertainty.

Yet we can take comfort in the thought most pediatricians pass along to anxious parents: “Don’t worry quite so much. The kid won’t break. With a reasonable amount of love and attention, she’ll be fine.”

Part of the task of helping new Christians grow is the work of discipleship, working intensely in one-on-one relationships. Yet the pastor’s heavy time investment in this process can lead other church members to feel slighted. Thus, in the second part of this chapter, E. Stanley Ott, associate pastor of Covenant Presbyterian Church in West Lafayette, Indiana, describes the keys he has found to discipling individuals without appearing to play favorites in the eyes of the rest of the congregation.

Whether my church has one hundred or one thousand, I cannot focus on them all. I want to build disciples, so I spend intensive time with a fraction of the people to whom I minister. A few mouths get the biggest slices of my time-and-energy pie. And that opens me to charges of favoritism.

It’s easy for others in the congregation to become jealous of the few who associate most closely with me. I am their pastor, too, they rightly reason, yet I spend less time with them. And they may have been here longer, and perhaps been even more committed to the church.

The pastor indeed carries pastoral responsibility for the entire fellowship. I accept the reality that everyone in the congregation must in some way sense my personal interest and support. I’m not free to neglect the preaching, administration, and other efforts for the “many” to minister to the “few.”

But I’ll be most effective by focusing on a few. Here are several tactics that allow me to do that while neutralizing the feeling that I’m playing favorites.

I do not make public statements about my few. I don’t even say I have a few. That would be like saying, “I heard a great joke today, but I’m not telling you!” People will feel left out and resentful if I play up how wonderful my relationship is with a handful of trusted parishioners. I may not even identify to a person among the few that I am focusing on him or her. I don’t need credit for offering a little more of myself to someone.

I do not focus on the few in a public setting. I define a clique as a group of people you can pick out in the midst of a bigger group because they clump together. So I use the motto, “Ministry in public, friendship in private.” In a public setting, such as Sunday morning, the few and I disperse to minister to others. We know we will see each other at other times for personal interaction.

I give the whole congregation plenty of opportunity to be with me at a more personal level. I find numerous ways to say to the congregation, “Come be with me.” People who want to get near me can do so in an evening Bible study, one-night seminars, and the occasional Sunday school class I teach. This invitation is offered to the whole congregation, and to members individually. I particularly welcome long-time members, the “old guard.” They need to feel included in my ministry, too.

I minister to the many with the few. Of the thousands of people who crowded around Christ during his ministry, he concentrated on a mere twelve. But he sent them to minister. I love the comment of George Williams, founder of the YMCA in the last century: “We had only one thing in mind and that was to bind our little company together in order that we might better lead our comrades to Christ.”

Not too long ago a man asked me, “Stan, I want to grow in my spiritual life. Would you meet with me?”

I said, “It would be a privilege to grow in Christ together. When I visit the hospitals on Friday afternoon, would you join me?” He agreed. For months we saw God at work in difficult situations in the hospital. After our visits, we would talk and pray together. Later this man went on to do some visitation by himself, and now he helps coordinate some aspects of our visitation. What began as ministry to one person has developed into ministry, through him, to many.

Copyright ©1988 Christianity Today

Alone I cannot serve the Lord effectively, and he will spare no pains to teach me this. He will bring things to an end, allowing doors to close and leaving me ineffectively knocking my head against a wall until I realize that I need the help of the Body as well as of the Lord.
Watchman Nee

When I got to my first church, because I was so green, they asked a godly and experienced elder who had moved away to come back and help me for a week,” remembers Glen Parkinson. “One of the first things he told me as he oriented me to the church was this: ‘Glen, you are not to have any friends in the church. It’s not allowed; you just can’t do that. No personal friends. That leads to cliquishness, and you’ll antagonize some folks.

“‘Now we want you to be personable, to love everybody, but you can’t talk about anything of a personal nature in this church. Find pastors or somebody outside this church, but don’t do that kind of talking here.’

“Not all congregations feel that way,” Glen continues, “but most ministers I know don’t feel they’re allowed to talk about problems in the church with anyone. If they do, people think they’re being overly critical or they’re gossiping. And pastors simply are not allowed to talk about personal problems. They’re not allowed to have them.

“That’s going to destroy any human being. It’s no surprise it should happen to a pastor.”

Laments Gary Downing, executive minister of Colonial Church in Edina, Minnesota: “Feeling isolated, alone, that nobody understands or cares — it’s a disease that seems to strike leaders. I bristle at the idea that leaders have to be lonely. Yet I look around and the landscape is littered with lonely leaders.”

Why You Can’t Talk

The reason so many leaders are lonely? Several powerful factors keep them from sharing personal concerns with people in the church.

People can’t accept the pastor being down. One Southern Baptist pastor has tried at various times to share his discouragement with individuals in his congregation. The result? “I’ve opened up and had the door really slammed in my face. People have said, ‘Well, you really shouldn’t be discouraged. After all, you are a minister! You should pray about it.’ They couldn’t accept the fact that I was discouraged.

“Some have responded in a supportive way, but I’ve found it’s a gamble talking to church members about your periods of discouragement. They still, many of them, have a feeling that a minister should not become discouraged.”

Another consideration: Much can’t be shared without hurting the people involved. “With some things, I have the feeling there’s nobody I can talk to,” admits a United Church of Christ minister, “because it deals with people they see every Sunday sitting in the pews.”

“Pastoral discontent can be contagious, injecting a negative mentality,” is another reason, suggested by Gene Getz, pastor of Fellowship Bible Church North in Plano, Texas. To admit that you’re down about Sunday’s low attendance or a slump in giving may cause others to get down, too, and that would only exacerbate the problem. One pastor who’s felt the tension is Harley Schmitt, of Brooklyn Park (Minnesota) Lutheran Church: “I’m keenly aware that the members of this congregation will not rise above their leadership. That’s true everywhere. So it’s immensely important for me as a pastor to provide positive leadership.” And that precludes the sharing of some feelings of discouragement.

Perhaps the biggest reason pastors hesitate to talk about their discouragement with parishioners is they fear, wisely, their despondency may push a hurting person further down. And yet their responsibility as spiritual leaders is to strengthen — to never break off a bruised reed, however inadvertently. Teresa of Avila knew the concern when she wrote to fellow members of her religious order, “Let no one be … turned away from the life of virtue and religion by your gloom and morosity.”

Eugene Peterson discovered this through a painful experience. “When my daughter, Karen, was in her teen years, she was giving my wife and me so much trouble,” he remembers. “It was awful. One morning I walked into the church office and said to three or four women who were working there, ‘I quit. I’m not going to be a parent anymore. I’ve had it.’ I said it kind of tongue-in-cheek, but I was feeling that way, too.

“A couple of weeks later one of those women said to me, ‘Don’t ever do that again, because I’ve been having problems, and when you came in and said that, I thought, If you can’t handle it, how am I ever going to handle it?’

“She was right,” Eugene reflects. “As much as I don’t believe in keeping a stiff upper lip, any congregation has a lot of people who are just barely making it at times. They’ve got guilt, and burdens, and sorrow, and discouragement — it’s incredible what they’re living with. So for me to be careless and throw in something like that was a stupid thing to do, I think. I was her pastor and a source of stability for her. And at that moment I was so full of my own frustration, I didn’t care about hers.”

Why You CAN Talk

Despite the risks and the legitimate reasons not to share their discouragement with their congregations, many pastors have taken a deep breath and done it. And they’ve found that in the appropriate setting it can be a refreshing and healthy experience — both for them and their people.

Here’s why.

First, when a pastor reveals his or her pain, it lets lay people know they’re normal when they get down. In a sense, such sharing becomes a ministry to the hurting by helping them realize suffering is the province of everyone, no matter how righteous. Says Frank Mercadante, “If I don’t share my sins and weaknesses, I mislead the congregation. I make it look like I don’t have clay feet, and then when they start seeing their own clay feet, they think there’s something wrong with them. The pastor has never met any problems, they think. So I need to make a practice of making myself vulnerable.”

A second reason pastors share is reflected in an old rabbinic story told by Madeleine L’Engle, the Newberry Award-winning writer. A student comes to his rabbi and says, “Oh, Rabbi, I love you!”

“Do you know what hurts me?” the rabbi asks him.

“Rabbi, I just told you that I love you. Why then do you ask me this irrelevant question?”

“Because if you do not know what hurts me,” the rabbi answers, “how can you say you love me?”1

To love, people must first know where someone hurts. And for a congregation to love its pastor, it must know where he or she hurts. By sharing their discouragements with their people, many pastors have found themselves loved in a deeper way. “I thought I had to pretend,” says a Midwest minister, “but the more I told people how I really felt, the more I got ministered to when I needed it. It sure beat harboring the hurt.”

“I believe it can be a healthy thing for a church to learn their pastor is discouraged,” adds Dave Dorpat, pastor of Faith Lutheran Church in Geneva, Illinois. “They see they have to do something, and they can come rally around him and start praying and ministering and assisting.”

Contrary to the expected, telling parishioners you’re discouraged can actually help you stay. Ed Bratcher explains why. “It’s good to check out your feelings with somebody in the congregation whom you can trust. Ed White, an executive with the Presbyterian churches in the Capital area, thinks most pastors move too quickly because they are discouraged and feel they have not been able to accomplish what they should have. And if only they would check it out with someone, they would find they have accomplished more than they think.

“So I’m learning to go to people and say, ‘Give me a reading on this. This is what I see. I feel discouraged because of this. Is this how you see the situation?’ They usually give me a fresh, more positive perspective.”

Whom Can You Trust?

When you’ve admitted your discouragement and been blasted, and then risked it again and been blessed, you quickly sort the reasons.

The key difference, usually, is the person to whom you confess that you’re down. The trick is finding those blessed people within the congregation with whom you can talk freely.

That’s not partiality; that’s practicality. John tells us that “Jesus did not trust himself” to the people in Jerusalem during the Passover festival “because he himself knew what was in their hearts” (John 2:24-25). But he did reveal himself openly to his trusted Twelve, and within that group, even more closely to Peter, James, and John. Jesus knew people’s hearts and decided whether to trust himself to them accordingly.

Here are characteristics worth looking for in confidants, according to pastors who have sometimes learned the hard way.

One person to avoid discussing your discouragement with is a member who, in his or her favor, usually is heavily involved in the church, works hard, and enjoys hanging around the church office. This person shows interest in your family and ministry, at least measured by the questions he or she asks. But gradually you discover that something you told him or her got out to people you’d never intended to have hear it. You’ve found the parish gossip. Every church has at least one, and may the Lord have mercy on pastors in new churches until they find out who they are. “You don’t make yourself vulnerable to the parish gossip,” says one pastor. “You just don’t.”

Another check for prospective confidants: When they hear about problems from someone, do they quickly verbalize things such as “Oh, don’t worry,” or “Don’t be afraid”? As one Lutheran pastor put it, “To a discouraged person, those are ridiculous things to be saying.” What you want instead, says this pastor, who has developed close friends within his church, “is someone who will listen and then be willing to say in various ways, ‘I’ll stick with you; let’s walk together; let’s get together and pray.'”

A quality to accompany this: Can they lovingly confront people? As one pastor wrote on the Leadership survey, “One resource a pastor has for staying power is a friend(s) who understands and will confront.”

Sympathy, a precious gift, ultimately falls short when it’s not coupled with loving confrontation. The person to whom we risk personal things must know how to correct us when we need it. Deep down that’s what we long for. Sympathy alone won’t keep a ministry going. As Oswald Chambers knew, “The people who do us good are never those who sympathize with us; they always hinder, because sympathy enervates. No one understands a saint but the saint who is nearest to the Saviour.”2

Steve Harris found such a person while candidating for his first church in Worcester, Massachusetts. “I was all gung-ho right out of seminary,” he remembers. “I had all these ideals. I came in to the interview with the search committee and I laid out all these dreams and plans, and some of the people were really eating it up. But there was one guy, Larry, who was head of all the prisons in Massachusetts at the time. He was originally from down South, and he said in this real quiet voice, ‘Steve, I’ve been sitting here for an hour listening to what you’re going to do for us. How are you going to let us take care of you?’ My first reaction was to think, Oh, I’m not going to need that. I’m just, you know, … but then I stopped. It was a beautiful question.”

Additional traits have been pointed out by H. B. London, pastor of the First Church of the Nazarene in Pasadena, California, who has met with a particular church member for prayer each week for years. “I looked for someone who was not going to dump on me all the time,” he says. “I looked for a person who has been wounded somewhere along the way. And I looked for someone who would not sit there in shock if I shared something heavy.

“When I was in Salem, Oregon,” he says, “my prayer partner was a backhoe operator. He’d come into my office with muddy boots, and we’d sit and pray together for a half hour or so, then he’d get up and go on his way. We got to know each other and could share openly, and I took him on the mission field with me a couple of times. He caught the fever. He and his family sold their house and became full-time missionaries in South America.

“Here in Pasadena I meet weekly with a fifth-grade school teacher. He comes in after school one afternoon a week and we talk for a while, and pray, and read Scripture. With both of these men, I’ve shared crisis times in the family or in my own ministry. I could do it without any hesitancy because I knew what I shared wouldn’t go any further.”

The search for those supportive members is worth the time and trouble, for when you’re discouraged, they will often be the ones to keep you going. “The single most helpful ingredient in keeping me going during the first four years here was the relationship I had with one man in the church,” says John Yates. “Charlie and his wife came into the church the same time we came, and we began meeting for breakfast every Wednesday morning.

“I also had a small group of men I was trying to disciple, and we met every week to study the Scripture together. But Charlie was a peer. In no sense did I feel I was trying to lead him or teach him. He was right at my level. And he was as committed to seeing this church turned around as I was. He shared my vision completely.

“So whenever we would meet, he would ask me questions: ‘How’s this going? How’s that going?’ And if I’d be down, he’d really encourage me. He was a Barnabas to me. There were weeks when I lived for that breakfast. My wife and I have the same relationship, but sometimes you need more than your wife to give you that little upbuilding. And Charlie encouraged me and encouraged me and encouraged me.

“Then after four years, he felt God calling them to the mission field in Europe and he left. It broke my heart. I didn’t think I was going to be able to make it without him. I had come to depend on him in a way that I had never depended on another man. It wasn’t an unhealthy thing; it was a wonderful thing.

“But when he left, God brought another man along who filled the same role in my life. And Charlie has come back from Europe. He’s been through kind of a difficult time. We’re meeting again, but now I’m more in the role of encourager to him.”

What Can You Say to “the Many”?

By definition, the number of these “best friends” a pastor can have in a congregation is small. Usually it’s only a handful with whom you develop an “I can share almost anything” relationship.

But meanwhile, you’re pastor of the whole flock. You’ve got to relate honestly and directly with everyone, even if you don’t talk on the most personal level. What can you say —and not say — about your discouragement to the many members of your congregation you meet each week? When they ask you, “How are you doing?” what are your options?

“I think it’s important to differentiate between the sharing of information and the sharing of feelings,” says Gary Downing. “Sharing information can be damaging and can break a confidence because I’m talking about somebody else. I learned from the Navy that when it comes to information, you have to remember the phrase ‘the need to know.’ Who needs to know this?

“But sharing how I’m feeling right now is simple self-disclosure. I’ve learned I can tell people how I’m feeling without going into all the reasons for feeling that way.

“It started with my secretary; I began to give her fair warning when I was grumpy or out of sorts. I’d say, ‘It doesn’t have anything to do with you, but I’m feeling crummy today. Watch out for me.’ I was able to be honest and relate to her person to person without disclosing personal details.”

Robert Norris at Bethesda, Maryland’s, Fourth Presbyterian Church followed the principle recently. “We’d been having some hard times, and one lady came in to the office and said, ‘The Lord awakened me at four o’clock this morning to pray for you. Are you all right?’

“‘No, I’m not,’ I said. ‘I can’t share all the reasons behind that, but thank you for your prayers. I’m deeply grateful for them.’

“And that was enough for her. She understood that and accepted it.”

But when you’re discouraged and most likely to say something hurtful, you’re also least likely to monitor what you’re saying. It calls for constant vigilance. A Midwest pastor admitted, “On Sunday nights, after the evening service, I’m wiped out. The adrenalin drops, and my defenses come down. I used to invite people over after services on Sunday nights, but I’ve found that’s a dangerous thing to do. It was too easy for me then, especially when I was discouraged, to start ripping into things or criticizing people.” When you’re deeply discouraged and out of control, then it’s probably not time to gather around you “the many.” That’s the time to call “the few,” the chosen ones who can handle your rantings and ravings — and keep on loving you.

What Can You Say from the Pulpit?

On Sunday, though, no matter how discouraged you may feel, you’ve got to mount the steps to the pulpit. What a tension. On the one hand, you want to bring a refreshing, faith-inspiring word to hurting people. On the other hand, you’re hurting yourself. You can’t hypocritically hide that, but you don’t want to add your burdens to others’. How can you express your honest discouragement without simply dumping on people? And how can you be helpful without putting up an “everything is fine” facade?

Pastors take radically different approaches, depending on a number of factors.

“I don’t share my emotional tiredness or spiritual fatigue with my congregation,” says a pastor of a small church in the mid-Atlantic states. “I have never felt good about dumping my emotional stuff on them.”

Another pastor, of a large church, concurs: “It may be the right thing to do, but I have never felt free to say, ‘Friends, I’m discouraged.’ I always concern myself with that number among the two thousand on a Sunday morning for whom that would be too difficult to cope with — that the pastor feels that way. I’m the only one who would reap any benefit from that.”

But some ministers have been forced through difficult circ*mstances to share their genuine, present-tense discouragement with a congregation, at least at times. Steve Harris is one.

“My son Matthew was born with spina bifida, and for the first year he was alive, he was in intensive care,” Steve says. “We were essentially living there. Every day I’d see my son suffering, and kids on the floor were dying almost daily. Talk about a war zone! An intensive care unit for kids is a bitter place. It was virtually impossible to live there and not bring that discouragement and pain into my preaching. But I’d heard that pastors, young pastors especially, are supposed to preach their convictions and not their doubts. So I didn’t share anything personal about what I was going through or how I was feeling.

“Every Sunday I’d come from a week of medical crises, and stress and tension at home. I’d hold it in. After awhile, I found myself pulling away from the people. I preached a whole sermon one time and didn’t mention God’s name, because I didn’t want to deal with any of that stuff personally, publicly.

“I kept thinking, The church shouldn’t have to deal with a discouraged pastor. After all, I’m supposed to be the example of faith here; I’m supposed to be lifting them up. I can’t be talking about how angry I am with God or how hard it is not to have prayers answered.

“Then one night Matthew’s stomach actually exploded. He was rushed into surgery, and it wasn’t all over until about 1:30 in the morning. To go from that into the pulpit finally became more than I could take. One Sunday morning I broke down in the middle of my sermon and began crying.

“From that, I learned I needed to keep more current accounts with my emotions and find ways to tell people —not in a way that would hurt them but in a way that was authentic. If a pastor is going to be authentic, if his ministry is going to be effective, he’s got to share those doubts in the appropriate ways. And as I began to take chances, to do that, I saw that God would use that, and it wasn’t detrimental.”

Sharing personal discouragement from the pulpit will never be easy. But it helps, when that’s necessary, to realize that such self-disclosure can benefit the congregation. In Where Is God When It Hurts? Philip Yancey tells of a Midwest pastor who “was reading Psalm 145 from the pulpit. He tried to concentrate, but something was plaguing him: his week-old grandson had just died, grieving the whole family. He couldn’t continue reading the words about God’s goodness and fairness. His voice choked, he stopped reading, and he told the tense congregation what had happened.

“‘As people left the church,’ he remembers, ‘they said two important and helpful things:

“‘1. “Thank you for sharing your pain with us.”

“‘2. “I grieve with you.” This simple statement was the most helpful thing said. I did not feel alone.… They embraced my grief.'”3

From experiences such as these, pastors who conscientiously avoid mentioning their discouragement from the pulpit, as well as pastors who think it’s worth the risk, have come to some common ground. On a Sunday when they’re down, they return to principles such as these.

Sermons inevitably are shaped by our personal experience. Though we may not mention our discouragement directly, the sermon’s tone and direction will probably reflect it, even if unconsciously. But that can help us preach more empathetically to parishioners who are on the ropes. “Many times my wife will come home from the service and say, ‘Boy, you really preached to yourself today, didn’t you?'” says H. B. London. “And I probably did. The sermon was probably born out of struggles that I was having. But that’s okay. Because if I’m having them, lots of folks may be having them.”

John Yates recently preached a sermon on discouragement, and “it prompted more response in this church than any I’ve preached in a long time. I think the reason was it grew out of some personal experience. I was discouraged about some marriages in the congregation that were going downhill, yet the people involved were not facing up to their problems. And a friend, a leader in ministry, had gone through a difficult experience and was not facing up to his own mistakes in ministry. I was so upset about those things that I preached with a little more passion than usual. Evidently it really struck home.”

To whatever extent you share your discouragement, do it in the context of God’s faithfulness. Says Yates: “If I share with the congregation, ‘I’ve had a discouraging time this week,’ I try to always do it in the context of ‘But God is good. God is faithful.'” Harley Schmitt amplifies the principle: “You can communicate to your people that you’re hurting, but you can communicate in such a way that they know you’re still trusting in the Lord and that you’re waiting on the Lord and that God is faithful. Then that gives them a sense of encouragement, too.”

Among other things, that may mean riding out the time of discouragement until you can say that honestly. Says a Presbyterian minister: “I find it better to tell people of the discouragements I have been through rather than ones I am currently engaged in. Once I’ve been through them, they become natural illustrations from my past.”

Recently I read of a survey in which members of a church answered this question: “Why do you attend here?” The answers people gave: (1) Our pastor is one of us; (2) He gives us hope.

In these survey results lies the key to preaching when we’re discouraged. We can in various ways share our discouragement with the people, so they know we’re one of them. But always, and in every way, we point to God’s faithfulness; we give hope.

Fellow Leaders

Because of the various constraints on talking to people within the congregation, some pastors find they can open up best to key leaders — other staff members or carefully chosen lay leaders who understand the church and the ministry but can give some perspective. “After ten years in ministry, my greatest sense of encouragement has been this year,” wrote a pastor on the Leadership survey, “because I’m finally on staff in a team situation. It’s great to be committed to each other and sense support, and therefore be able to reach higher goals. The other pastor has become a close friend with whom I can share openly and honestly; we can laugh together.”

When a staff situation is good, as the old nursery rhyme puts it, “it’s very, very good.”

But likewise, “when it is bad, it’s horrid.”

“The loneliest feeling you’ll ever have in ministry can be in a staff situation,” says an East Coast pastor who has been in both good and bad ones. “After coming to one church, I asked the senior pastor what I should call him, if I should use his first name. He said, ‘Well, we’ll see.’ It was clear he didn’t want me to do that.”

A safe professional distance easily widens into a professional Grand Canyon that’s nearly impossible to cross. The gulf comes from the natural hesitancy to let colleagues see you hurting and in need of help.

To get over that, it often helps to begin small, to share the daily discouragements first. Gary Downing tells this story: “This morning a young staff member working in youth ministry here came in and said, ‘How are you doin’?’ I so easily could have said, ‘Fine, things are going fine,’ and he would have gone on his way. But instead I stopped and said, ‘John, I’m down. I am sick of process, of going through all these motions to get anything done. I was at a search committee meeting last night till eleven o’clock dealing with questions for an interview with a prospective youth worker. We finally came to a conclusion and wrote some questions that reflected the values of the group, but it took us three and a half hours to get there. Then this morning I was up early for a breakfast meeting about the men’s group, and it was the same old story: it took forever to make a decision because we had to allow everyone to speak his mind. I’m sick and tired of how time consuming all that is.’

“And John looked at me and said, ‘Yeah, that’s the congregational way, isn’t it? We kind of lift our cups to that: Skol to the congregational way.’

“Boy, that helped. I didn’t need therapy for my discouragement; I didn’t need any advice. I just needed to acknowledge it and shake my fist about it. John listened, gave me a pat on the back, and walked away, and I felt about five pounds lighter.”

From that kind of experience, we learn to trust fellow staff members with our moments of deeper darkness. Carolyn Weese, for many years a staff associate at Hollywood (California) Presbyterian Church, writes of a staff retreat she helped arrange: “When the day came and I began the drive to the retreat, I began to wonder why I was even going. What did I have to offer? I surely expected nothing from it.

“Following dinner, we gathered for a time of Bible study and caring and praying for one another. As I listened to my brothers and sisters share their needs, I suddenly, for the first time, was face to face with the fact I was spent, used up, burned out. Sitting there quietly, my first thought was to run. How could I ever tell them what had been happening to me? What would happen if I shared my pain with them? Whatever would they say if they knew I was the weak link in the chain? No, I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, say a word.”

But Carolyn finally decided to say something, and when she did, “three members of the staff whom I love dearly, and who have had very strategic roles in my life, gathered around me and prayed for me. Through their prayers … I could actually feel a healing process begin to take place.

“On Sunday, I came to church and did all the usual things that are expected of me on a Sunday, but I also worshiped.”4

The risk of confessing our discouragement to fellow leaders may be great, but as most have found, the rewards are greater.

An Outside Chance

For many ministers, though, the best chance of finding a person with whom they can share their deepest discouragements comes outside the church.

“I’ve never had the expectation that the congregation would be my spiritual support,” says one minister. “I know some ministers feel they should, but I’ve always made sure I got it someplace else. I have friends and a spiritual director outside.”

There are some good reasons for going outside to find confidants. For one thing, ministers move frequently, and for at least a few years in a new church you’ll probably still be closer to friends from previous years — from seminary or earlier churches.

But the biggest reason stems from the nature of an intimate friendship. Explains Gary Downing, “Only with a special kind of friend can you talk about the four issues we all struggle with: money, sex, power, and time. We’re always facing opportunities but also dangers with these. Most Christian leaders I’ve encountered have no one, including their spouse, with whom they can talk candidly about struggles with money, sex, power, or time.”

These sensitive issues are the kind that generally are not appropriate to discuss with members of a congregation, because they either deal with others in the church or cause unnecessary ripples of confusion or fear. And that means the building of a friendship with someone outside.

“It’s great having someone outside, away from the situation, who honestly wants to know, ‘How’s it going?'” says one pastor. “But building that kind of friendship is tough because church life tends to eat up your time. You don’t have a lot of hours left over. So you have to make it happen.”

How did Gary handle the time problem? “About nine years ago, while I was working with Young Life, I met a guy named Rob, a young, rising business executive from the right side of the tracks. I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. He was single; I was married. We didn’t have a lot in common, but as he began to drop by once in a while, I discovered his concept for his life was similar, focused on friendship with God and being himself with other people. We started jogging together and playing racketball together. I began to look at him as a close friend, and after a while I started relying on him as a sounding board for things.

“We really enjoyed getting together, but our schedules were so crazy that we could go for weeks and never talk. Then one fall afternoon we went for a walk around a local lake and decided we would try something together: once a week for a year we would get together just to talk, and we would talk about ‘our highest ideals and our deepest needs.’ But we would never share more than we felt comfortable talking about. At the time it seemed funny that we had to be so intentional about developing a better friendship, but we both saw that with the pace of ministry life in America, if it wasn’t on the calendar, it wouldn’t happen.

“As we got together and the weeks went by, we had a lot of fun. We found we could talk about those four tough areas, and just talking about them somehow made them more manageable. Power needs, struggles with money, sexual fantasies — they weren’t hard to share when you knew you weren’t going to get advice or lectures but just a listening ear from a friend who was committed to you.

“We’re in our ninth year together. I view Rob as my closest friend, second only to my wife, closer than a brother. I can’t think of anything I sooner or later wouldn’t be able to tell Rob except for the most intimate aspects of my marital relationship. I get tearful talking about it because it’s so important to me. I think for me that friendship has been a key in keeping me alive and growing through tough years of ministry.”

Care Network

Each one of the above resources, inside or outside the congregation, can be a place to turn when you’re discouraged, a place where you can let on that you’re down.

But two are better than one. And three are better than two. When your emotions are being divebombed, you need all hands on deck. You need many people who will listen, who will pray, who will stick by you. Writes Jim Stobaugh, pastor of Fourth Presbyterian Church in Pittsburgh: “My network of care — spouse, spiritual director, support group, and times of solitude — were present when my congregation nearly fired me. They were present when I needed to be told I was too hard on a congregant. They were there when I needed to hear that I was ignoring my wife. They were present when my father suddenly died of cancer. They encouraged me to continue pursuing a program when I was ready to scrap it. They enabled me to stand firm in the face of temptation and adversity.”

The whole network of care — without that, many pastors would not be in the ministry today.

Madeleine L’Engle, “The Door Interview,” The Wittenburg Door (December 1986 – January 1987).

Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest (New York: Dodd, Mead & Company, 1935), 223.

Philip Yancey, Where Is God When It Hurts? (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 1977), 150.

Carolyn Weese, “From the Fire Back into the Frying Pan,” (1987, unpublished).

©1988 Christianity Today

God’s Word refers to the Christian life often as a walk, seldom as a run, and never as a mad dash.
Steven J. Cole

In When I Relax I Feel Guilty, Tim Hansel writes of his years as a coach and area director for Young Life: “I would work twelve, fourteen, even fifteen hours a day, six or seven days a week. And I would come home feeling that I hadn’t worked enough. So I tried to cram even more into my schedule. I spent more time promoting living than I did living.”1

Many pastors know what Hansel’s talking about: Long days, short breaks, and the increasing ugliness of being busy, what one called “doing more but enjoying it less.”

One jumbled, crowded page on a Day-Timer follows another. One committee meeting leads to another. One sermon is hardly done when the next one looms ahead. A pastor captured the feeling when he described his weekly schedule as “an overstuffed glove compartment.”

The husband of one minister felt this frustration when he wrote: “The overwhelming, indeed the single, issue is how to support my friend and love in a profession that makes extraordinary and high demands on every aspect of her life. My job is much less demanding, and I can walk away from it every afternoon. But a minister is a target for all the brokenness brought into the church by its people — lay and ordained. A minister is a workhorse trying to pull an overloaded wagon uphill.”2

That load easily leads to burnout. Lutheran psychiatrist Paul Qualben writes of the three stages toward burnout, ones originally described by Cary Cherniss in Staff Burnout:

1. The honeymoon stage, in which enthusiasm, commitment, and job satisfaction eventually give way; energy reserves begin to drain off.

2. The “fuel shortage” stage, characterized by exhaustion, detachment, physical illness, anger, sleep disturbances, depression, possible escapist drinking or irresponsible behavior.

3. Then crisis — pessimism, self-doubt, apathy, obsession with one’s own problems, disillusionment with one’s career.

Stress vs. Distress

Qualben goes on to raise an intriguing question, however: “Why do some pastors … seem to thrive in stressful situations, find satisfaction in their work, and weather the ups and downs of personal and professional life with equanimity, while ones in the next parish burn out?” The Leadership survey responses begged the same question. Many pastors wrote that they felt positive about their ministries and couldn’t imagine doing anything else; others longed to get out altogether. What set them apart?

Qualben concludes: “Most work — in the church and elsewhere — is done by people under stress. Stress is not the issue. The problem is rather distress. Distress is the product of frustration and repeated disappointment.… There must be other factors — within each individual — that account for the difference.”3

Those internal factors crystallize in three personality types that Qualben identifies:

— the Type-A personalities, “hard workers who set high goals for themselves but suffer from ‘hurry disease'”

— the person who bases self-worth on the attendance, budget, and other results of ministry

— the twenty-four-hour-a-day pastor.

Pastors who tend toward these personalities are more likely to feel distress, but the three types reflect a tension felt by every minister: the tension between being a pastor (filling the role, performing) and being a person (relating to people as I am within, apart from what role I take or work I do). Most people balance the two well. In the three burnout-prone personalities, however, the individual has become always a pastor and rarely, if ever, simply a person. When he wakes up, he’s a pastor; when he goes to sleep, he’s a pastor; and somehow the needs of the person get squeezed out.

It’s odd, but all three of these types of pastors may be getting affirmation for what they do. In fact, they’re probably getting more affirmation than other pastors because their constant work pays off in increased visibility, higher attendance, and so on.

And yet distress sets in, because though loved for what they do, they somehow miss being loved simply for who they are. That can come, by definition, only during times of nonactivity, of rest, of refreshment. As a result, often the most “successful” are the most insecure.

The “always a pastor, never a person” syndrome traps even — perhaps especially — the most dedicated, committed, and gifted pastors. Paul Tournier, in Escape from Loneliness, writes: “I have rarely felt the modern man’s isolation more grippingly than in a certain deaconess or pastor. Carried away in the activism rampant in the church, the latter holds meeting upon meeting, always preaching, even in personal conversation, with a program so burdened that he no longer finds time for meditation, never opening his Bible except to find subjects for his sermons. It no longer nourishes him personally. One such pastor, after several talks with me, said abruptly, ‘I’m always praying as a pastor, but for a long time I’ve never prayed simply as a man.'”4

Waiting for the Soul to Catch Up

Pastors say over and over that rest — periods in which they are not “the pastor” but simply themselves — is essential.

Without that kind of rest and refreshment, the soul quickly tires. In Springs in the Valley, Lettie Cowman tells this story:

“In the deep jungles of Africa, a traveler was making a long trek. Coolies had been engaged from a tribe to carry the loads. The first day they marched rapidly and went far. The traveler had high hopes of a speedy journey. But the second morning these jungle tribesmen refused to move. For some strange reason they just sat and rested. On inquiry as to the reason for this strange behavior, the traveler was informed that they had gone too fast the first day, and that they were now waiting for their souls to catch up with their bodies.”5

One pastor felt the same need when she wrote on the Leadership survey: “What gives me the most discouragement is hobbies, or rather, the lack of them. I just ‘veg out’ on my time off; I’m so tired there’s no development of an outside life.” Another minister wrote that his number one struggle is finding “think time — time to meditate, to dream, to plan.” Time to be a person, time for the soul to catch up — it eludes many.

Somewhere in the demanding pastoral schedule there must be a place for becoming refreshed in spirit. As important as it is to be recognized for what we do, there must be a time — regularly — for the sweeter experience of being loved just for who we are. Henri Nouwen confesses: “I’m like many pastors; I commit myself to projects and plans and then wonder how I can get them all done. This is true of the pastor, the teacher, the administrator. Indeed, it’s true of our culture, which tells us, ‘Do as much as you can or you’ll never make it.’ In that sense, pastors are part of the world. I’ve discovered I cannot fight the demons of busyness directly. I cannot continuously say no to this or no to that, unless there is something ten times more attractive to choose. Saying no to my lust, my greed, my needs, and the world’s powers takes an enormous amount of energy.

“The only hope is to find something so obviously real and attractive that I can devote all my energies to saying yes. One such thing I can say yes to is when I come in touch with the fact that I am loved. Once I have found that in my total brokenness I am still loved, I become free from the compulsion of doing successful things.”

The Problem of Prayer

Nouwen identifies the key resting place for pastors and lay people alike — in God’s loving presence. As one pastor admitted, “I would have never had the inner resources to stay through the distresses that have hit my marriage, my children, and my job without finding rest in daily time alone with the Lord.”

But during times of discouragement, many pastors find prayer trying and utterly unappealing. To pray seems the least likely thing to do. Finding rest and refreshment in God’s presence seems unattainable.

Some pastors say that’s because they feel angry at God. Admits a Midwest pastor: “When things aren’t going well in ministry, I think, Okay, God, at least show up here; let’s see some fruit if we’re going to put all this effort into it. And then, just like when I get mad at my wife, I clam up. I don’t talk to him.”

Or prayer may become difficult because of feelings of guilt — for being discouraged, or for certain actions that have led into the discouragement. “There are times when you really don’t want to go into the Lord’s presence,” says a Presbyterian minister, “because the light of his presence is too great.”

Or prayer may simply seem futile since God, apparently, has abandoned us and disappeared. Writes Philip Yancey: “People in pain, especially those with long-term pain, often have the sensation that God has left them. No one has expressed this better than C. S. Lewis in the poignant journal he kept after his wife’s death (A Grief Observed). He recorded that at the moment of his most profound need, God, who had seemed always available to him, suddenly seemed distant and absent, as if he had slammed a door and double-bolted it from the inside.”

How have ministers — those “whose job it is to pray,” Luther said — handled these periods of unappetizing prayer, and thus, been able to again find refreshment in God’s presence?

“For me a big step was learning that prayer was not expressing to God the things he wanted to hear,” says a Baptist minister, “but of getting honest with him — including my anger and doubt. He wasn’t looking for a rote, programmed exercise but a relationship that could include all kinds of feelings.” This minister goes on to admit, “I still struggle with that, though.” Discouragement over their ministry, rather than becoming an unmentionable, has for some pastors become the first item on the prayer agenda.

A second realization that has helped ministers return to prayer is that “it’s either pray or die,” in the words of Steve Harris. “In the last couple of years it has dawned on me, I am either going to do this or possibly lose my ministry or my marriage. I used to give lip service to Ephesians 6:10 about spiritual warfare, and I preach about it; but I’m beginning to see that warfare is real, and prayer is therefore essential, whether I feel like doing it or not.”

Another inner adjustment: recognizing, at least in their better moments, that emotional darkness and God can both be present. Indeed, the darkness may be a sign of his presence. “I love Francis Thompson’s poem ‘The Hound of Heaven,'” says Andre Bustanoby, a counselor and former pastor. “There’s a line near the end where this man who is running for his life from God talks about the shadow looming over him. With a burst of insight he says, ‘Is my gloom, after all, the shade of his hand outstretched caressingly?’ I always think of that when I think of discouragement. There’s a shadow cast over my life, but it’s not the pall of doom. It’s the shade of his hand outstretched caressing me. He’s saying, ‘My son, I’m bidding you to growth. Won’t you see that as my purpose in your life?'”

In addition, many pastors have found specific methods helpful for breaking through. “My prayer life is not as vital during the times I’m discouraged,” says Ed Bratcher, “but one thing that helps me is writing in my journal. My writing is for me a form of prayer: I speak about my needs and also try to express my thanksgiving for what God has done for me. I look back later and see what have been the sources of my discouragement and how some of these things have worked out. That renews me.”

In Mark 2, a paralyzed man is unable to get to Jesus to be healed, so four of his friends carry him there on a stretcher. And when Jesus sees the friends’ faith, he heals the man (Mk. 2:5). A similar principle applies to the pastor paralyzed with despondency. The only way to get to Jesus in prayer may be for friends to carry you. Robert Norris, pastor of Fourth Presbyterian Church in Bethesda, Maryland, knows what that’s like. “When I don’t want to pray, I get my wife to pray with me. Other times I have taken my friends and said, ‘Please pray. I don’t want to.'”

Those recurring battles with prayerlessness are worth fighting, report ministers who have alternately won and lost them. Writes Steve Harris: “Prayer, Bible reading, study, and meditation — though often a struggle to maintain — put us in the presence of God, and for the hurting pastor there is no better place to be.”

“When I go to the Lord, I never walk away discouraged,” testifies Frank Mercadante of St. John Newman Church in St. Charles, Illinois. “It’s gotten now that sometimes I almost look forward to getting down, because I know that will force me to go to prayer. I might start out praying, ‘Lord, this situation really stinks,’ but then I begin to listen, and during that listening time I get reassured of my sonship, the Lord’s call — all the things I need to hear.”

It’s profound, I think, that the book of the Bible that deals most directly with suffering and pain and discouragement and doubt — the Book of Job — does not provide any real “answers” to Job’s dilemma. When God speaks to Job, after a thirty-seven-chapter silence, he gives not one explanation of why Job has been so afflicted. He simply reveals himself.

Yet Job found that more than enough.

So have spiritual leaders since then. As Leith Anderson, pastor of Wooddale Church in Eden Prairie, Minnesota, expressed in a recent sermon: “We say to God, ‘Lord, what am I going to do about my problem?’ He says, ‘I am the Lord.’ You say, ‘But God, my situation is absolutely impossible.’ He says, ‘I am the Lord.’… We offer our problems, and he offers us himself. That is not a second-rate answer. That is the best answer that possibly could be given.”6

No Place Like Home

In addition to the daily means of grace — prayer, Scripture reading, and other disciplines — family and vacations are other resting places for pastors, according to the Leadership survey. Pastors listed as leading encouragers my spouse and my family. Family and spouse: these are the people who accept us for who we are, not what we do. On a job interview once, I was asked, “What do you appreciate most about your family?” The question caught me by surprise, but I agree still with my answer: “When I come home, they don’t care about whether I can write or edit. They just want me to be me. There’s something pure in that that refreshes me.”

The Leadership survey asked, “What resources does a pastor have for staying power?” to which one pastor replied, “The love and ‘prejudiced’ support of my wife.” Spouses and family encourage us when we think we’ve failed, as Chuck Smith, Jr., pastor of Calvary Chapel of Dana Point (California), discovered: “One Sunday after the service, I came in and stood in the kitchen next to Chris and said, ‘Can I help you with anything?’ She got me busy with some vegetables, and I said, ‘Boy, I just don’t know about today.’

“‘What are you talking about?’ she asked.

“‘Oh, the message.’

“‘Honey, it was great!’ she said. ‘It spoke to my needs. It was really powerful.’

“‘Thanks, Dear.’

“Then she said, ‘Is that what you were fishing for?'”

That’s the kind of support pastors need; it’s what one writer meant when he said, “A friend is someone who, when you fail, doesn’t think it’s a permanent condition.”

So often, had it not been for a spouse’s encouragement, a pastor might have left the ministry. Recalled one pastor: “On one of those days when nothing was working and I was out of control, my wife said, ‘Remember when we were zealous students attending those great rallies and would sing with much feeling, ‘I’ll go where you want me to go, dear Lord’?”

“‘Yeah.’

“‘Well,’ she said, ‘here we are! This is where he wanted us to go.’

“I was instantly healed of my frustration.”

Spouses also have a wonderful way of keeping us from doing things we’d regret later. One pastor wrote of a time when he transferred his denominational affiliation and “those who supposedly loved me dropped me like a hot potato. My Navy language nearly came out several times. But Lena, my wife, restrained me from writing nasty letters. I went to prayer and confessed my wanting to return evil for evil. Lena’s prayers, love, and caring through the Holy Spirit won the day.”

But of all the things spouses and family do, the biggest is simply loving us as we are. James Stobaugh, pastor of Pittsburgh’s Fourth Presbyterian Church, writes of his wife, Karen: “God knows we need to work on our relationship more. But I discovered seven years into our marriage that she loves me. Really loves me. In fact, I am convinced that she will always love me. That profound but simple fact of unconditional love has transformed my life. We pray together. We communicate. We face the terrors in our lives and our pasts together.”

The Time Tussle

Though spouse and family were easily pastors’ greatest encouragers, the third leading discourager was “lack of time with family.” It’s ironic: the very thing that’s needed most is often the hardest to come by.

Gary Downing, executive minister of Colonial Church of Edina, Minnesota, speaks of the difficulty: “My family is both the greatest source of encouragement in my life and the greatest source of stress. The stress comes with the time issue. I’m digging a hole in the sand of community or parish needs, but I desire to be with my family. You and they both know that’s the way it’s got to be sometimes, but you never get to the point of liking it.”

The “time issue” is a continuing battle, and a fierce one, for it’s not just a matter of work versus family, but family versus family. Explains Presbyterian pastor Robert Hudnut in his book This People, This Parish: “One becomes close to a large number of people. Their joys become the pastor’s joys. So do their sorrows. Before long the pastor feels pulled between family and church-family. Both need attention. Both are in need day and night.…

“The doctor or dentist or lawyer or accountant or mechanic goes home from patients, clients, or customers. The pastor goes home from brothers and sisters in Christ. They are intense competition for sons and daughters and spouse.”7

How have ministers been able to balance church and family? What ways have they discovered to maintain their family, to nurture them and be nurtured by them? Here’s their counsel.

Family Fuel

One suggestion may seem obvious, but it’s often elusive: Explain how you’re feeling. When you come home burdened about something in the ministry, it’s tempting to think, I don’t want to dump my frustrations about the ministry on my wife. Now that I’m home, I want to give to her. And there’s truth in that; it’s wisdom to know when and how much to share with a spouse. But many pastors have found help —and helped their spouses — by being willing to give them fair warning of their internal condition. Says John Yates: “When I’m going early morning, late night, all day in between, and not getting enough sleep, I get on edge; things get to me more. I’ve learned to say to my wife, ‘Honey, I am really tired. And I’m really overwhelmed by this problem. I don’t feel very affectionate. I want you to know I love you with all my heart and I’m committed to you and devoted to you. But I’m really irritable, so if I don’t respond in the way you expect me to, please understand this is why.’

“For years, I would not be very easy to live with on Saturday nights. And she never understood it was because I was burdened about my sermon on Sunday. But one time I said, ‘You know, I’m really burdened about preaching tomorrow. I don’t feel ready. I don’t feel it’s very good. You just need to know I always get like this.’ She said, ‘Boy, I’ve never quite understood that. I’m glad you told me.'”

Block out family “appointments.” One pastor learned this lesson when his secretary buzzed him and said his three o’clock appointment was there to see him — and in walked his wife. Unless we consciously designate time on the calendar for family, they won’t get it. There will always be more work to do, and always “banquets and gatherings and conferences, and they are all good and all important” says Ivan York, pastor of the Wheaton (Illinois) Evangelical Free Church. “You just have to develop the ability to say no and to choose very selectively those things that you are going to be a part of.” Or, as Robert Hudnut puts it, a minister must learn to “cut one’s own family into one’s schedule with a blowtorch.”8

Many pastors have used the system of breaking each day into three segments — morning, afternoon, and evening — and giving one of them to family. But many arrangements are possible; a Lutheran pastor I know blocks out an extended “breakfast meeting” each week with his wife. Another pastor has involved his family in many facets of the ministry, adding to their time together by serving the church as a team.

Realize you’ll always struggle to balance family and ministry was the counsel of pastors who’ve been around for a while. An East Coast pastor told this story: “A long time ago I ran into an older pastor at a wedding reception. He had a wonderful family, and I said, ‘John, you seem to do a great job in your ministry in every way. Your family life seems to be great. How do you do it all?’ He said, ‘The first thing to realize is that you can’t ever do it all. I don’t ever remember a time in my life when my family life has been all I thought it ought to be and my ministry was all that it ought to be.’

“I can’t tell you the relief that was to hear an older pastor say that,” this pastor continued. “I’d always felt guilty that if my ministry was really going, I was neglecting my family. But his comment helped me realize this is an imperfect world and my wife is never going to be thoroughly satisfied with the amount of time we’re having together, the communication, the camaraderie. And my desk is never going to be completely cleared off. It’s just not going to ever happen.

“So you have to live in a state of tension. And it’s hard and I don’t like it. But I’ve accepted it now.”

Vital Vacations

Another pastoral refresher, ranked close behind spouse and family, was vacations. Sometimes ministers feel like Linus when he said of his security blanket, “Only one yard of outing flannel stands between me and a nervous breakdown.” Then it’s time for taking a break, doing something different, getting rest.

The problem with vacations is they come but four (or two or three) weeks a year. There are long stretches, sometimes gray ones, in between. That’s why I’ve found Tim Hansel’s thinking about vacations helpful. In When I Relax I Feel Guilty, he describes not one kind of vacation but five.

First there is the super-maxi vacation — a sabbatical, a vacation coupled with conference time, or some other break from ministry that’s longer than the standard vacation.

The maxi-vacation is what most of us think of when we hear the word vacation — the standard one-week or two-week trip or period of time off.

The mini-vacation is Hansel’s term for one sabbath day per week. But there are still two more types of vacations.

“Midget vacations,” Hansel writes, “fall along the same idea, but take even less time. We’re called not only to structure sufficient time into each week for rest, recreation, and worship — but also into each day. Jim Carlson recently shared with me his idea for ‘a daily sabbath.’ He said that if we’re to tithe 10 percent of our energy and finances to the Lord, then shouldn’t we do it with our time as well? Basically he said that 10 percent of each day would be 2.4 hours — and he’s trying to develop the discipline that will allow him to creatively dedicate that time to knowing and enjoying God more.”

Hansel offers many suggestions for midget vacations. Among them:

• “Do something special for yourself in the morning —make yourself a special cup of tea, kiss your wife, pat your dog, read a favorite section of Scripture. In other words, help yourself set the pace for the day.

• “Choose one word or one line of Scripture and follow it for the day.

• “Thank someone who works at your office, or who services your home, for contributing to your life. For example, thank that secretary who answers all the phone calls.”

Finally, the minute vacation — a sixty-second “pause that refreshes” during the day. Says Hansel: “Odd pieces of time occur everywhere, like little jewels scattered throughout your day. What about those minutes before dinner? Ever thought of taking a photo from the evening paper and asking your six-year-old to try to guess ‘what’s going on here?’

“What about short readings from a book of poems, or a special verse from the Book itself? Minute vacations are the time of quiet miracles.”9

We’re all well acquainted with the maxi-vacation and the mini-vacation. The other three, however, at first seem either odd or completely out of reach. But they are possible. Many pastors told me of the refreshment and staying power they’d found through broadening their vacation repertoire to include midget vacations, minute vacations, and yes, even the super-maxi sabbatical.

Midget and Minute Vacations

The secret of the midget vacation is that doing something, be it ever so small, is critical for refreshment. Most of us, when we’re discouraged, want to sit and think about it, to stew in it. Fred Smith, a Dallas business executive, describes the problem: “I’ve found a sure cure for mild depression and a guarantee for its continuation. The guarantee for its continuation is inactivity. The sure cure for its cessation is activity. If I feel the least bit depressed, I don’t dare sit and meditate, although I’m always tempted to meditate my way out of depression. That’s as impossible as Joseph trying to meditate his way out of the bedroom of Potiphar’s wife. Certain things just do not go together. Meditating your way out of depression doesn’t work.

“If I immediately get busy, particularly with something that makes me physically tired — something that I enjoy doing —I find any kind of mild depression will leave. You’ve got to use your will power in various ways to change unhealthy stress.”

One question on the Leadership survey asked, “What kinds of things refresh you and keep you going during down times in ministry?” Many of the responses qualify as midget or minute vacations. Each is a short, relatively inexpensive, and surprisingly refreshing way pastors have used to deal with mild discouragement:

• shutting myself in my home and listening to sacred music

• playing basketball at the YMCA

• reading great preachers of the past

• working around the home

• wearing blue jeans. Whenever I can, it is just like a day off!

• jogging

• having a guest preacher so I get a Sunday out of the pulpit

• reading over notes of encouragement I’ve saved.

One pastor often drives an hour to a place in the country on Fridays. “I’ve found I need it personally in a way I never understood. About the time I get halfway out there, it’s as though everything just kind of melts off my shoulders and I begin to sing and praise the Lord. I can go out there and just stay an hour and come back so refreshed. It changes my perspective. I come back thinking, Well, that problem’s probably not as big a deal as I felt it was.“

Super-maxi Vacations

Many pastors have found a super-maxi vacation possible through a trip to the Holy Land. “We took about forty people from church and were gone for a couple of weeks,” says a Virginia pastor. “That was so much fun. It was so great to have two weeks together with forty folks in the church, to study Scripture together, to act out Bible stories at those key sites. I had no idea that would be such a refreshing, encouraging time. And I really saw people grow during that time.”

But the ultimate — usually pronounced “unheard-of” — dream for pastors is a sabbatical. “I can’t believe I did it,” admits Eugene Peterson. “About two or three years ago I began feeling tired. I was wearing down. I’d always wanted to stay here, but I didn’t want to be less than my best here.

“So I started thinking, What can I do? The obvious thing was to change churches, but I didn’t want to do that if I could help it. I thought and I prayed and all of a sudden I thought, Why not a sabbatical? The problem was this is a small parish. They can’t afford to do that.”

But gradually, over the next year or so, pieces began to fall into place: an intern to handle the pastoral duties, a generous gift from a friend, a creative housing arrangement. After twenty-three years in the same parish, a dream came true.

The results? “I feel like I’ve got the energy of a fifteen-year-old again. I have embraced parts of ministry I used to avoid and found grace there; it has surprised the socks off me. Everyone has noticed a big difference in me since I’ve been back.”

But is it really possible? “Pastors get no encouragement for it,” Eugene admits. And for some, such an extended break may not be feasible. But his experience — and others’ —shows that for many pastors, even those who’d never thought it possible, it can be done.

“I have a friend, the pastor of a little church in Victor, Montana, who’s about thirty-three,” Eugene says. “He said to his congregation, ‘In ten years, I want to go to Germany for a year and study at the University of Hamburg. Would you help me?’

“Here’s a little church — a yoked parish, actually. But they’re used to having pastors every two or three years. So when he said, ‘I don’t want to move. I want to pastor here. But I think I’m going to need some help,’ they were delighted to think the pastor would be with them for ten years and then even come back and still be their pastor. They could hardly believe that anybody would care for them that much, and so every year now they’re setting money aside so that in ten years he and his wife can go to Germany.”

Going Guilty, Coming Back Calm

For some of us, the tough hurdle in taking a break or being with family is not so much the external difficulties of making sure things will be taken care of while we’re gone, but the internal difficulty of guilt. We think of the desk not cleared, the phone messages yet to return, the people we really ought to visit, and then we hear in our conscience the words of Charles Spurgeon: “The man who does not make hard work of his ministry will find it very hard work to answer for his idleness at the last great day.”

But great work, fruitful work, comes only through rest and refreshment.

It may seem, when we head for the YMCA, the retreat center, the restaurant, that we are wasting time; it’s tempting to think how much we could be doing if we weren’t sitting at our son’s baseball game. But when we’ve spent time with our God and our family and our friends simply as a person — and been loved — we return with an inner vitality that not only fuels our work but is our work.

I shudder when I read of the tireless output of John Wesley, who during his fifty-two years of itinerant ministry traveled 208,000 miles — most of them on foot or horseback — and preached some 40,000 sermons. But Wesley knew a secret: “Though I am always in haste, I am never in a hurry because I never undertake more work than I can go through with calmness of spirit.” Wesley knew of rest and refreshment.

Tim Hansel, When I Relax I Feel Guilty (Elgin, Ill.: David C. Cook, 1979), 20 – 21.

Laura Deming and Jack Stubbs, Men Married to Ministers (Washington, D.C.: Alban Institute).

Paul A. Qualben, “A Cool Look at Burning Out,” LCA Partners (December 1982).

Cited by James L. Johnson, “The Ministry Can Be Hazardous to Your Health,” Leadership (Winter 1980), 26 – 27.

Cited by Gordon MacDonald, Restoring Your Spiritual Passion (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 1986).

Leith Anderson, “Unlistened-to Lessons of Life,” Preaching Today (48, August 1987), audiotape.

Robert Hudnut, This People, This Parish (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 1986).

Ibid.

Hansel, 125 – 39.

©1988 Christianity Today

The company of the discouraged is not an exclusive club, but it is a costly fellowship.
Bruce W. Thielemann

Discouragement in ministry knows no bounds. It spreads across denominations, regions, and ages. It strikes seminarians and seasoned pastors alike.

And it can devastate pastors and their ministries. “Regardless of what we believe about the strength of God or perseverance of the saints,” admits a Presbyterian pastor who’s struggling with discouraging times himself, “discouragement breaks some people. They leave the ministry. And it’s not sufficient to say they were never called. They were simply too discouraged to keep going.”

That applies, sadly, to even the most experienced, hard-working, and energetic pastors, as Roger Landis, a pastor in the Midwest, discovered. Though names and identifying details have been changed to protect the people involved, the following account is based on true events.

Roger Landis had been a pastor for a long time — thirty-five years, in fact — but in all those years he’d never seen a search committee interview go more smoothly. It seemed that everything this Indiana church was looking for, he fit.

“We want more Bible teaching and less evangelism,” Buck, the head of the search committee, said. “Pastor Fraley was a wonderful man, gifted in evangelism. Never a service went by without an invitation. But now, with all the new Christians we’ve got in the church, we need somebody who’s strong in teaching and preaching, who can guide them in Christian living.”

“Well,” Roger began slowly, considering his words carefully, “Bible teaching would have to be my forte, I’d say. I have led people to the Lord, but evangelism is not my primary gift. I love nothing better than to study and preach God’s Word.”

Roger looked around the table, and heads were nodding. Buck smiled at him. “We could tell that from listening to some of your sermons on tape,” he said, and then, looking at the others, “Really enjoyed those, didn’t we?” Heads nodded again.

This feels more like a family reunion than an interview, Roger thought to himself. He knew before the meeting was over that if the call came, he’d jump at it.

Sure enough, two weeks later he got a call from Buck. “The vote was unanimous, Roger. One hundred percent. The congregation can’t wait for you to come.”

“That makes two of us,” Roger said. “I’m ready to go to work.”

And go to work he did. Roger would go in to the office early — before seven, usually — and not get home till nine or ten at night. He’d never worked harder, but he had never had more energy, either. The congregation invigorated him in every way. Visitation, counseling, preaching — he was enjoying it all. “It’s unreal,” he told his wife, Jeanne. “I’m having so much fun here, when I go to sleep at night, I can hardly wait for morning to come.”

Kaneville Community Church now had 160 members, but attendance was running a solid 235. The thing that excited Roger, though, was the potential for growth. The church had good attendance at midweek and on Sunday night, a strong Sunday school, an active youth group, boys’ and girls’ clubs — it was waiting to explode. If there’s any church that will make it past the 200 barrier, it’s this one, he thought to himself.

Roger and Jeanne got close to the people quickly. They didn’t realize how much the Kaneville people had become their family until March. That was when they had to face the deepest tragedy of their lives. Early one morning they were awakened by a phone call from Sgt. John Kraybill of the Pennsylvania State Police. Their son, he said, had been driving on Highway 196 when his car slid off the road and struck an embankment. “I’m sorry to report this, Reverend Landis, but he was killed immediately.”

He was going to be twenty-two in a couple of weeks! Roger thought, but he was too stunned to cry. He just said “Thank you” quietly and hung up the phone.

Roger and Jeanne sat on the sofa and held each other until 6 a.m., when they decided it was late enough to call Harold, the church chairman.

“Oh, Roger, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say,” he said. But in the next half hour two people came by with checks to help them with expenses for the trip. “Anything you need, we’ll take care of,” they said. The prayer chain went into action, and several ladies came to help Jeanne make last-minute arrangements for the trip east. So many people called or stopped by to express their sympathies that finally they had to ask them to stop so they could get some rest.

Roger was proud of his people. They knew how to put Christian love into action. As they drove along the Indiana Turnpike, a trip they’d hoped to make in May for Tim’s Penn State graduation, Roger talked to Jeanne about it. “I wish they could come with us, Jeanne. I need those people. They’re our family now.”

Jeanne agreed. “We’ve been here only eleven months, but it feels like a lot longer than that. They’ve rallied around us.”

Roger was glad to get back home after the funeral. He wanted to be back with the church people, and he wanted to get back to work to take his mind off Tim’s death. The extra energy he expended began to pay off. Roger didn’t give an invitation every Sunday, because he knew his congregation well enough to know when that was appropriate, but the times he did, people responded. It was exciting to lead some people to the Lord. Several new families joined the church in just a couple of months. By May, they were pushing 300 on Sunday morning.

“Maybe it’s time to start thinking about a building program,” Buck said at the May deacons’ meeting. The board decided to bring in a denominational consultant to help them decide how to respond to the rapid growth. After two days of meetings and study, the consultant strongly recommended the church move to two services as soon as possible. “Your sanctuary’s already well over 80 percent full,” he said, “and at that point people stop coming because they don’t like to be crowded. Without two services, you’ll risk losing your momentum.” The board agreed.

The consultant and Roger met together in Roger’s office after the meeting. “I’ll tell you one thing,” the consultant said. “You are really making things move here, Roger.”

“I don’t think I’m being naive when I say this,” Roger responded, “but I’m beginning to think this is the perfect church. In thirty-five years of ministry in all kinds of situations, I’ve never felt happier.”

In August they made the switch to two services, and shortly after that Roger began hearing things, little things. Ellie, an older parishioner, said to him at the door one Sunday, “It just isn’t the same coming at 8:30, Pastor. I miss seeing all my friends.” Later, during the coffee hour, he overheard two ladies saying something like, “I never get to see you any more. I feel like we’re losing our closeness as a church,” and the other woman whispered, “When Pastor Fraley was here, it was like one big happy family.”

Roger couldn’t quite understand the comments. He’d led churches to almost double their size and never heard any complaints. And the church had said they were open to growth and wanted that. They could always switch services once in a while if they want to see their friends, he thought. But maybe this is that psychological barrier above 200 they talk about. Roger pushed the thought aside because at this point it didn’t matter. If they went back to one service now, they’d be stacked on top of each other’s shoulders.

By November Roger was starting to feel the need for some help. With his seventy-five-hour weeks, he’d been able to keep up with the growth, but now it was pushing beyond even that. He didn’t need someone full-time, he thought, just someone who could give him twenty or thirty hours and take over the visitation and evangelism. That would keep the growth moving and free him up to concentrate on preaching. When Roger suggested hiring someone to the board, they approved it unanimously, and they found someone before three months had gone by.

Two weeks after the new associate started, Buck’s wife invited Jeanne out for lunch, which Roger felt good about. Buck was influential in the church, so it was healthy to keep that relationship strong. But at two o’clock Jeanne called him at the office, not her usual practice.

“What’s up, Honey?” Roger asked.

“Rita told me at lunch that there are a bunch of people from the church who are really disgruntled, about seventeen families, she thinks. They planned a secret meeting for next Tuesday. Rita found out about it because they invited her and Buck. But when she found out you and I weren’t going to be there, she said she couldn’t make it. She said she’s really worried about it. Well, I am, too, Roger. I didn’t know what to say to her.”

“Not much you can say,” Roger said tensely. “I’m just glad Buck and Rita told us about it ahead of time. I’ll try to find out what’s going on.”

Roger hung up and then punched in the number for Warren Fraley, his predecessor. Warren had moved to a denominational post, and Roger had built a good working relationship with him. Right now Roger needed to talk to someone who understood the situation but wasn’t directly involved.

“I was afraid something like this might happen,” Warren said quietly after Roger had described the situation.

“What do you mean?” Roger demanded.

“Well, about a year before I left there, I started sensing something wasn’t quite right. But I could never put my finger on it. There wasn’t any blatant sin, just some friction that kept recurring.”

“Friction?”

“I don’t know if that’s the right word, but something was going on between Buck, Dominic, and Bert Kelsey.”

Oh, great, Roger thought. Two deacons and a trustee — nobody major, just half the leadership in the church. “What was going on between them?”

“Pushing and pulling, wanting to be in charge. I guess you could call it a power struggle. I kept thinking it would blow over. After all, it was only natural for three people who wanted to be pastors to try to assert themselves.”

“They all wanted to be pastors?”

“Yes. Buck was a Roman Catholic brother, then left the order, married a nun, and eventually they both left the Catholic church to join Kaneville. But he’s always had a yearning for church leadership.”

“I never knew that,” Roger said.

“And Dom and Bert attended either Bible college or seminary with dreams of becoming pastors. But in both cases, they had to give it up because of family pressures.”

“So Dom and Bert are behind the meeting, and Buck felt ousted, so he blew the whistle?” Roger tried to piece it all together.

“Could be, but with Buck you’re never too sure. He’s a sweet guy, but sometimes what he says doesn’t match what he does.”

Roger was floored. I guess I was naive, he thought as he hung up. He was astonished that he hadn’t heard anything earlier.

He spent the next three days on the phone, trying to find out whatever he could. It was the most awkward thing calling people without knowing what they knew, and them not knowing what he knew. He felt like a spy playing diplomatic cat-and-mouse. But gradually, after talking with Bert, Dominic, Buck, and others, he began to see that Warren had been right on target. The three were at the heart of the controversy.

Through the phone calls Roger found out what was driving the discontent. “There’s not enough evangelism in the pulpit — that’s what people are saying to me,” Buck told him. “When Warren was preaching we used to see souls saved every Sunday. They felt good about that.”

“But I thought people wanted less evangelism and more teaching now,” Roger said.

“Well, the Lord calls us to go into all the world, Roger. That’s not something we can put on the shelf.”

Roger couldn’t believe this was the same Buck who had told him they wanted a teacher and not an evangelist. But he decided not to get into a battle on the phone. “So evangelism is what people are upset about?”

“Yes, that and people say they’re not being fed on Sundays. They need the meat of the Word.”

“We’re not being fed.” What do you say about that? Ironically, this past Sunday one lady had told Roger, “We get so much from your sermons.”

Through Roger’s calls, word got out that the pastor knew about the meeting, and the plans for it fell through. Roger couldn’t feel relieved. He didn’t know how or when the discontent would surface again. For the first time, Roger began to feel tired at the end of a day.

Things stayed quiet for a month or so, and Roger tried to push ahead. The church hired a youth director, a young, energetic guy fresh from seminary. Roger felt good about having more support, and he knew a good youth ministry would help solidify the church’s base of middle-aged parents.

Two weeks later Marie, an outspoken woman in the congregation pulled Jeanne aside. “Jeanne, that new youth director has got to go.”

“Didn’t you vote for Todd?” Jeanne asked.

“Yeah, I did. But I don’t think he’s the man.”

“What’s the problem?” Jeanne asked.

“He’s just got to go,” Marie said, her hands on her hips. “We’ve got to get rid of him. The kids don’t relate to him.”

“That’s a valid concern,” Jeanne said, “but don’t you think it’s a little early to tell? He’s been here only two weeks.”

Marie could see she wasn’t getting anywhere, so she turned around and left.

When Jeanne told Roger about it that night, Roger couldn’t help but get angry. “The poor kid hasn’t even gotten his shoes off yet. I wish they’d just give people a chance.”

The next few weeks felt lighter. Roger really enjoyed working as a team with Todd and his other associate. He got several compliments on his preaching, and he felt things in the church were back on track.

But then twice, just a couple of days apart, he overheard people talking in the hall about “the situation in the church.” They’d stop talking and smile at him as he went by, but Roger caught enough to know the problems were starting again. He wanted to take action, but he didn’t know what or where to attack first.

The building tension kept Roger awake some nights. It was all just beneath the surface, like a giant Loch Ness monster. He’d see the water foaming and bubbling, or get a glimpse of some bumps coming up, but the slimy thing would never surface so he could see what he was dealing with. He decided he needed a fresh perspective, so he set up a lunch with Dick Berger, his district superintendent.

“Boy, that upsets me to hear all that,” Dick said, motioning to the waitress to bring more coffee.

“Am I doing something wrong?” Roger asked him. “I mean, how are you supposed to deal with this stuff?”

“You can’t — at least, not right now. That church has always had an overgrown grapevine, but that’s not exactly something you can call ‘sin’ and bring discipline for. The biggest problem, as I see it, is you’ve got a lot of immature leadership. They haven’t learned about Christian submission yet.”

“But why is the leadership so immature? Warren had a good ministry there.” Roger looked Dick in the eye.

“Yes, but a year or two before you came, when they started the daughter church up north, they commissioned forty people to go up there and get it going. And just by chance, mostly, that group included some of the strongest leaders in the church. It left Kaneville with something of a lay leadership vacuum.”

So that’s why the power struggle began then, Roger realized. He came away from the lunch understanding things better, but feeling worse than before.

At the church, Roger was spending a lot of hours in counseling, which normally he enjoyed, but lately he’d had a string of highly emotional and probably neurotic individuals. It was beginning to wear him down. He didn’t have a formal degree in counseling, but he’d taken a number of workshops and seminars over the years and had developed an effective approach. But this latest batch of people didn’t seem to improve no matter what he said or did.

The worst one was a woman named Marybeth. Her problems were numerous and recurring. One week it was her insensitive husband, the next week it was her relationship with her aging dad, the next it was her feeling that nobody respected her opinion. The concerns all seemed valid at first, but they were like spiders’ webs — they looked big, but they were flimsy and strangely sticky. After a couple of months with not the slightest trace of improvement in Marybeth, as far as either one could see, Roger tried to be as direct as he could. “Marybeth,” he said, “I care about you very much, and because of that I want you to get the best help you can. Since I’ve been seeing you for some time and you haven’t noticed any improvement, I’d like to refer you to a professional counselor for whom I have high regard.”

“Oh, no, Pastor, I’m getting so much from you,” Marybeth said. She was adamant about not switching. Roger thought, Well, if she really wants to work at it, I hate to turn her away, and he set up another appointment.

But after two more sessions, they were back to square one. Roger was getting discouraged. He tried to be as frank as he could. “Marybeth,” he said, “I’ve given you everything I know, and I think that for your benefit a professional counselor is the next step. Your problems seem to be beyond my expertise.”

“No, Pastor,” she said, “I want to stay. I feel like you’ve helped me get close to a breakthrough.”

Roger felt stuck. He really did not want to see her anymore; he obviously wasn’t helping. But if he refused to see her until she went to a professional, he’d create large political waves through the congregation. Marybeth was the kind who could blow something out of proportion; that was one of her problems. If there was anything Roger didn’t need, it was more turmoil. So he agreed to see her one more time.

Roger was always careful to take Mondays off, and he began to really look forward to them. Often he and Jeanne would get away from the house and take a hike in the woods. They’d talk things out as they went along, and usually by lunch Roger’s spirits would start to lift again.

“I don’t know, Jeanne,” he said as they sat down on a large fallen tree and zipped open their daypacks. “Lately I’ve been going to bed tired, but I’m not sleeping well, and then I get up tired. I have to push myself to get through almost every day.”

“I’ve noticed that, Honey, and it worries me.”

“But I can’t figure out why. I love being a pastor, and I know I’m right where God called me.” Roger paused and looked at her. “Then why am I dragging?”

“Roger, look what you’ve been through,” Jeanne said with urgency in her voice. “Just the funerals and hospital work alone — you’ve had so many lately.”

Roger thought back, and he couldn’t believe it himself. Since Tim had died, he’d had to lead some of the toughest funerals he’d ever had. One was for a man with eight kids, half of them at home. He died suddenly of a heart attack, leaving them all behind. Then there was a stillbirth. Not long after that, a college student came home for surgery because he’d been found to have testicular cancer. Then a two-year-old old was struck with Wilm’s Disease, cancer of the kidney. He had to have a kidney removed and begin chemotherapy. Not more than a few months after that, another college student had symptoms that were diagnosed as Hodgkin’s disease. All of that in less than a year. The whole church was reeling.

“You’re right, Jeanne,” Roger finally said. “I hadn’t thought through all that, but that’s got to be working on me. I’m not the kind of guy who can keep from getting emotionally involved with my people. I’ve poured myself into every one of those situations.”

The deacons’ meetings had been tense for the past few months, with occasional criticisms of something Roger was doing, so he went into the April meeting with his guard up. The meeting went along smoothly until about halfway through, when Buck said, “Pastor, I have something I’d like to bring up that isn’t on the agenda.”

Roger looked over the rest of the agenda, and nothing couldn’t wait if it had to. “Go ahead,” he said, his stomach tensing.

“I have heard several complaints about your counseling, and they greatly concern me. In fact, I think they should concern all of us here.”

“What exactly have you heard? It’s hard for me to respond if I don’t know the specifics.”

“They say that you’re counseling beyond your expertise. You string people along, don’t really help them, but refuse to refer them to the help they need.”

“Who’s been saying that?” Roger wanted to know.

“Several people. I don’t think it’s fair for me to break a confidence to give you names.”

“But several people have said that?”

Buck paused. Then he said, “Well, just one.”

“Who is it?”

Buck crossed his big arms across his chest. “I can’t say.”

Roger suspected it was Marybeth, who by now was seeing a professional counselor. Maybe she’s finally getting help from him, he thought, and that’s why she’s carping at me. He wanted to say her name, but as a pastoral counselor he felt an obligation to protect her and not get embroiled in the details of her case.

“If you’re not willing to tell me who the person is, how can I responsibly defend myself?” Roger finally said.

“Well, that’s not the only thing,” Buck said.

By this time, Dominic was leaning forward and drumming his fingers on the table. “Roger, do you realize you’ve run twenty minutes over time on several Sundays?” he broke in.

“That’s not true, Dom,” Roger said.

“But it is!” Dominic’s hands were moving rapidly.

“I watch the clock very carefully,” Roger protested. “And I’ve got tapes of every message I’ve given. If you go back and listen to them, you’ll see that I’ve never gone more than five minutes over. Ever.”

Dom was quiet then, and Roger knew it was because he was flat wrong. But the whole accusation rankled Roger. A genuine charge he could understand, but this kind of petty, imaginary thing was beyond his comprehension. And why was he the only one to defend himself? He looked around at the other deacons, and he knew most of them supported him. Why wouldn’t they speak up?

“If that’s all, then we’ll get back to the agenda,” Roger said.

“While we’re on preaching, I’d like to say something,” said Matt, a young businessman who sometimes crossed the line between being assertive and aggressive. “Why don’t you ever preach from the Gospel of John? That’s a great book for new Christians, but all we hear is Ephesians, Ephesians, Ephesians.”

“That’s because right now I’m in a series on Ephesians. But I regularly return to the Gospels.”

“Well, it’s important for our church to get some of that basic material. First Peter would be good, too.”

Roger didn’t mind a suggestion, but he balked at letting a brand-new Christian, which Matt was, set his entire preaching schedule. But he stayed calm. “I appreciate the suggestion,” he managed.

Then Buck was back at it. “You know, Roger, you use Greek words a lot in your sermons, and I think that’s just confusing to people. Nobody gets helped by that.”

“I sometimes will refer to the original language to highlight a certain meaning in the text,” Roger said, “but I don’t think I do that overmuch. And several people have told me how helpful that is to them.”

“The job of a preacher is to make the text plain,” Buck instructed him.

Roger didn’t know what to say that would make any difference.

When Roger drove home, at 11:30, he kept trying to think how he could explain how he felt to Jeanne. “I feel like I’ve been through a paper shredder,” was what he finally settled on.

That Thursday, he came home from the church for dinner and sat down in the La-Z-Boy until Jeanne finished getting things ready. The next thing he knew, she was standing next to him, shaking his arm.

“Huh? Did I fall asleep?” Roger asked her groggily.

“Yes, Honey. Come to dinner.”

After dinner, Jeanne said she had something she wanted to show him. She disappeared down the hall and came back in a few moments with a paperback book. “I’ve been reading a very interesting book about emotional depletion and discouragement and burnout,” she said, “and I want to read you just a portion of it.”

“C’mon, Honey. I’m okay.”

“No, I just want to read you this short quiz. Please, do it for me.”

“Okay.”

Jeanne began reading the questions — “Do you find yourself forgetting what you were saying in the middle of a conversation?” “Do you wake up tired?” — and marked Roger’s responses on a notepad. When they were all done, she tallied the results.

“How’d I do?” Roger was by this time intrigued.

“There are thirty points possible, and according to this, you’re in danger if you score sixteen or more. And your score is …” She stopped her pencil. “Twenty-eight.” She looked over at him. “Roger, I’m going to call the doctor right now.”

“Now wait, Jeanne. That’s just one little quiz.”

“You just about hit the top! I have watched you, and you are not the same person. You come home tired; you snap at me over little things; you drag around like the most discouraged, blue person I’ve ever met. That’s not right. Honey, I’m worried about you.”

Roger stayed silent. He hated the thought of going to a doctor over this, but he knew she was right.

Jeanne left a message with the answering service, and in about a half hour the doctor called back. After hearing the symptoms, the doctor ordered some medication to get Roger’s nerves calmed down and asked to see him the next day.

With the medication, Roger began to perk up. But when he was feeling good, he would set the pills aside, and then he’d take a nosedive again. The worst time of month was the night of the board meeting. He’d be tense for two days before. Business had basically ground to a halt; whatever Roger suggested, Buck and Dom fought, and usually they were able to persuade one or two people to their side. Without a lot of new programs to discuss, that left time to snipe at Roger. At the May meeting, Roger was amazed at how little things he’d done and said could be completely twisted and misunderstood until they looked bad. He was fighting hearsay, rumors, half-truths, and they seemed to be winning. Finally, he made an impassioned plea to the board: “Gentlemen, please, a lot of these things here are just the product of talking that has gotten out of hand and been greatly exaggerated. For the sake of the church, we’ve got to keep what is said here confidential.” Then he decided to go for the face-off. “Dom, I heard this week, for example, that you have been talking to several people in the church about matters before this board.”

Everyone turned and looked at Dom. “No way,” he said. “I haven’t said a word to anybody, and I resent the accusation.”

“I heard that from a very reliable source, Dom.” Roger held his ground.

“Well, they’re wrong.” Dom’s eyes flashed. “If word’s getting out, it’s not through me.”

After that meeting Roger thought for the first time, I don’t know how much longer I can take this.

The very next day a woman from the church called him. “Pastor Landis, what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” Roger asked.

“Dominic Perra is doing some carpentry work at my house today, and ever since he’s been here he’s been complaining about this person and that person. Is there something going on with the church?” I knew it, Roger thought. Everything I’ve said in deacons’ meetings has gotten out and been twisted.

Roger tried to assure her everything was under control and that people needed to be patient and prayerful while a few things worked themselves out.

If only I believed that, he thought as he hung up.

The June meeting was the worst yet. Buck and Dom rehashed complaints about using too many Greek words, counseling beyond his expertise, and others that Roger had already tried to explain. Then Buck looked at him and said, “You know, Pastor, we are really disappointed that you didn’t handle your son’s death right. We were looking for an example, and you didn’t give us one.”

Roger’s mouth dropped open, and he stared. He finally closed his mouth again and remained silent for a while. He didn’t know whether to try to explain, to lash back, or just cry. “Jeanne and I felt we handled it well. I mean, people said we did …” Then Roger trailed off and looked down.

The room got very quiet, and then Buck cleared his throat. “Well, let’s move on to the next item of business.”

Two nights later, as usual, Roger couldn’t sleep. He kept replaying Buck saying, “You didn’t handle your son’s death right.” He thought about Tim. Oh, if only you could see me now, Son, he thought. I wish you were here to help. Roger tried to pray and clear his mind, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the deacons’ meetings. In a few more weeks he was going to have to face another meeting, and it would probably be his last. He had heard Buck and Dom were pushing the other deacons to ask him to resign. He felt as if he were in a small, black room and the walls and floor and ceiling were all moving in on him. He got up and headed for the bathroom.

He switched on the light, put both palms on the sink counter, and leaned forward and looked at himself in the mirror. If only I could get to sleep and just rest for a long time, he thought. I need to rest. I’ve got to get out of here somehow. He reached up, swung back the mirror, and looked at his bottle of medication. Thirty pills. That ought to do it.

No, what would Jeanne do? She’d be crushed. Roger looked down, then back up at the bottle. They’d go down easy.

But then a picture of his daughter, Caroline, came to his mind. He straightened up and turned to go.

Then he turned around again and stood frozen, staring at the cabinet for a long time. They’d never understand, he finally thought. They’d think Jesus let me down.

He went back to bed. Lord, he prayed as he tried to fall asleep, I just can’t hack it anymore. I can’t.

Fortunately, Roger’s story does not end there, and we’ll pick up his story again in a later chapter. But his experience illustrates the painful fact that even skilled, veteran pastors can be shattered by discouragement.1

How can pastors overcome discouragement? How can they persevere through and beyond dark periods and continue an effective ministry? A Southern Baptist pastor wrote Leadership: “How can I live beyond, and be effective again after, disillusionment with people and the destruction of idealism? I’ve been betrayed and abandoned. How can I be restored to fellowship, to ministry?”

What are the secrets to staying power, to crossing the finish line after a lifetime of successful ministry? The rest of this book tackles that question.

Throughout the book I use the word discouragement to describe a broad range of common human emotions, such as frustration, hopelessness, and disappointment. I do not, however, mean it to refer to clinically discernible depression. Depression, while sharing some characteristics with discouragement, is more complex and does not necessarily respond to the same treatments (many of which are discussed in this book). For a helpful discussion of depression in the ministry, readers are referred to Coping with Depression in the Ministry and Other Helping Professions by Archibald D. Hart (Word, 1984).

©1988 Christianity Today

My responsibility is to be a supervisor, not a superworker.
Fred Smith

Have you noticed that the simplest, most fundamental questions can be the most difficult to answer? Anyone who’s raised small children knows the challenge of defining the basics. Try answering “What’s gravity, Daddy?”

Leaders, too, may be tripped up by the fundamentals: What am I to do? Of the many things that need to be done in this church or organization, what few belong to me? In short, what is my role?

One person who communicates these fundamentals of leadership clearly is Fred Smith.

Fred cannot be easily described. He is a businessman, consultant, public speaker, active Christian. Even meetings become interesting when Fred is in them. He has an unusual ability to pinpoint the real issue, to cut through the undergrowth.

When Fred was forty, he turned down the presidency of a national corporation so he could divide his attention among business, education, religion, and lecturing. He has served on more than twenty boards and trusteeships, holds an honorary doctor of laws degree, and was awarded the Lawrence Appley award of the American Management Association.

While he truly enjoys business, he keeps reaching out for the broader life. For many years he was active in the leadership of Laymen’s Leadership Institute. Fred has served as chairman of the national board of Youth for Christ, and as a member of the executive committee of Christianity Today, Inc. He was chairman for Billy Graham’s earliest Cincinnati crusade. He has been consultant to such corporations as genesco, Mobil, and Caterpillar, and has lectured in over twenty universities and forty-six states and foreign countries.

Fred is also a contributing editor of Leadership Journal and the author of You and Your Network (Word) and Learning to Lead (Leadership/Word).

You have achieved a great deal in your life. How did you find the time?

Those of us who divide our efforts, particularly in the more visible activities, may appear to do more, but I doubt we really do. Frankly, I thought you might ask me why I have done so little, considering what Wesley, Napoleon, Churchill, et al., have done with the same twenty-four hours. I keep thinking how much Wesley did and how he was dead for several years before he was my age.

Fred, you always appear relaxed, even casual, yet there is below the surface a lurking intensity.

Intensity is the boiling point of effort, the concentration of energy, the tip of the welding flame. Most men of accomplishment have a special ability to develop intensity at the right time over the right issue.

Jackie Robinson could come out of his relaxed pose at second base and snap into action as the play came to him, then go back into a poised relaxation, saving himself for the next time. Most pros have this; only the amateur keeps jumping up and down like a college cheerleader. Many hardworking people fail to accomplish much because they lack intensity at the meaningful time.

Good leadership picks out the crucial elements and places something extra at these points.

Can you describe your approach to leadership?

Yes. It involves a few concepts plus techniques, most of which I’ve borrowed from those I admire. Of course, I’ve adapted these to my personal style.

I like to find the essence of each situation, like a logger clearing a logjam. The pro climbs a tall tree and locates the key log, blows it, and lets the stream do the rest. An amateur would start at the edge of the jam and move all the logs, eventually moving the key log. Both approaches work, but the “essence” concept saves time and effort. Almost all problems have a “key log” if we learn to find it.

I try to decide what I’m trying to do, what it takes to do it, and whom I can get to do it better than I can. I find summary thoughts helpful in keeping me conscious of my concepts, such as, “Results are the only reason for activity.”

What is your role in this leadership system?

I use this definition: “An executive is not a person who can do the work better than his people; he is a person who can get his people to do the work better than he can.” My responsibility is to be a supervisor, not a superworker. A little selective laziness is not all bad. It increases the thinking time.

It is very important that the people who work for me understand my job. If they don’t know what my job is, they often try to do it. That’s why it’s so important for them to know what I want to retain control of. I decide this very simply. I make a list of all the things that only I can do. It’s an embarrassingly short list. I have to add a few things that I prefer doing to make the list long enough to justify my salary. It’s amazing how few things there are that only the boss can do.

Most bosses don’t think this way. They say, “How much can I do? Whatever I can’t do I’ll hire someone else to do.” Well, that’s the way you work yourself to death.

I was talking to an Oklahoma bank president who said he was working himself to death. I said, “Whose work are you doing?”

He stopped, reflected for a moment, and answered, “Well, to be honest, the cashier’s.”

I asked, “Why are you doing it?”

He said, “I hadn’t really thought it through. I’m going to go back and straighten out that situation.”

Your system requires competent people who will get the job done.

Yes. If you don’t understand selection, development, and motivation, you will suffer by this system.

For example, recently I looked at an organization with problems. I asked the board, “Is our lead horse strong enough to pull the wagon?”

They said no.

“Okay,” I said, “where is the one we need?” So we went out and found a strong man and turned the organization around. I could have approached it differently. I could have said, “This man we have here is a sincere, fine Christian person, and with enough help he just might do it.” But that would have meant pulling with him for five years before we found out he couldn’t do the job. We would have used up a tremendous amount of time and effort and paralyzed the organization just to avoid a tough decision.

The earlier you make a decision about a failure and “cut your loss,” the less actual waste. People who wait around trying to find the pleasant, comfortable moment to make difficult decisions and difficult changes are simply kidding themselves. You can hide behind “We’re going to wait and pray about it,” but when you know the situation is going wrong, then do something to alleviate it. The answer to most problems is the right people in the right places.

How would you respond to a pastor who says, “That’s all right for bosses and presidents, but all I have is a secretary and some volunteers. Delegation is out of the question.”

As long as you have one other person in your organization, you can be learning delegation. Delegation is a philosophy before it is a practice. Some parents do everything for the children, while others teach the children to do for themselves. I don’t know many churches as small as a family.

Most leaders who don’t delegate want others to be dependent on them; they want to be needed more than they want to develop their associates. Be sure you don’t try to delegate the “dirty” part of the job and keep the good part. “Folks ain’t dumb.”

The pastor who is doing everything himself might ask, “Aren’t there pastors who lead small churches who don’t work themselves to death, who don’t handle all of the details?” Then the next question would be, “Are their members different from mine?” Well, most members are about the same wherever you go. This begins to make him believe there’s something about management that he doesn’t understand.

For the pastor who feels swamped with committee meetings and administrative work, what do we say to help him or her break out of this trap?

I would say, “Be honest about why you’re swamped.” If you’re protecting your job by being sure you’re in the center of everything, it’s your own fault. If you just have a natural curiosity about what’s going on, and you like to be with people, and you’re spending your time with people and details instead of studying and praying, it’s your fault. If you’re insecure and cannot let other people take responsibility, it’s your fault. I can’t accept the premise that there is a job big enough to keep me away from my primary responsibilities.

Andrew Carnegie once asked a consultant, “What can you do for me about time control?”

The consultant said, “I’ll make one suggestion, and you send me a check for what you think it’s worth. Write down what you have to do on a piece of paper in order of priority, and complete the first item before you go to the second.” It’s reported that Carnegie tried it for a few weeks and sent him a check for ten thousand dollars.

I constantly find people trying to accomplish their work as if they were eating dinner at a smorgasbord. They don’t prioritize anything and they don’t complete anything. They don’t practice good time discipline. I had an executive say to me, “How in the world do you turn down people who want to play golf with you?” That question has never entered my mind. My time is as much mine as my money. If I don’t let everybody else spend my money, I’m not going to let them spend my time. I have a right and a responsibility to say to people, “I have to have this much time for my priorities.”

For example, I was traveling with the president of a subsidiary company, and every time we’d sit down anywhere he’d grab a big stack of magazines and start reading them. I asked, “Do you like to read?”

He said, “I hate to.”

“But every time I’m with you, you spend your time reading. Why do you do that?”

He said, “The president of the parent company sends me these magazines.”

I said, “What would happen if you’d walk into the president’s office and say, ‘Hey, Boss, you want me to make money or read magazines? I’m willing to do either one, but I can’t read all these magazines you’re sending me and do my job too’? I will guarantee the boss would laugh and say, ‘Throw those magazines in the basket. I sent them to you because I thought they were too current to throw away.’ ” A lot of people will generate work for you on this same basis.

A man came in to see me who had written a book and brought a copy for me to read — a big, thick book. He said, “I’ll call you in a week and see what you think about my book.”

I said, “Make it six months. This book costs $10.90. Since I’m a slow reader, it would take me two days to read it. That means I’d be making about $5.45 a day reading your book, and I think I’m worth more than that.” Unless a book has something to do with what I’m trying to learn, and I consider it a priority, I’m not going to read it just so someone can call me and say, “What did you think about the book?” I’m going to be frank and say I don’t read books just because people give them to me.

But a pastor might say, “I’m a public person. My congregation expects to be able to telephone me day or night. They shove books under my nose and next Sunday ask me about them. My job is to minister to these people, to get to know them and build rapport with them. As irritating as these requests for ‘personal favors’ are, a response is necessary.”

This sounds like the politician who spends all his time running for office and never performs when he gets in. Building rapport can be a smoke screen. The pastor must set some time aside for it, but he must constantly remind people of his commitment to the most important things. I don’t think they would be offended the least bit if he said, “Folks, Tuesday is my day with God. I have to spend some time with my boss to keep this job, and he has called me into conference on Tuesday. He takes a dim view of me answering phones and appearing at social occasions on conference day. Your boss wouldn’t like it if you ran out of the room when he was trying to talk to you. Mine doesn’t either.”

I know a pastor who does this. He simply shuts himself off from his people on Tuesday so he can study. But they all know he’s studying. I know a life insurance man who refuses all social engagements on a certain evening because he wants to be a well-versed insurance man. No one invites him anywhere on that night because they know he’s studying life insurance. He has become a veritable authority, and being known for studying one night a week has helped his reputation.

A minister must explain what he is supposed to be doing for his people. He is supposed to be expounding the Word to them. He can’t expound without studying. If he’s going to let secondary matters take over, no matter how important they might be, he would be like the merchant who was so bent on trying to keep the store clean he would never unlock the front door. The real reason for running the store is to have customers come in, not to clean it up.

We find this in Parkinson’s Law — if you have only one letter to write, it will take all day to do it. If you have twenty letters to do, you’ll get them done in one day. The most efficient time of life is the week before vacation. Why can’t we run our lives as we do the week before vacation — make decisions, clean off the desk, return the calls? Take the use of a secretary. If I want people to deal with my secretary on important matters, I must build her up to where they feel she’s capable. Therefore, every once in a while, I’ll say, “You’ll find she is great on that; in fact, she’s better at that than I am.” And they will feel it is an honor to deal with her. But she has to be good. You can’t kid about it.

The pastor who wants somebody else to do visitation had better use sermon illustrations about the great things that have happened because someone else does the visiting. If illustrations are only about when the pastor visited, the congregation will expect that presence.

But doesn’t the average congregation expect the pastor to carry the ball on visitation as well as preaching?

One time I became interested in trying to find a job in the Bible like our preacher has. You can’t find one like the modern preacher to save your life. We don’t have a scriptural setup. We have one that’s grown up out of tradition. And I’m not too sure that ministers haven’t developed it themselves. Like everyone else, they reached for more and more authority, more and more prestige, more and more power, and created for themselves a job nobody can do. It takes an absolute genius to adequately do the pastor’s job.

One morning I thought, What if today I were a pastor instead of a corporation president? That idea scared me to death. I am totally inadequate to fulfill the job most pastors have.

In other conversations you’ve alluded to three different organizational systems. Could you talk about them?

I call them the poor human system, the good human system, and the spiritual system. I’ve had a great deal of experience with the poor human system and some with the good human system; not until rather recently did I see a different type of church management that intrigued me. I’ve been studying it — not fully understanding it — but seeing there is a difference, not in degree but in kind.

Describe these three systems.

I can give you some identifying marks. This is personal opinion that comes from observing and participating in many churches for over fifty years.

Most churches are run on the poor human system, a kind of system you’d run a marginal business with. In a marginal church you have a “Mom and Pop” operation that the pastor and his wife are running. The church will not pay Mom, although they expect her to work. She runs the missionary society, helps with the catering, makes calls with Pop, and usually plays the organ. If she’s really strong, she may teach a class and even quietly help him prepare the sermon. Though she is not paid, she comes under the same review as Pop. These Mom-and-Pop operations never grow very big because Mom and Pop have to see and do everything.

Some insidious things usually start to happen. Mom and Pop often learn to like this management style and they become attached to the location, or at least they don’t know another place to go. And, being human, security becomes important to them.

Now, what happens? Mom and Pop inadvertently form a small clique. They want a hand in who is on the board of deacons, who is doing everything — even the janitoring, so the janitor will tell them what he heard from the members who didn’t know he was listening. This control system is initiated out of desire for security. It is one of the most limiting factors that can exist in an organization. Directly or indirectly, many smaller churches are controlled by Mom and Pop, and you’ll find they come in varying degrees of attractiveness. Sometimes Mom and Pop are great. Sometimes they fight with each other. Sometimes they are a wonderful team.

The poor human system is a management style, a style that can be spotted the moment you walk in the front door. Pop leads the singing, makes the announcements, prays the prayer, preaches the sermon, pronounces the benediction, and runs down the aisle to shake hands with the people at the door. He does everything — just like a small businessman — because it is his little operation. It’s the only system he knows. And God bless Mom and Pop! A vast number of Christians would not be blessed if they didn’t exist.

I’ve often wanted to sit down and say to them, “Do you know there’s another system? Do you know there’s a way to do all this and not work yourself to death?”

Lay people help perpetrate this human system. They enjoy the familiarity with Mom and Pop. It helps them know where their place is in the congregational mix. They like the paternalistic, benevolent feel that comes from Mom and Pop, and they develop their own form of “clout” by being part of Mom and Pop’s family.

We have to be careful when we talk about the poor human system in a church. Poor human system doesn’t mean poor Christian experience. Some of the finest, most meaningful Christian experiences one can possibly have will be found in a church run by poor human administration.

But if the poor human system is so inefficient and security oriented, how can you say the most meaningful Christian experiences possible can come out of this kind of environment?

Remember, when I say system, I’m talking about the administrative system; I’m not talking about theology or Spirit. We must make the distinction. There is no system by which humans can accomplish what only God can do. One of the great failures of the church is that we often try to accomplish with a human system (good or bad) what only God can do.

For example, we cannot accomplish with a revival activity or renewal program the salvation of souls. Whenever we substitute people walking down an aisle or numerical growth for spiritual transformation, we’re trying to do through a human system what cannot be done.

Regardless of the system, one of the most important things to learn is to delegate to God. If I were a minister, one of the first things I would declare is that God is my boss. My boss could not be the chairman of the board. The day I genuinely quit believing God was my boss, I’d get out of the ministry.

Of course, this too has problems. God is often viewed as an absentee boss. Branch offices get into trouble when there’s an absentee manager. Some corporate officers get carried away and do very self-serving things that get the company into trouble because the stockholders are absentee owners. The closer the relationship between the owner and the manager, the better the place will be run. In the same way, the more God’s presence is felt in any church, the better it will be run. The quality of spiritual blessing comes not from the system, but from God.

Describe the good human system.

The key to a good human system is a dynamic leader. This is a person who could make it in business, ministry, or almost anything. He has that rare combination of abilities to preach, teach, and administer. When I say good human system, I’m talking about good human management, the kind that can be taught through an MBA program.

What are the characteristics of this system?

Good human managers understand organization. They understand human nature. For example, Napoleon’s strength was that he understood what men would do in war. A good human system preacher understands what people will do in a religious context. Thus he knows how to motivate them. A good human leader understands that any successful operation is run by a small oligarchy, and that the oligarchy is controlled by one man. Egotism plays a big part in the human system.

You’re saying he understands power?

He understands how things get done! He doesn’t argue with it or philosophize about it; he accepts it. He isn’t always apologizing, “Well, I hate to get things done this way, but …” He knows how to utilize people’s strengths and buttress their weaknesses. He knows that people don’t basically change: People enthusiastically do what they can do well, and drag their feet on what they can’t do well.

The good human system requires that you divide work into its logical parts. Then, you put somebody in charge who has the capability of doing it. When a good human leader starts using a new person, he always assigns rather than delegates to him. Assigning means telling him what you want, what time you want it, and how you want it done. And you expect him to do it himself while you watch the task get done. As you develop experience with this person, you find there are certain things you can delegate to him. Delegating is the second step; you simply tell him what problem you’d like to have solved and he develops and implements the solution. But you must have working experience with somebody in order to move from assignment to delegation. I’ve seen people who bypassed the assignment process, delegated prematurely, and then damned the delegation system. We have all seen new Christians, particularly wealthy or famous ones, hurt by overuse before they mature. God can wait for them to mature; it’s the rest of us who get overanxious to use them in our programs.

How do power and authority work in the good human system?

In the good human system your capacity to organize is often based upon the recognized authority you possess.

On one level you have people who feel God has endowed them in such a special way they can tell people what to do. People are to be subordinate to them whether they will admit it or not.

Another kind of authority is given authority. You give a man a title or an office. The title carries a certain authority. It’s probably the most vulnerable kind of authority because people will often subtly test it. If all he has is the title of authority, pretty soon the testing will produce a breakdown, and that person will be forced to compromise.

Then you have authority by means of dedication. In any organization those who are the most dedicated have a tendency to rise to levels of authority, even though it may be behind-the-scenes authority. They work harder and stay longer.

Superior knowledge is a form of authority. If you know more than anybody in the group, they will turn to you. But the moment somebody with superior knowledge enters the scene, you lose all of your authority to that person. That’s why the pastor has to be careful about building authority on a superior knowledge of a theme in the Bible; it can be lost if a better teacher or a more dramatic theme comes along.

Franklin D. Roosevelt had the image of providing benefits for people. This gave him unparalleled political power. The people wanted him to be their four-term boss because they could expect good things from him. Few preachers can give things, but they can overdo “good feelings” and develop authority over many.

I like to write on paper the basis of my authority. If I own a business, people recognize my ownership rights. But if I don’t watch it, if I’m not exercising my ownership function, somebody will try to take it over. Squatters are not all poor. There are squatters on unoccupied authority. I have seen choirs form a “squatters’ rights” clique.

The way Henry Ford lost control of the Ford Foundation.

Owning something doesn’t mean you’re going to remain in authority. In fact, one of the perils of the good human system is related to ownership. Ownership may mean you can throw others out, but then you’re faced with the terrible problem of how you’re going to run the system once they are gone.

One of the German philosophers told me that Hitler came to power in a power vacuum. There came that pause when nobody wanted to run the place. He was the only one who did, and everyone else said, “Let him.” As soon as he was in power, he set up the means to keep others from challenging him.

I don’t believe a Christian can have a conscience for that kind of power. But in the church I’ve seen key people get tired of serving in major capacities (and they all seem to get tired at the same time), and suddenly mediocre people are in power simply because the others defaulted. Power is not an inert thing. It’s like mercury; it flows. A capable leader, like a good coach, looks to the bench for continuity in winning.

How would you summarize the good human system?

Motivation in the good human system is identical to the motivation used in any other successful human process. Participation, recognition, rotation, the feeling of belonging, moving up through the ranks — all of these principles are the same anywhere.

Rotation?

Right. A person gets tired of teaching one grade level so you move him to another grade level so he won’t lose interest in teaching. If a person’s tired of being on one committee, you put him on another committee to keep him excited. Also, you protect the organization by rotation. You keep someone from sitting in a job until he thinks he owns it.

Privately, the men I know in the good human system are very candid with their close associates. However, they take a long time to move a person into the inside group. Former governor of Texas John Connally once said, “I have very few close friends and I take a long time to make one.” What he may be saying is, “There are parts to my life or organization I don’t want anyone to see until I trust them.”

Good human leaders are lonely, but they don’t necessarily try to avoid loneliness; they accept it as part of the price. I mentioned this one time to the president of an architectural firm, and he said, “You’ve just identified all my problems. Because I hate to be lonely and I’m always telling my associates about my half-baked plans, bad things begin to happen to me.” He didn’t realize that everyone who would be helped by his half-baked plan began to support it, and everyone who would be hurt by it started to work against it — before it was even formulated! Confusion and polarization were born out of his desire to talk.

In the good human system, people who share everything with everybody tend to be less than great leaders. Most great leaders appear open, but are often closed. In fact, in the good human system, hypocrisy is often a requirement. This is one of the reasons I do not feel it is a system that God would prefer to use. For example, if the leader wanted Deacon Smith removed, he would publicly shed great tears about the “trouble” in the body, and how the Lord had helped him to identify this problem, and how the Lord needed to help him help these “people.” Invoking the Lord is a smoke screen. It is the good human system working in its best and worst fashion. And this is the hypocrisy that bothers me. But keep in mind that I’m convinced that God is going to use whatever system is around. I think this is part of his sovereignty. I also think it is part of his humor. Remember the old saw, “God can use any kind of vessel except a dirty one”? Well, from my experience, that is the only kind he can use. We are all sinners.

The motivations in the good human system are absolutely human. The politics are human. You bring in the people that you can count on. You never let a person into the inner circle until you have his vote in your pocket. You never take a chance on a person who might vote on an issue as he sees it. The system admits a person who will question the issue but is sure to vote with the group. Questioning the issue is a safeguard, but you don’t take a chance of him voting against you. After he does that once or twice, he’s out.

Wait a minute! This is a description of how good and great leaders lead?

I’m not saying “great” leaders. There are those with solidness of character, strength of spirit, and dedication to a cause. They are the great exceptions we all long to follow but see so seldom. I know the danger of naming anyone, but it helps to personify types. Whenever I have been around Hudson Armerding, the former president of Wheaton College, he has impressed me as a man who truly wants to be a good man. Most of us want to be recognized as good, but few truly want to pay the price. In corporate life Howard Pew approached this type, as did Maxey Jarman. I feel safe in naming these men because each would have castigated me for putting him up as an example. Those who would enjoy being named are like the man who won an award for humility, and then when he wore it had it taken away from him.

I believe God wants to get us as close to maturity as he possibly can. Here in America we are basing a great deal of our Christian success on the good human system — a system taken right out of industry and entertainment. In many cases ministers could be replaced with non-Christian executives. This scares me.

What are your views on the spiritual system?

While the good human system is based upon a dynamic, highly motivated, competent leader, the spiritual system is built around — not upon — a shepherd, whose purpose is to develop mature Christians, not a facility, a memorial, or a human organization. He looks at a facility as helpful but not vital. Organization is a part of the process for himself as well as for the flock.

In human systems the individual leader doesn’t tend to mature spiritually because his purpose mitigates against spiritual maturity. In the maneuvering and the manipulations and the passing out of the accolades, the human system leader is forced to claim more spiritual maturity than he has.

That’s sobering. It could be a trap for any of us.

Spiritual system leaders push the dynamics of growth and leadership toward their people for the people’s benefit, rather than pull from the people the dynamics of “growth and leadership” that will ultimately benefit themselves.

You watch a human system leader, and he will often slowly start to satisfy his ego off the organization instead of sacrificing his ego to the organization. He eventually comes to that dangerous turning point where he goes from cause orientation to self orientation. When he begins his leadership he may be very cause oriented, but as he sees the cause prosper he starts to embezzle from the cause — either praise, credit, position, or money. The things that should have gone to God, he starts to take. Once he starts this process his commission begins to climb and soon he has gone from 1 percent to 15 percent to 50 percent. In extreme cases he finally says, “Well, God doesn’t really need it, and since I’m God’s man, I’ll just take it all.” Thank God these people are few in number.

Fred, you’ve been coming down hard on the leader. Isn’t it possible he gets caught in the momentum of the system?

Of course this is possible. However, he can’t effectively lead any system unless he has a natural tendency, understanding, and love for that system.

The human system is built on ego. For example, it almost always removes time for meditation and time for God. When you talk to many of these human system leaders, they sincerely decry their need for more time to pray and study the Bible. These leaders have a great tendency to never find this kind of time because of “the system.” They have committees to attend and meetings to run.

But the leader of the spiritual system is different. By definition, he is not an administrator. He’s a shepherd. The shepherd is involved in administration, but it’s one of the functions of the church, not his personal function. He knows how many sheep there are, and he is prepared to take drastic action if one is missing. But his function does not revolve around personal power. A function that is saturated with responsibility is very different from a function that is saturated with power.

A pastor told me he was going to Africa with his staff, and I asked him how many he was going to take. He said, “All of them. All the personnel — eleven ministers.”

I said, “Who’s going to run the church?”

He said, “The same lay people who are running it when we’re here.”

His job wasn’t to run the church. His job was to minister to people. I don’t know of many human systems that could stand the strain of every paid worker being gone for six weeks. The place would fold.

When I speak to American Management Association meetings, I can always tell the insecure corporate presidents whose offices have not called as often as they would like. They are scared to death the business is running without them. You find parents like this — scared to death the kids are going to get along without them.

The spiritual system utilizes people by their gifts. Its function is ministry and its object is maturation. The church’s vitality cannot be measured in the number of meetings, the number of people, or the things that can be accomplished by human means. The church cannot be evaluated by any human scale.

So the spiritual system is built upon the gifts of the people around a pastor rather than upon the pastor. What would that look like?

Do you mean a church that isn’t a pyramid with the senior pastor on top? I think some of the things Ray Stedman is doing, maybe unconsciously, have a tendency to accomplish this. For example, he leans away from building a sanctuary large enough to accommodate the entire membership, because he wants them to meet all over town. A church large enough to accommodate everyone at 11 a.m. would help to create a pyramid with a visible peak.

Another way to help prevent the development of a pyramid structure would be to develop ministers who do not have specialized functions. If four men share the preaching, you break some of the “pecking order.”

When I read Ray’s book, Body Life, I didn’t think it was a complete statement of what went on. While riding with Ray to an airport I said, “You left the heart out of Body Life. What you have written won’t work.”

Naturally Ray was surprised, and he said, “I tried to be honest.”

You can’t make Ray defensive, which to me is one of the saintly qualities. “What you have left out is what most of us can’t do,” I told him. “You have gained control of your ego. And without control of your ego, the Body Life system won’t work.”

I have a suspicion that at some time in Ray’s life he dedicated his ego to God. This is not saying Ray isn’t human. It’s simply saying I believe he has come to the place of saying, “This ministry is God’s.”

For a moment assume the perspective of a pastor. What kind of relationship would you try to establish with the lay leadership of the church?

It’s very difficult for me to project myself into the ministerial role. One of the things I’ve been grateful for is that I have never really felt called. I’m sure there are churches that are grateful for the same thing!

If I were pastor of a church, I would have to take as my first concern the spiritual vitality of the leadership, not the political vitality. I would try to see that the lay leadership took seriously what we together claim to profess.

As a pastor I would also ask the lay leaders to be monitors of my spiritual vitality. I would appreciate it if one of my leaders came to me and said, “Pastor, I sense that you’re a little low. I came to pray with you. May I read the Scripture with you?”

When you are close enough to your lay leadership for them to talk to you about your spiritual vitality, and you to talk to them about theirs — that would be the heart of a successful church operated on a spiritual basis.

Copyright ©1987 Christianity Today

It is since Christians have largely ceased to think of the other world that they have become so ineffective in this. Aim at heaven and you will get earth thrown in; aim at earth and you will get neither.
C. S. Lewis

One of the ways to begin helping people who don’t want help, as we’ve already seen, is developing a relationship they value. At times, however, that very relationship must be risked. Perhaps no place is this more painful than within the pastor’s own family.

No matter how solid their relationship with their children, most parents still feel a tremor of anxiety as a son or daughter leaves the nest. What kinds of choices will he or she make? What if those choices are foolish or self-destructive? What if the young people need help to avoid a terrible mistake but don’t want help — or don’t have the strength to accept it? The years after high school can be a time of awkward transition — a twilight world between accountability and independence.

What follows is the story of one family that agonized over that tension. Not all pastoral families would choose to handle this situation the same way. But this family’s story holds some vital clues for others in similar situations.

Bill and Maryann Harris had worked hard over the years to show their children that being raised in a pastor’s home not only meant certain responsibilities, like being a perennial example in the youth ministry, but also afforded some privileges, like enjoying a privileged relationship with the church’s guest speakers and visiting missionaries.

Their two oldest children apparently enjoyed life in the parsonage. After going to college on a football scholarship, Martin went to seminary and became a church planter, and Brenda attended a Christian college and joined the staff of an inner-city youth ministry. While both were confident, capable workers, neither was quite as strong-willed as the youngest, Caryl.

Through her high school years, Bill and Maryann considered Caryl’s self-confidence one of her greatest virtues. Her standards were high. She didn’t want to limit herself to dating one guy. “I don’t want to be seen as anyone’s ‘property,'” she would say. She enjoyed going out with a guy from church one night and a guy from school the next night — “double dating,” she called it.

Maryann and Caryl often talked about the guys Caryl was seeing. “Some of the girls at school have to sneak out to see their boyfriends,” Caryl said. “I wouldn’t want to date anyone I wasn’t proud to bring home to meet my folks.”

After high school, since Caryl enjoyed making her own clothes, she decided to attend a school that offered courses in fashion design. She enrolled at a State university two hours from home. It was far enough to afford some independence but close enough to allow visits home once a month. In addition, during her first year, Caryl would call home every week with another story about dorm life. She especially enjoyed telling about her attempts to be a Christian in a secular setting.

One night she reported the following conversation with two of the guys on her floor, Mitch and Tony, who had come to her room.

“Is it true what we hear — that you don’t drink alcohol?” they asked.

“It is,” said Caryl.

“You mean you’ve never had a beer or a glass of wine?”

“I don’t even drink Nyquil!” Caryl laughed.

“I can’t believe it!” Tony said.

“I’ve never met anyone who hasn’t had a drink,” said Mitch. “We’ll have to change that!”

“Why?” Caryl countered. “You have all kinds of friends who drink. Wouldn’t you like to have one friend who doesn’t? After all, wouldn’t it be nice to have someone who can drive straight after a party?”

Before they went back to their own room, the guys had admitted she had a point.

Bill and Maryann enjoyed the story. They encouraged Caryl to keep trying to fit in without violating her standards.

“A campus is a tough place to be ‘in the world but not of the world,'” Bill told Maryann after putting the phone down. “But it sounds like Caryl’s doing a pretty good job.”

Caryl met with some Christians in her dorm once a week for breakfast, Bible study, and prayer. She also attended a Tuesday night Bible study for college students at the Baptist church near the campus.

Bill and Maryann suspected nothing unusual, then, when Caryl called one week during her sophom*ore year to say that “a couple of guys in the dorm are in love with me.”

“They’ve already sent me a dozen roses and a box of chocolates,” she said with her characteristic laugh. “I marched down the hall and gave them back the chocolates. I told them my figure couldn’t handle the calories, but I did appreciate the flowers — they weren’t fattening.”

“Which guys were they?” Maryann asked.

“Mitch and Tony.”

“Isn’t that an unusual gift for them to give you?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Caryl. “We’ve got a pretty close group here on the floor. It’s sort of nice; it’s been a while since any guys have shown a special interest in me. Maybe I’ve been spending too much time in the library.” She laughed. “Don’t worry, Mom. They’re harmless.”

Over the next few weeks, Bill and Maryann kept hearing more and more about Tony and Mitch, especially Mitch. Caryl reported on conversations they had at supper. She mentioned that Mitch offered to walk her home from Tuesday night Bible study.

“Mitch is in the Bible study, too?” Maryann asked.

“No, I invited him, but he says he’s not the ‘religious’ type,” Caryl replied. “He just doesn’t think I should be walking across campus alone at night. Besides, he’s usually coming back from the library, so it’s not out of his way. I appreciate the company.”

Whenever Caryl went to football games or out for pizza, Bill and Maryann noticed, Mitch’s name was usually mentioned as part of the group.

During Christmas break while Caryl was home, the university’s basketball team was playing a local college. Mitch was in town to see the game and invited Caryl to go with him. “I’m not all that keen on going with Mitch,” she told her mom, “but since I’ve met some of the basketball players at school, I do enjoy seeing them play.”

When Mitch came to pick her up, Bill and Maryann met him for the first time. Bill’s first impression was that Mitch’s West Texas accent made him sound almost a hayseed. His boots and Stetson added to the image. Mitch was a pre-veterinary student, and he seemed friendly enough, asking, “Should I get Caryl back any time in particular?”

“I appreciate you asking,” said Bill. “Just keep it reasonable.”

After Mitch and Caryl had left for the game, Bill told Maryann, “He seems like a nice guy, but hardly Caryl’s type. They’re from totally different backgrounds. She says he gets good grades, but you’d never know it by listening to him.”

That night after Mitch brought her home, Caryl told Maryann, “We had a good time. Mitch really knows basketball, and he explains the strategy real well. And afterward, since Mitch knows all the players, we went out to eat with them. I felt like an ‘insider.’ I do wish he hadn’t ordered his beer; I don’t usually go out with guys who drink, but he’s a sharp guy and maybe I can be a good influence on him. He could use a Christian friend. He said one of the reasons he likes me is because I have strong moral standards.”

In the weeks that followed, the Harrises heard more and more about Mitch — about the new Ford pickup he drove, about his dreams of establishing his own veterinary hospital, about the times he took Caryl to cattle and horse shows. “I only wish he’d clean up his language,” said Caryl.

Bill and Maryann didn’t say much about the budding friendship until one day Caryl mentioned that Mitch teased her a lot about going to the Bible study. He called Christians “the Great Pretenders,” suggesting they live in a make-believe world. Caryl said, “I told him that wasn’t true, that I was a Christian who tried to keep her feet on the ground.” Mitch’s response was “Well, you’re OK, but all the guys at that Bible study are flyweights.”

“I didn’t have an answer for that,” Caryl said. “I had to admit none of the guys in the fellowship are real sharp.”

“It’s too bad he can’t meet some of the Christian athletes who’ve spoken at our church,” Maryann said.

“Yeah,” said Caryl, somewhat absently.

“He’s not out to undermine your faith, is he?” Maryann asked.

“Oh, Mom, don’t be paranoid,” Caryl said. But for the first time, Maryann felt a flutter in her stomach.

When Caryl told her parents that Mitch continued to try to get her to go drinking with him, Bill and Maryann suggested that maybe Mitch wasn’t the friend he seemed to be. “If he knows your standards, why does he keep trying to get you to change them?” Caryl didn’t have an answer.

Apparently, she mentioned to Mitch that her parents were not overjoyed with their friendship. The next time she called she managed to work into the conversation that “Mitch was asking me if I felt restricted growing up in a preacher’s home, if my parents always chose my friends for me. He told me his parents gave him a free rein.” Bill and Maryann chose not to debate the issue, feeling that they didn’t need to defend their approach to parenting.

In February, Bill got an invitation to preach at the Baptist church next to the university, and Caryl brought several of her dorm friends, including Mitch, to hear him. Mitch seemed relaxed during the service, but afterward Caryl said, “Mitch was pretty uncomfortable. He had never attended anything but an occasional Mass before, and he didn’t even tell his folks he was coming with me today.” All of them were encouraged that at least he came. But the experience seemed only to prompt increased antagonism from Mitch.

“I don’t see why you go to that church,” he told Caryl. “They’re so narrow. They take their religion too seriously.”

“It is important to us,” said Caryl. “But that doesn’t mean we’re fanatics. We enjoy life, too. We just want to enjoy all of life, including spiritual life now and eternal life in heaven.”

“But it’s different from the way I was raised,” he said. “We’re religious, too, but we party and have a good time. And my parents don’t continue to try to control my life.”

When they heard about that, Bill and Maryann began to fear that Mitch was not only attacking Caryl’s faith, but also trying to sabotage her relationship with them. “But maybe we are being paranoid,” Maryann said. “She does have to grow up.” Bill remained silent.

What they both did notice, however, was that when Caryl called home, she wouldn’t mention Mitch unless she was asked, and even then, Bill and Maryann got the impression she didn’t want to talk about him — a definite change from a month before.

During spring break, Caryl came home for the week, and Mitch stopped by one night to take her out. When they returned, around 3 a.m., Mitch’s loud good-bye — spinning tires and a blast on the horn of his pickup — woke Maryann. She slipped on her robe and went downstairs.

“Sorry about the noise, Mom,” Caryl said, laughing nervously. “Mitch is a little rowdy at times.”

“How was your evening?”

“We had a good time.”

“I’m glad. Where did you go?” Maryann asked, trying not to appear the inquisitor.

“We saw a movie, and then went out to, uh, a place to eat.”

“A place I should go sometime?”

“If you must know, Mom, it was The Fiddlestring. It’s a country music place that Mitch really likes. He likes to two-step. It’s fun.”

“I thought you had to be twenty-one to go there.”

“You’re supposed to be, but they didn’t check our I.D.’s”

Maryann decided to wait until morning to say anything more.

At breakfast, Bill and Maryann pointed out that Caryl had changed considerably from the time when she took pride in being the only one in the dorm who didn’t drink, to now, when she was defending Mitch for taking her to a bar, even though she was under age.

“I didn’t drink. I just went to dance,” she said.

“Seems to me it’s living a lie just being there,” said Bill. “And I don’t like you riding with Mitch after he’s been drinking. You used to look down on the kids in high school who snuck off to drink and spend time with boyfriends. You’ve changed.”

“I guess that’s just the way I am,” Caryl said. She refused to admit any wrongdoing or say she wouldn’t do it again. Bill and Maryann hoped this was just one of those minor crises of growing up and testing her independence. They wanted to tell Caryl to stop seeing Mitch, but they weren’t ready to risk their increasingly strained relationship.

For the rest of the school year, though slightly defensive about Mitch, Caryl still was open about their activities. She mentioned that late one night he knocked on her door, and she could tell he was drunk so she refused to let him in. “He sometimes gets violent and throws things when he’s been drinking,” she said.

She mentioned that he’d asked her to wash his truck, so she did. She was watching her weight because Mitch had said something about her pants getting tight. And she told how the Bible study group was demanding more time, and she thought she was going to have to drop it from her schedule next year.

Bill and Maryann hoped that the summer break, when Mitch returned to his dad’s veterinary clinic and Caryl came home to work, would also mean a breakup in their relationship. But it didn’t. They may have been apart, but the weekly letters and phone calls showed the ties were still there.

“Maybe we should accept Mitch as a given and try to work with him,” said Maryann.

“Go ahead,” said Bill. “But their relationship will never work. They’re too different. I just wish Caryl could see that.”

That fall, they told Caryl to invite Tony and Mitch home for a Sunday afternoon picnic. When she did, however, Mitch told her, “I don’t have to go there. I’ve already met your folks.” Bill wondered what had caused the hostility. After all, they had only met face to face twice — once before Mitch and Caryl’s date to the basketball game, and once at Sunday dinner with the group from the dorm after he had preached near the university. Whatever the reason, throughout Caryl’s junior year, the hostility between Mitch and the Harrises increased, trapping Caryl in the middle.

At the beginning of the year, Caryl had said, “I’m going to be twenty in October. Let’s plan something fun for my birthday.” So Maryann began making plans: a party on Saturday night with some of her friends from high school and Sunday dinner with some friends from their church.

On Tuesday, however, Caryl called to say “Mitch wants to take me to Dry Lake this weekend to celebrate my birthday.”

“But we’ve planned a celebration here,” Maryann said.

“Can’t you cancel?”

Maryann took a deep breath and said, “No, we can’t.”

“Well, Mitch isn’t going to like this. He wants me to go home and meet his parents.”

“I’m sorry,” said Maryann, not used to being this forceful. “Everyone’s already invited. I think you should come home.”

Caryl finally agreed, but as she predicted, Mitch was furious. “You can’t make any decisions yourself,” he shouted. “Your parents make them for you. They rule your life. They’ll never set you free. You’re a slave.” Caryl denied it.

Mitch stalked off, swearing. “Forget you, woman. You’re hopeless.”

When she came home that weekend, Caryl said, “I’ve done a lot of crying the last couple days. It’s over between Mitch and me; I had no business going with him anyway. I actually feel relieved.” Maryann felt relieved, too, but Bill suspected the war was not yet over.

For her birthday, Bill and Maryann let Caryl take their second car, an aging Ford Fairmont, back to school. She had a part-time job in a fabric store, and now she wouldn’t have to walk or ride buses at night — or get rides from Mitch.

Mitch ignored Caryl for two weeks and then suddenly reentered the picture, ready to pick up where they’d left off. He asked her to type one of his papers. Caryl said OK. Then she helped him wash his truck. Soon they were dating again, and she was cleaning his room and doing his laundry. She bought cowboy boots and jeans “because Mitch thinks they look good on me” and began wearing red fingernail polish “because Mitch likes it.”

“And he accuses us of keeping her a slave,” Bill muttered to Maryann after one of the weekly phone calls.

Caryl did put her foot down at times, although feebly. After one party featuring “chugging contests,” Caryl told him she didn’t feel comfortable around drinking games and would not go to any more of those parties.

“You better learn to like them,” he said.

“I don’t think I have to,” she replied, but as the months went by, she stopped resisting and went wherever he wanted.

At every opportunity, Bill and Maryann were encouraging her to break off the relationship, to spend more time with friends from the Bible study.

“Caryl, we just don’t see any future in this,” Maryann said. “Mitch is really very, very different, and I don’t see any hope that he’s going to change. We’ve prayed for him. And remember when you told him why you were a Christian? You shared your testimony, and he said, ‘Don’t you ever talk to me like that again. I like the way I live. I’m not going to change.’ Until he shows some sign of softening, there’s really no solid foundation for a relationship to be built.”

Without being absolutely demanding, they tried everything they could: pointing out areas of incompatibility and insensitivity, trying to clarify Mitch’s tendency to be critical of the faith, raising questions about the direction things were going.

“Mitch seemed to have more and more power over her, and she wasn’t able to break it,” reflected Maryann. “She would say, ‘Well, there are no Christian guys who are interested in me’ or ‘There are no Christian guys who have the same charisma he has. He’s so masculine; he takes charge.’ She complained about Christian guys, but since she’d stopped going to the Bible study and church activities, she wasn’t any place where she could meet them. Her life revolved around her small circle of friends in the dorm.”

One night, over the phone, Caryl said, “I like Mitch because he has goals. He knows where he’s going.”

“Assertiveness may be attractive to a certain point,” said Bill. “But I think you’ll find it can become oppression and control four years into marriage. With him you would be a nonperson.”

“All the Christian guys I know are losers,” she said. “Non-Christian guys treat me better than the Christian guys I know.”

“As a male, it’s hard for me to respond,” said Bill. “But I do know it’s not worth mortgaging your soul for any relationship with a man.”

As Bill recalls, at this point things seemed to become less rational. “Caryl’s emotional responses didn’t seem to have any pattern. One day she seemed to agree that she wanted to live the way she’d been brought up, but then the next day she would be angry at us for raising any question of right or wrong.”

Mitch graduated at Christmas of Caryl’s junior year and went to Argentina to work with an uncle on a cattle ranch. The Harrises breathed a sigh of relief, thinking perhaps he was gone. He did write Caryl several letters, a few of which she let Maryann read.

“He used so many obscene words I was embarrassed,” Maryann told Caryl. “Doesn’t he care who he’s using that language around?”

“Oh, that’s just Mitch,” Caryl said.

“How can you stand it?”

Caryl just shrugged.

When Mitch returned to Texas, Caryl was home for spring break. One evening around 5 p.m., he phoned to see if she was free for dinner. She said yes, but Mitch didn’t show up until after 10. Caryl met him at the door. Maryann stood in the background.

“Here I am. Let’s go eat!” he said to Caryl, without a glance at Maryann.

“You haven’t eaten supper yet?” asked Caryl.

“No. I’m famished. Let’s go.” And he grabbed Caryl’s hand and pulled her out the door. Maryann walked to the door and watched the pickup spray gravel as it sped away.

When 2 a.m. came and went, Bill said to Maryann, “I didn’t use to worry about Caryl when she stayed out late because she would always tell us what happened when she got back. But I don’t trust Mitch. And after Caryl’s been with him, she doesn’t like to talk about it.”

It was after 3 by the time they got back, and Bill was lying in bed unable to sleep. Maryann, also restless, had stayed up to invite Mitch to spend the night on the downstairs couch. Caryl’s hair was mussed and her clothes disheveled.

“Late supper,” Maryann said in her most matter-of-fact voice.

“Oh, you know,” said Caryl. “It took a while to eat and talk and stuff.”

“Well, Mitch, it’s too late to try to make it all the way to Dry Lake,” Maryann said, trying to retain her composure. “I’ve fixed the couch for you to camp out.” Mitch accepted with a simple “Sounds good.”

The next morning, Caryl was up early, hair curled and make-up on, and went to McDonald’s for breakfast with Mitch. When they came back, Maryann was in the kitchen, but Bill stayed in his study, trying to read. “I don’t think I should see Mitch,” he had told his wife. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to control what I would say.”

Caryl walked in to where her mother was reading the newspaper.

“Mitch wants me to go to Dry Lake with him,” she said.

Maryann gulped. “I don’t think it’s a good time to ask after last night, but ask your father.” Caryl went upstairs.

Bill said, “Absolutely not. Mitch has earned neither our trust nor our respect. I can’t give you my permission.” Caryl protested but eventually went downstairs to tell Mitch she couldn’t go.

“Well I’ve never been treated like this before!” Mitch fumed. “Your dad won’t even talk to me himself. I guess that’s what happens in religious circles.”

When he left, neither Caryl nor her parents felt like saying anything to each other. But Maryann tried. “It would take a lot, I know, but if Mitch could become a Christian, it would be like the apostle Paul. He’d sure have a lot of energy and drive to give.”

“It’ll take just as great a miracle, and until it does,” Bill said, looking at Caryl, “it can be dangerous for a Christian to be too close to him.”

Maryann turned to Bill. “But don’t we have to keep befriending him? If we tell him to leave Caryl alone, what will he think of Christians? What if he winds up in hell because we didn’t want him around?”

“Your opinion of God is too small,” Bill sighed. “If God is sovereign, I doubt if he’s going to allow two parents’ concern for their daughter’s spiritual life to send someone else to hell. God has plenty of ways to reach Mitch — including Caryl’s life standing for something else.”

For the rest of the school year, Caryl stayed at the university, and the Harrises could only pray she was making wise choices. Mitch was in Dry Lake, but they knew he made periodic visits to see Caryl. Caryl had mentioned that Mitch had a serious side — he was even talking about how many children he’d like to have. Bill and Maryann didn’t know what to say.

That summer, Caryl found a job near the university and decided to stay in Austin. She came home on weekends once or twice a month. One day while Bill was in the church office, working on a sermon, he looked up to see Mitch standing in the doorway.

“I thought it was time we talked face to face,” said Mitch.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Bill replied.

“I want to know why you don’t like me,” Mitch demanded.

“We don’t dislike you, Mitch. But we can’t encourage a relationship between you and Caryl when there is no solid foundation for a lasting relationship. We see such fundamental differences in the way you two were raised.”

“Like what?”

Bill tried to explain the differences between Mitch’s nominal Christian upbringing and Caryl’s active evangelical family. He tried to explain conversion, forgiveness, and living a life that honors God. “Being a Christian is a way of life for our family,” he concluded.

“Caryl’s told me all that,” Mitch said. “I come from a strong family, too. We believe in God and go to church once in a while. There’s not that much difference in our beliefs.”

Not wanting to deny Mitch’s religious heritage, Bill said, “I think I mean something different by commitment to God than you do — it’s more than church attendance. I just wish I could explain it more clearly. But Mitch, even if it were true that our religious differences were minor, which they aren’t, I think the difference in our backgrounds is such that you two could not be permanently happy together. Part of it is the difference between rural and urban expectations. Part of it is Caryl. You have a strongly traditional view of a woman’s role in the home. Caryl has been raised to think for herself, but she has not been herself since she’s met you. She’s taken by your strong personality, but that won’t last in a marriage. Eventually she would feel oppressed. The bottom line is that you two don’t belong together.”

Mitch reiterated his opinion that they were two grown adults, and he was sure they could work out any differences. He rose to leave. “But I do understand a little more of your opinion,” said Mitch.

“I hope I’ve made myself clear,” said Bill. “I appreciate you stopping by.”

Both Mitch and Bill left thinking they had won a major battle. Bill told Maryann, “I think Mitch may see we’ve got good reasons to be opposed to their relationship.” And Mitch told Caryl, “I think I got your dad straightened out on things.”

The next weekend, when Caryl was home, she said to her mother, “I’m glad things went so well between Mitch and Dad. Mitch said Dad is starting to come around.”

“That isn’t how I read it,” said Maryann. “Dad and I are as opposed as ever. We’ve prayed that this thing would work out, that Mitch would change. But the only person we’ve seen change, Caryl, is you. You used to be proud of your standards. Now you’re defending Mitch — the places he takes you, the language he uses, and the attitude he has toward us and everything we stand for. It can’t go on like this.”

Caryl patted her mother on the shoulder. “Don’t make such a big deal out of it, Mom. I’m a big girl now. I can take care of myself.” She changed the subject to her job, the money she was making, and the minor repairs the Ford needed.

That night Maryann told Bill, “I’m afraid Mitch is winning the war. We may be losing our daughter. When Martin and Brenda left home and got married, it was sad, but we rejoiced with them, too. But if Caryl leaves like this, it would be only tragedy.” Even after praying together that God would protect Caryl both from herself and from Mitch, neither of them slept well.

The rest of the summer, Caryl was increasingly preoccupied — “she looks like she’s in a dream world,” said Maryann. Bill noticed that her comments about people in the church were all negative — “They’re a bunch of losers,” “I’m glad I’m not going to church every Sunday anymore,” and “The people in the bars are friendlier than the people in your church.” That shook Bill.

When the young couples Sunday school class invited him to speak at their annual “family life” retreat, he declined, even though he had enjoyed doing so in the past. “It would be pure hypocrisy for me to talk on family life, especially on parenting, when we are failing with one of our own children.” Even his enthusiasm for preaching was gone.

By the middle of August, when Caryl started talking about trying to find a job in Dry Lake after graduation, Bill and Maryann decided something had to be done — even something drastic.

“We may be writing off our daughter,” said Bill. “But unless something is done, we’ve lost her anyway. We’ve got to do something, even if Caryl leaves us, to restore the emotional stability of this home.”

He sat down to think of all the leverage points he had with his daughter, who was now less than a year away from college graduation and complete independence. He put his thoughts into a letter.

Dear Caryl,

Sometimes being a parent is close to pure joy — like watching you take your first steps, taking part in your baptism, celebrating your selection as yearbook editor, or seeing you living out your faith as a college freshman.

Other times being a parent means having to make some difficult decisions, and now is one of those times.

Caryl, your mother and I feel like we’re losing you. You think you are old enough to make your own decisions, but we’d like to think the way you were raised would have some influence on those choices. Over the past two years, we’ve talked repeatedly about your relationship with Mitch. Your family backgrounds, religious backgrounds, and personalities are incompatible. We cannot accept him in our family. And you would soon be torn between living in two worlds.

We’ve asked you to break it off. You have refused. You have said, “I’m old enough to make my own decisions.” Maybe so. But if you continue in this relationship, Caryl, we will assume this means you are ready to make those decisions — and accept their consequences. You will always be our daughter, but once you remove yourself from under our guidance, there will be certain changes in our relationship.

1. You will no longer have use of the family car. We will expect you to return the Fairmont immediately.

2. I will tell the church board we no longer need the $1,000 scholarship the church provides you each year.

3. My own financial support of your education will end.

4. During your upcoming internship this year, you will not live in our house, as previously assumed, but you will find and furnish your own apartment.

5. Upon graduation, you will not be living with us “until a job opens up” but immediately be on your own.

As you learned to say in your self-assertiveness courses, Caryl, “I’m a self-made woman.” Perhaps you are. I just thought you should know all that’s involved if you persist in being your own person.

Let us know by August 30 if you prefer life with Mitch or life as part of our family.

Sincerely,
Dad

The Harrises mailed the letter, and three days later, August 27, Caryl called. “Well, I got your letter yesterday,” she said.

“Have you done anything about it yet?” Bill asked.

“I thought I had some time.”

“You have three days. We have to settle this, Caryl.”

“I know, Dad.” Caryl was subdued as she hung up.

Maryann noticed the strain on her husband’s face. “She still wants to play both sides,” she said.

“Yes, and I’m removing the option of the second side,” he said.

In less than ten minutes, the phone rang again. It was Caryl. She was crying.

“I just called Mitch and told him it’s over. I told him I’d gotten a letter from my dad and that I knew I had to decide between him and my family. And I realize I love my family more. So I did it …” She broke off in sobs.

“Do you want us to come be with you tonight?” Maryann asked.

“Yes.”

Immediately Bill and Maryann packed a few things and drove the two hours to be with Caryl. When they arrived, Caryl hugged them both, but weakly. She looks wrung out, thought Bill. But then, I feel like a wet noodle, too. Over dinner, Caryl asked, “If I’ve done the right thing, why does it feel so bad?”

Bill and Maryann tried to affirm her decision. “You must feel torn apart,” Maryann said. “You’ve chosen one side of who you are — the way you’ve been raised. It’s painful when another side of you is cut out.”

“We don’t mean to be cruel or to punish you,” said Bill. “We’re simply trying to clarify what has really been taking place. Caryl, I’d rather hurt you now than to see you torn apart in a miserable marriage five years down the road.”

After that emotionally draining crisis, the Harrises hoped everything was over, but their resolve continued to be tested. One Sunday afternoon when Caryl was home and Bill was away speaking at another church, Mitch called, inviting Caryl to meet him at a friend’s apartment across town.

“Can’t I go?” she asked her mom.

Maryann’s throat felt dry. She wondered how Caryl could ask after all they’d been through. “I thought we agreed everything was over.”

“But I need to talk to him. If I can’t go there, can he come here?”

“I wish you wouldn’t, but you do what you think is right.”

Caryl told Mitch to come on over. Within fifteen minutes, Mitch was saying, “We’re going out to a movie.”

“I can’t allow that,” said Maryann.

“Don’t you think Caryl’s damn well old enough to make up her own mind?”

“When it comes to certain things, no,” said Maryann, surprised at her own bluntness. “We’ve made it clear we don’t think this relationship will work, and we don’t see any point in you taking her out. If you need to talk, you can do it right here.”

Mitch and Caryl went into the family room and sat on the couch. Maryann walked by and noticed Mitch’s arm around Caryl. They looked quite cozy. Taking a deep breath, she walked in and said, “Mitch, I don’t know if you realize the importance of what Christ has done in our lives and what it means to us to be Christians, but I’d like to explain it if you’re interested.”

“Go ahead.”

Maryann had just finished her church’s evangelism training course and went through the whole presentation of the gospel. When she finished, Mitch said, “That’s what I believe too. But, dammit, I get tired of having it crammed down my throat!”

“I’m sorry if it sounds like preaching,” said Maryann. “But we try to live according to the Bible, and it commands us not to be ‘unequally yoked’ to those who don’t share our commitment to Christ.”

“My family worships God,” said Mitch. “I don’t see why you worship an old book written back in the 1300s.”

Maryann chose to overlook the historical error.

“We feel there’s another way to live when Christ becomes the Lord of your life. You live either to please him or to please yourself. That’s why we think you and Caryl would have serious problems down the road.”

“Hell, Caryl’s no different from me.”

“That remains to be seen. At least the way she’s been raised is different from your lifestyle. You’ve made fun of her friends; you’ve made fun of her church and her parents; you’ve tried to undermine our relationship with her. It seems to me you’re pulling her down instead of building her up. You once said you were attracted to Caryl because of her strong morals, because she was different from other girls you dated. It looks to me like you’re trying to change her from the very thing that attracted you in the first place.”

He looked a little surprised but said, “My parents weren’t for this relationship at first, either. But they met Caryl and learned to like her. I don’t see why you can’t do the same.”

“Mitch, you’ve taken her places she wouldn’t have gone otherwise. She never dated anybody who drank or who used the language you use. Just sitting here tonight, five times you have used language we find vulgar or blasphemous,” and Maryann repeated the words. Mitch’s mouth dropped open. “You seem to be content with that. That’s your lifestyle, but it isn’t ours, and I don’t think Caryl would be content with it either.”

“You have no right to judge me. You’re the most closed-minded people I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t mean to judge. I just wanted you to hear our side.”

The conversation turned to other, less volatile topics, and Mitch showed no sign of leaving. Maryann didn’t budge either. If they stay until three in the morning, I’m staying here too, she thought. But finally, after midnight, she said, “Well, I think it’s about time you left, Mitch, because Caryl has to get up early to head back to school, and she really needs her rest.”

I can’t believe I’m doing this, she thought. I’ve never asked anybody to leave my home before. But if he’s exerting emotional energy, I will too.

Mitch was civil as he got up and said good-bye. Afterwards Caryl, who had been silent throughout the evening, said, “I was terrified, Mom. Whenever I tried to talk with him like that, he’d tell me to shut up. I hope he listened.”

“Me too, dear,” said Maryann. “Me, too.”

But even that was not the final encounter. Bill’s resolve was also tried when two weeks later, he drove home from the church one afternoon to find a pickup truck in the driveway and Mitch talking with Caryl on the front steps.

“I had only the distance from the intersection to the house to find some emotional equilibrium,” Bill said later. “I was fearful. I was angry. I was disappointed because we couldn’t seem to get this thing behind us. Mitch insisted on coming by, and Caryl didn’t have the strength to say no. So I had to play the bad guy.”

Bill pulled into the driveway. As he walked to the front door, he tried to keep his voice from shaking. “Mitch, what are you doing here?”

“Just a social visit,” said Mitch.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Why? Let’s go inside and talk about it.”

“There’s nothing left to talk about, Mitch. I resent your appearing here when we’ve given you a full explanation before.”

“What about Caryl? Doesn’t she have a say?”

“I’ll talk to her when you’re gone,” said Bill.

“Shouldn’t I be a part of it?”

“No, Mitch. That’s just it; you’re not a part of it.” Bill paused, because as a pastor the next words were some of the most difficult he’d ever had to say. “You are no longer welcome in this house. I don’t want to see you here again.”

“Well I’ve stayed away for three weeks.”

“Mitch, you don’t cut off a dog’s tail a little bit at a time. It’s time you left.”

“Damn you!” Mitch shouted, his face fiery red. Unused to facing a will as strong as his, he stormed out to his pickup, and his departure left rubber on the driveway.

Inside the house, Bill found Maryann crying, Caryl pale, and his voice quivering. “Caryl, why was he here?”

“He phoned to ask if he could come over, and I said yes.”

Bill shook his head. “Why do you think I wrote that letter a month ago? Caryl, maybe it’s time you moved out. I’d thought we’d reached the bottom line, but apparently we haven’t.”

Caryl’s eyes filled with tears.

“I don’t know what you want with your life or which way you want to go. But we are at the end of our emotional tether. We can’t go any further. And if it means you’re not going to be a part of our family any more, we’re prepared to face that, even though we don’t want to. But we cannot have this emotional warfare continuing. We’re that serious. I don’t want to see him in this house again.”

“I can’t make any decision right,” Caryl sobbed. “Anything I do is wrong. You’re disappointed in me. Why should I go on living? I’m good for nothing.”

“Caryl, Caryl,” Maryann said softly, holding her daughter’s hand. “That’s not true. It’s because we think so much of you that we’ve done this.”

“You’ve got too much to offer to throw away on a guy like Mitch,” said Bill. “The only reason you’ve lost confidence in yourself is because for three years Mitch has been tearing you down. He’s made your decisions for you. He’s a mood-altering drug, and when he gets out of your system, you’ll be able to make good decisions again.”

For the next year, Bill and Maryann had to repeatedly prop up Caryl’s sagging self-worth. But they persevered, and Mitch at last stopped his attempts to see Caryl. Gradually Caryl returned to the confident, independent thinker she had been.

Now, four years later, she has thanked her parents several times for stopping her from making a big mistake. She’s the manager of a fabric store and helping direct the high school ministry in her local church.

“We took drastic action,” Bill said. “It wouldn’t have been successful if there weren’t a hundred messages, a thousand messages, before that we loved her and truly wanted the best for her. We risked our twenty-year investment in family building. We clipped our emotional coupons with Caryl, and this is something you can do only once. It’s not a threat you can use over and over. I’m not sure it would be the right approach for everyone, but in our case, it was the right move.”

When You Risk the Relationship

Bill and Maryann Harris faced a unique situation with a daughter who did not want help with a particular relationship. Not everyone will encounter the same factors. Not everyone will choose to handle even similar situations the same way the Harrises did. But the story of the Harris family does illustrate several transferable principles, some of which have been suggested earlier in this book, for helping those who don’t want help. What were the things Bill and Maryann clearly did right?

1. They showed support and love. For almost twenty years, Bill and Maryann had built a strong relationship — with one another and with Caryl. Even when the tension came, they continued to support Caryl (though not her decisions) and maintained their relationship with her through months and years of nerve-wrenching conflict. They demonstrated their care for her even when they were knocking heads.

2. They communicated clearly and specifically. They told Caryl their reasons for disapproving of her relationship with Mitch, and they made clear their expectations for her to break it off. They did not simply hint at their feelings or speak in veiled, offhand comments. Clear communication is critical so that when the bomb is dropped, the person doesn’t feel it’s a complete surprise and knows how to move to keep from getting hit.

3. They did not rush to judgment. Bill and Maryann were slow to escalate the conflict, to raise the stakes. They reserved playing their trump — risking their relationship — until they had exhausted every quieter, more diplomatic means available. They refused to rely on drastic measures (or threats of them) until they were absolutely sure Caryl was on a destructive path and all other methods of helping her had failed. They went the second mile, and the third, and the fourth … before acting. Only then, when the risk of losing her through confrontation was less than the risk of doing nothing and letting her be hurt even more, did they put their relationship on the line.

4. They showed the extreme measures were for her best interests. As Bill put it, “I’d rather hurt you now than see you torn apart in a bad marriage five years from now.” Bill and Maryann had carefully checked themselves to make sure their actions were motivated not out of self-protection but genuine concern for their daughter’s welfare. Then they were free to tell her so with boldness and integrity.

5. They gave her a choice. Even when they wrote the admittedly drastic letter, Bill and Maryann respected Caryl’s freedom and let her make the final decision. They could have written, “Because of your previous actions, we are now cutting you off financially.…” But they didn’t. They spelled out the consequences of her actions and gave her the freedom to make her own decision accordingly.

6. They set a time limit. They gave clear boundaries to their position — the behavior desired, the course they would follow if it were not chosen, and the time limit for the decision. They didn’t let the Sword of Damocles hang over Caryl’s head forever.

7. They backed the demands with resolve. Bill and Maryann were prepared to take the necessary measures, as wrenching as they would be, if Caryl’s choice went against them. Empty threats are worse than doing nothing at all. Both Bill and Maryann demonstrated their strength of will and their determination to follow through on their decision.

8. They did not withdraw once the decision was made. The Harrises did not begrudge Caryl the pain she had caused them. Once she had made her choice, they dropped everything and drove to see her. They supported her, helped her stand firm in her choice, and continued to intervene with Mitch. Choices are not made in an emotional vacuum. They require maintenance. Bill and Maryann offered themselves to help Caryl maintain her decision.

Helping people who don’t want help usually does not get to the point where the relationship must be risked, fortunately, but when the situation arises, these principles point the way to the greatest chance of success.

Copyright ©1986 by Christianity Today

I have on my table a violin string. It is free. I twist one end of it and it responds. It is free. But it is not free to do what a violin string is supposed to do — to produce music. So I take it, fix it in my violin and tighten it until it is taut. Only then is it free to be a violin string.
Sir Rabindranath Tagore

I‘m a Christian. My husband is not, and he’s making life miserable for me. He doesn’t want to make our marriage any better. Would you change him?”

It’s one of the most frequent, and most difficult, situations for a pastor — dealing with the unwilling family member. At times, this truly is the situation — the husband is simply unwilling to expend any energy to love his wife.

Other times, however, it’s hard to get the actual facts of the case. Maybe the husband’s unwillingness is only part of the problem. Perhaps the wife needs to make changes that will create the change in her husband.

“It happens all the time,” says one pastor in the Northwest. “Our staff jokes about it. If someone tells us ‘Everybody else is going crazy!’ that’s the person who’s driving everyone crazy. Despite the fact that he or she is the one coming to the pastor, often the person presenting the problem doesn’t want help. That person just wants us to ‘fix’ everyone else.”

Josh and Shirley, a couple in that church, are an example. Josh had been involved with several women before he and Shirley both became Christians. After indicating he wanted to grow in Christ, Josh then had another affair, and Shirley kicked him out of the house. He asked for her forgiveness, and she took him back.

But now after any squabble, she kicks him out of the house. “It’s become almost a reflex,” explains the pastor. “They’re so locked into roles where Shirley plays the innocent and Josh the bad guy that they both believe it, even though it’s a half-truth at best. That’s the way they’ve lived for seventeen years. When he cleans up one area of his life, she begins looking for something else on which to nail him.”

Shirley came into the pastor’s office one day to say “Josh did it again. He came home late without telling me. When I confronted him, he raised his voice, and I told him if he couldn’t control his anger, he could just get out of the house. So he left.”

“How would you like me to help?”

“I don’t want to lose my marriage, and my children are upset because Josh is gone, but I can’t let him keep acting so bad. Should I let him come back?”

The pastor asked if perhaps when she confronted Josh she could take a different approach to help create a calmer atmosphere. “Some people resist any hint of self-righteousness,” he said carefully. “There are two kinds of sins: outward and inward. Josh’s may be the visible sins, but we have to make sure no inward attitudes on our part drive him further off.”

Immediately he sensed Shirley shut him off.

“He doesn’t understand spiritual things, Pastor. Unless I spell things out directly, he doesn’t hear.” The rest of the conversation went nowhere. She stopped coming to see the pastor after that.

Helping families is a delicate and explosive undertaking. What are the lessons learned by pastors who have defused these powder kegs? How do you apply a deft hand without getting it blown off?

Work with the Willing

Traditional wisdom suggests that working with only one partner in a marriage relationship is not normally successful. And yet there are success stories. Occasionally the willing partner can learn some new patterns that begin to improve the behavior of the other.

Lutheran pastor and counselor William Backus writes, “I always stipulate at the outset that our target for change will be the behavior of the patient. I deliberately avoid shooting for major changes in the behavior of someone who is not present.… The patient and I agree to consider our work successful if he changes in ways which satisfy him. We will never gauge improvement on the basis of whether or not the absent partner changes, but only on positive improvement in the patient. But experience has proven otherwise. In spite of this careful focus on the patient, reports of change in the absent partner keep coming in.… Not only does my patient report that he is doing better and feeling better, but also that the behavior of the other person in the troubled relationship has improved.”

Reports come back: “He’s noticed the change in the way I behave, and he likes it. He doesn’t stay in his silent moods for days at a time anymore. And it’s been weeks since he lost his temper and swore at me.”1

What are some of the changes in the willing spouse that can affect the unwilling partner?

1. A new courage. One frequent difficulty in marriage is when one partner begins finding his or her greatest satisfaction outside that relationship. Perhaps it’s a preoccupation with tennis or fishing or a career or aerobics or another person. In many cases, strangely, the neglected partner never raises the issue.

“My husband is never home,” Eloise told her pastor. “He cares more about the job than about me. He’d rather work than see our kids’ soccer games.”

“Have you told him you feel this way?”

“Oh, no. He’d never listen. Besides he ought to see this himself.”

The pastor encountered surprising resistance to the idea of raising the subject with her husband. She seemed to think he would turn into a boogieman. So the pastor tried to get her to think the unthinkable. Boogies tend to shrink when exposed to light.

“What’s the worst that would happen if you did tell him how you feel?”

“Oh, it would be terrible.”

“How terrible? If you said, ‘John, I’m concerned that you’re working so many evenings the kids are feeling neglected,’ what specifically would he do?”

“He probably wouldn’t pay attention.”

“Is that so bad?”

“He might blow up.”

“How badly would he react? Would he murder you?”

“Well, no.”

“Do you think he would hit you?” the pastor asked, recognizing that if the answer were yes, then he’d touched one of the real issues.

But in this case, Eloise said, “Oh, no. He wouldn’t do that.”

“Would he raise his voice? Would he turn and walk out?”

“Yes, he’d probably yell. He’d say I don’t appreciate him.”

“Is that so awful?” Eloise seemed surprised that her pastor thought it would be OK to have her husband shout at her.

“But I can’t stand raised voices.”

“I’m not so sure about that. I think you could tell your husband that you appreciate him so much that you’d like to have him around a few evenings each week,” said the pastor. “Even if he yells, I think that would be a good investment in the health of the marriage. Could you picture his anger as a mosquito bite rather than a sword thrust?”

Eloise never did say anything to her husband, but over the next few weeks, as the counseling continued, she reported her husband was staying home more and the home atmosphere was less tense. She thought the change came out of the blue, but the pastor says, “I think it was a result of Eloise broadcasting different vibes, even though they were unconscious. She realized she could have some expectations for her husband, and that unspoken message began coming across.”

Even small changes in the one partner can yield enormous effects on the other. Another woman came to her pastor rather embarrassed.

“My husband reads p*rnographic magazines, watches X-rated videos, adult cable TV, and all that stuff. Then he wants me to go around the house bare-breasted. Once he had some buddies over for movies, and he insisted I serve refreshments braless. What should I do?”

Since both the husband and the wife were members of the church, the pastor said, “I want to talk with your husband, but I want to talk to you first. If your husband wants you barebreasted and braless privately for him, that’s one thing. Don’t fight him, but tell him you draw the line at making yourself available for voyeurs. Tell him you won’t stand for it because you have children and because you have dignity.”

After a couple days to give the wife a chance to discuss it with her husband, the pastor called the husband and asked him to stop by the church for a visit. The next day, after work, the husband dropped by.

“I talked with your wife this week, and she indicated she was uncomfortable with some of your sex-oriented practices at home. She mentioned specifically that you wanted her braless when you had some friends over. Is that true?”

“Yeah,” he said, slouching in the chair.

“She said she felt like she was on display. Did you know she was uncomfortable?”

“Aw, she made too much out of that. I was just having fun. She should be flattered I still think she has a great body.”

“Do you think a Christian should be demanding those things of his wife? Do you think it’s healthy to be reading off-color literature or looking at those kinds of films?”

“I enjoy them.”

“They may be enjoyable to you, but that sounds pretty selfish, don’t you think? You’re responsible for your wife and children, too. Would you want your daughter, at sixteen, to go baring her breasts for a stag party?”

“Well, no.”

“That’s what you’re asking of your wife. Sex is meant to be enjoyed but not exploited.” He and the husband eventually agreed that sexuality should be a private relationship between a man and his wife only.

A month later, the pastor called the wife. “How are things going?”

“He still watches things I don’t care for, but he’s doing much better.”

“Has all this ruined your sexuality in marriage?”

“Not at all,” she replied. “I appreciate it more when I have some dignity.”

2. A renewed power to love. At times, when dealing with only half the marriage relationship, the love has to be unilateral for a while. At these times, it’s especially important to pray for the power to love. Not much affection may be coming from the other spouse, but gradually, the ice may thaw.

One woman told her pastor that her husband wanted a divorce. After discussing the specifics, the pastor said, “Let’s do something drastic. Could you try loving him so much that you refuse to get upset even when he wants you to get upset?” She agreed to give it a try, and they prayed for God to give her the strength to be loving even when love was resisted.

That night when her husband came home, she asked, “Honey, what would you like for dinner?”

“I don’t want to eat with you,” he snapped. He walked past her, turned on the TV, and sat there until midnight.

She called her pastor the next day, and again they prayed that God would give her the power to love. That night when her husband came home, she again asked, “What would you like me to fix you, dear?”

“Spaghetti,” he said. “But I don’t want to eat with you.” She ignored the put-down, served him the spaghetti in front of the TV, and let him eat by himself.

For two weeks, he continued to tell her he didn’t want her around. She held her emotions in check, releasing them only to God in times of prayer with her pastor.

“The third week, the husband finally broke down,” reports the pastor. “He admitted to his wife that he’d been acting worse than a child. He started crying, and they both came in for counseling at that point.”

Thanks to God’s power, one person made a huge difference in the whole relationship.

3. An ability to turn criticism into contact. Love does not always mean passively receiving the criticism and nonverbal insults of another. At times criticism can be turned into a relationship-building experience.

A minister in Massachusetts began giving one woman some suggestions of ways she could respond differently to her husband’s verbal abuse. “Instead of just clamming up and listening to his diatribes,” he said, “try to enter in firmly but compassionately. You can retain your self-respect without becoming your husband’s adversary.”

“How?”

“Let’s role play a situation. You act the part of your husband,” said the minister. “I’ll show how you can respond.”

The woman played the part passionately, complaining about pressures at work and how miserable it is to come home to a wife who doesn’t meet his needs.

“In other words, you feel absolutely drained of any enthusiasm for your work,” the counselor-turned-wife said, restating the charge. “Am I reading you right?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“And you feel like I have been largely responsible for the draining. Is that what you’re saying?”

“I sure am.”

“Boy, that really hurts me to hear that. I hate to think I’m doing that to you. Is there anything else I’ve done to hurt you?”

“Now that you mention it, I can’t stand it to come home and see you watching TV. Is the news more important than I am?”

“You feel I ignore you when you come home?”

“That’s right.”

“I’m sorry. Maybe I’ve been missing some things. I do need help to see things through your eyes. What can I do to help the situation?”

The woman was at a loss. She didn’t know what her husband would say.

“Your husband may not know what to say either,” said the minister. “But let’s find out.”

They worked out a five-step process for her to follow when her husband criticized:

• Take him seriously and listen to the criticism.

• Say it back to him to make sure you’ve heard it correctly.

• Ask if there are any other complaints.

• Restate any additional criticisms.

• Then honestly ask him to help you improve the situation.

When the woman came back two weeks later, she said, “It’s totally different now. I’m not just being dumped on; I feel like I’ve taken more control of the situation. When he criticizes it’s because I’m asking him, and it changes the atmosphere because we’re looking for solutions instead of just wallowing in complaints.”

This exercise turned criticism into contact. It requires a different set of mental muscles to look for constructive ways to redeem the situation than it does to lazily recite complaints. That exercise is good for the husband, good for the wife, good for the marriage.

4. A deeper understanding of the factors. Active listening also leads to seeing things from the other person’s point of view — almost always a helpful exercise.

One woman had tried for years to get her domineering husband to come to the pastor for marriage counseling. He refused. Finally, something within her seemed to snap. The children were raised; she decided to leave him. She got a job and made plans to move out. Suddenly he was the one wanting them both to see the pastor. He was ready to own up to his failings in the past, but she was saying, “I really like this new life. He wasn’t attentive to my needs for twenty-five years. Now I’ll make up for it.” She seemed ready to leave both family and spiritual roots behind.

Her husband finally got her to agree to see the pastor before she made any final decision.

“We talked about the aggravations she felt regarding her husband,” said the pastor. “I asked such questions as Why do you think he’s like that? What caused him to be insensitive? Especially as I met with her alone, I tried to help her see his inability to meet her needs not as an offense but as a handicap — coming out of weakness and fear. I tried to paint a picture of him as relationally wounded, limping. He wasn’t consciously trying to demean her. She began to feel compassion toward him instead of resentment. To me it was a case of ‘perfect love casting out fear’ — and resentment.”

She decided to try to salvage their marriage. They wound up staying together.

Helping people reframe their image of the situation from being victims of a conscious attack to being involved with a person who has deep wounds can encourage compassion and cast out fear, guilt, anxiety, resentment, and a whole host of negative feelings.

Another counselor said she’s found a helpful image.

“I was in a fire and badly burned a few years ago,” she said. “Even now, I can’t sit across the room from a fireplace. My skin is still too sensitive to heat. I use that story with people who are ‘burn victims’ themselves, or perhaps living with someone who was ‘burned.’ I explain that some people were abused as children — or maybe were torn down in some way. This burn leaves them oversensitive to certain things. Now whenever a spouse raises a voice even a little bit for emphasis, they recoil because the ‘burn’ is still sensitive.”

The key, she says, is to help the willing partners begin to look for ways they, or their unwilling spouses, have been singed in the past. That, too, builds compassion and understanding.

Involve the Unwilling Spouse

At times, however, working only with the willing spouse isn’t enough. Some contact needs to be made with the unwilling partner if the problem is to be solved. How can that be done most effectively?

One way is taking the initiative to track down the person. For this to work, however, the first step is getting permission from the willing spouse to use his or her name. And at times, that takes some coaxing.

The “you need to confront my husband, but you can’t let him know I’ve been talking to you” setup is virtually impossible to handle. It creates an unnatural situation. The person being confronted will inevitably ask, “How did you find out about me?” and you can’t say you read it in a fortune cookie.

A Methodist pastor has three questions he poses to anyone who wants him to confront someone else:

—Have you already tried confronting him yourself?

—Would you be willing to sit with me as I talk with him?

—Will you allow me to say you suggested I talk with him?

“If the answer to all three questions is no, then it’s obvious they care more for their reputation than for solving the problem. And I’m not going to intervene. I’ve got to be able to indicate what I know and who told me.”

Other pastors have found it relatively nonthreatening to ask the unwilling spouse to come “as a resource person.”

One woman was having problems with her husband, who had nothing to do with the church and wanted nothing to do with counseling. The pastor recognized a need to talk with him, but how?

“I called him and said, ‘I’ve been talking with your wife for the last several weeks. She’s got some real struggles in terms of who she is as a person and the relationship the two of you have. I’m not here to lay blame on either of you, but I want to help her the best I can, and I need your objective point of view. Would you be willing to come in and let me bounce some things off you? I need some feedback on how I might best help her.’ It’s amazing how many men come! They assume you have a professional interest and professional skills, and often they’re willing to help solve ‘their wife’s’ problem.”

When the husband, in this case, does come, the approach is important. Integrity demands you do precisely what you told him when you invited him to come.

“The first thing I do is try and put him at ease,” the pastor continued. “I repeat that I’m not here to knock him over the head but that I want to share a couple of the things Mary Jane has told me. This is the way she perceives what is going on in the relationship, and I wanted to see if her observations were accurate or not. Then I mention a couple of things and say, ‘Can you help me with that? This is the way she perceives it. How do you perceive it? And what do you sense is going on in the relationship?'”

This helps form a therapeutic alliance with the husband, and often he quits seeing the pastor as a prosecutor coming to indict him and instead begins to see him as a friend who can help ease a painful part of life.

The next step, after the unwilling spouse indicates willingness to enter into joint counseling as a participant rather than a colleague, is to identify with the hurts the unwilling spouse feels. In most cases he is sure the pastor is going to be on the wife’s side because she has already talked to the pastor about him. He resists counseling because he’s sure it’s going to be two against one.

One pastor, who does lots of family counseling, has found one way to break through that barrier. “I often begin by saying, ‘There is a reason why you feel so much pain and why you have experienced this pain for all these years. You’ve probably come now to the point of hopelessness and despair, so much so that you don’t even want to talk about it. When I see people in that much pain, I hurt with them.’ In other words, I try to side with this person, recognizing the real pain, and saying ‘I want to be a friend as you go through this time in your life. I know it hurts to even think of talking about it. And it’s been this way so long, it seems hopeless that any solution would ever be possible.’

“I make that speech when I first begin counseling; I even make that speech from the pulpit! When people begin to see that you mean it, it really opens the door. But that message has to be communicated over and over. Once isn’t enough. People have to see it is a consistent attitude.”

While not a guaranteed means to reaching unwilling spouses, these approaches do increase the odds of enlisting their help.

Beware the “Obvious Culprit”

In many family counseling situations, pastors find the obvious culprit is often not the real culprit.

“When a wife runs off in an affair, quite often we think, She’s obviously doing wrong, turn away from her, and focus our love and support on the husband,” observes a pastor from Southern California. “The wounded man does need our love and care, but it’s a mistake to withdraw from the person we’ve labeled the sinner. The question we need to ask is Why did she do that? What was wrong in the marriage? When you start digging, you may find the husband was more at fault ultimately than the wife.”

One of the other family situations where the obvious culprit is often not the real culprit involves the rebellious child.

Granted, even the best parents have children who choose wrong directions. But the frequent lament of pastors is that whenever you hear a parent saying “Straighten out my kid,” you can almost start looking for the problem between husband and wife that has prompted the child’s behavior. When pastors begin working with the teen who “doesn’t want help,” they discover in many cases the parents are the ones who don’t realize their need to become better parents.

Warren and Gloria Evans came to see Pastor Todd Frederick because they were worried about Andrew, their seventeen-year-old. The Evanses were solid church members, and Andrew usually attended youth group functions, although he seemed to remain on the fringe.

“He’s a liar and a thief,” said Warren, after sitting down in Todd’s office. “He constantly steals from his brother and sister. He even steals from his friends at school, and you can’t believe a thing he says.”

“What does he lie about?” Todd asked.

“That’s what’s strange. He lies about things that don’t even matter,” said Gloria. “He lies even when the truth would be to his benefit. For instance, he told us he’d gone to a movie with a friend from school whom we don’t particularly like. Later we found out he’d gone skating with the church youth group. Or we’ll be discussing a particular TV show at the dinner table, and he’ll say, ‘I didn’t see it,’ and later we’ll find out he did. It doesn’t make any difference if he did or didn’t. But why the lie?”

“That’s not as bad as his stealing,” inserted Warren. “He’s stolen money from my wallet. He goes over to a friend’s house and steals a ring from his friend’s dresser. What’s the problem with him?”

Todd admitted he didn’t know, but he said he’d like to talk with Andrew.

It took a couple sessions before Todd could get anything more than grunts, downcast eyes, and a mumbled “I don’t know” from Andrew. But when he did begin to open up, Andrew painted a different family picture than Todd had previously seen. Andrew’s complaint was that his mom and dad gave preferential treatment to Julie, his sixteen-year-old sister.

“She’s Miss Good Little Christian,” said Andrew. “I feel left out of the family. She gets all the special privileges, and I get none.”

Todd raised the obvious point. “Well, Julie doesn’t behave as badly as you do. Your parents don’t give you permission to do things because you haven’t been trustworthy. Aren’t you always grounded because of something you’ve done?”

Andrew turned the charge around. “No,” he said, suddenly animated. “I disobey because they make rules that I have to obey and she doesn’t.”

At first, Todd assumed it was natural sibling rivalry. But as he got specifics from Andrew, there truly was a preference shown.

“Dad likes to hunt, and I hate it,” said Andrew. “But in order to spend ‘quality time with his son,’ he drags me off hunting. I’d rather do anything else, but that’s the only time we spend together. When he spends time with Julie, she gets to pick the time and place.”

He continued with increasing energy. “If I want money, I have to earn it. But they give her an allowance. It’s not fair. She can drive the car and doesn’t have to put gas in it, but when I bring it home, it better be filled up! When I come home, Mom and Dad don’t even say hi before they ask ‘What have you been up to? Where have you been?’ I feel like a criminal even when I haven’t done anything.”

Todd had to admit there was more here than simple age difference between Andrew and Julie. But he could also understand why Warren and Gloria showed preference to Julie — she was the good kid. She could be trusted. Andrew was harder to like and harder to trust. But Todd decided to ask Warren and Gloria about it.

He knew he needed to broach the subject delicately. So he asked just the two of them to stop by the church. He began, “It’s taken some time, but I’ve finally gotten Andrew to open up a little bit. We may not agree with his opinions, but I think it’s important at least to respect what he’s saying. Andrew says he feels there are some major differences in the way you deal with him compared with how you deal with Julie. He thinks you have different attitudes toward the two of them. Do you think there could be anything to that?”

“Good grief,” said Warren. “We love our children equally, but of course we’re happier with Julie’s behavior than Andrew’s. Hers is acceptable; Andrew’s is not.”

“Let me mention a couple of specifics Andrew raised,” Todd said gently, and he relayed Andrew’s observations about the hunting trips, the allowance, and the gas policy for the family car. “Those are some examples of what Andrew feels is unfair. Right now, though, I’m not as concerned about Andrew’s opinion as yours. You’re closer to the situation than I am. Do you think those things are fair?”

As they discussed them one by one, Warren and Gloria admitted they’d never considered the possibility that Andrew felt wronged, but they didn’t think what they were doing was unjustified. “Maybe he does have a point,” Gloria said. “If you see it through the eyes of a teen, it would make you angry.”

“But we still can’t tolerate lies and stealing!” Warren said.

“No, and we won’t,” said Todd. “Let me work with him on that. But in the meantime, let me give you a homework assignment: Simply observe one another. Warren, I want you to see how Gloria deals with Andrew and Julie. Just stand back and watch her. And Gloria, I want you to see how Warren deals with the kids for the next two weeks. Try to be objective. Ask yourselves Is what I’m doing fair? And a second thing. I’ll be working with Andrew on his lying. If he admits to telling a lie, I don’t want you to jump on him or demand to know why he lied. Just calmly tell him thanks for telling the truth this time.”

Warren and Gloria accepted the assignment for the next two weeks.

When Todd met with Andrew that week, he told him what he’d discussed with his parents, then he said, “But one way you can begin to show yourself worthy of their trust is to stop stealing and lying.”

“I don’t know if I can stop lying,” said Andrew. “Sometimes I have to.”

“I won’t argue with that,” said Todd. “But do you think you could lie less frequently?”

“Probably.”

“Would you be willing to quit lying about little things? I mean, if it doesn’t matter if you went to 7-Eleven or to McDonald’s, tell your parents the truth.”

“Sometimes I lie before I even think about it,” Andrew said.

“At some point in your mental process you must think to yourself Well, I actually went to McDonald’s, not 7-Eleven.“

“But then I don’t want to tell them I lied.”

“Let me give you an assignment, Andrew. I want you to tell your parents when you lie. I’ve told them not to get on your case. I just want you to stop and say ‘No, no. I’m sorry. I didn’t go to 7-Eleven. I went to McDonald’s.’ Can you do that?”

“I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask.”

Two weeks later, Warren and Gloria returned and admitted that some of Andrew’s observations were valid. “Maybe we have been somewhat uneven in our treatment of Andrew and Julie,” said Gloria. “Andrew does have a right to be angry and to want more attention than he’s been getting.”

“We just naturally thought Andrew was the one with the problem,” said Warren. “It never occurred to us that our handling of things contributed.”

At that point, Todd began meeting with the whole family and talking through their expectations and policies.

“It helped a great deal,” says Todd. “Andrew’s lying has gradually stopped, even about big things. He stopped getting in trouble in school. Things are going pretty well now.”

The key was recognizing where the real problem lay. It was not Andrew’s rebellion. It was the cause of Andrew’s rebellion. When the investigation went back far enough in the cause/effect relationships, it was able to avoid the temptation to settle for the obvious culprit and miss the real issue.

Another pastor observes, “We’re finding more and more that we need to get the whole family involved in counseling. For us to deal just with the one who’s knocked on the office door, or just the one who’s being pointed at, is not usually helpful at all.”

Relational problems involve more than one person. It isn’t that “my kid has a problem” or “my spouse has a problem.” No, we have a problem. It’s hard to rebel in isolation. Helping those who don’t want help means involving the whole network.

William Backus. Telling Each Other the Truth. (Minneapolis: Bethany House, 1985) pp. 17-18.

Copyright ©1986 by Christianity Today

Vision, policies, and plans are more or less useless unless they are known to all who may be concerned with them. Lord Montgomery, commander of the Eighth Army, made it a rule that the plan of the campaign should be made known to every soldier.

Preaching will forever remain at the core of the church’s program. Along with teaching, preaching is one of the chief sources of spiritual power. Any attempt to reduce its importance is, in my opinion, a dead-end street.

The message of preaching forever remains the same, but the form changes to successfully reach the hearers, just as the Bible itself has been retranslated in our time to great advantage. I was once given a framed page from the Geneva Bible of 1560—and I can’t read it. It is the Word of God, all right, but its form is such that modern people cannot easily understand it.

One of the most significant developments in the church today, as I see it, is that old-style “preaching” is going out, and “communication” is coming in. Those preachers who have adjusted to the change in people’s listening habits and interests are having no trouble drawing a crowd; they’re able to match the gospel with current needs. (Certain legendary preachers will not change, and do not need to change. They became who they are in another generation. But they cannot be imitated successfully today.)

How the Ears Have Changed

This need for change has been brought on by several concurrent happenings, one of which is our transformation into a society of television watchers.

TV has conditioned us to getting information quickly in short blasts, “capsules.” In the dramas, a whole life situation is developed and solved in thirty minutes or an hour. In the newscasts, world issues are given a couple minutes, and authorities are asked to sum up “in the thirty seconds we have left.”

So audiences expect quick analysis, direct answers. About the only place people listen to a lecture is at church, and they are less equipped, less willing, and less able to receive extensive information in this form. Preachers who want to communicate cannot completely ignore this.

Television is also an intimate medium. The camera zooms in close and makes things very personal. Viewers have learned to watch for subtle expressions rather than grand gestures.

That’s what got Frank Clements, the governor of Tennessee a generation ago, crossed up when he delivered the opening speech at a Democratic convention. People called him “cornpone” afterward. But H. V. Kaltenborn, then the dean of news reporting, who did not see Clements on television but heard him in the convention hall, said it was one of the greatest political speeches he had ever heard. On a platform or in an open field, all of his magnified gestures and raised voice would have been natural. But when the camera came bearing down on his face, it made him look corny.

In addition, television has tended to portray preachers as arm-waving Elmer Gantrys. Theatrical preaching is lampooned. When people see it used in church, no matter how sincere the preacher may be, they sense it is not completely believable. It doesn’t seem real to a generation accustomed to the poise of a network anchorman.

As I visit churches, I’m amazed how many preachers still shout, even with microphones available. I went to a church not long ago with no more than a hundred people, and the pastor was screaming. I said to myself, What is he saying that demands yelling? I took some of his points and repeated them to myself quietly—and they weren’t bad! He could have been so much more effective with that audience by saying things in a normal volume. But by habit, he didn’t think he was preaching until he had raised his voice, stomped the floor, and kicked the pulpit.

It is not only the media that have decreased the respect for “old-time preaching,” but also the changing moral environment of our society. There was a time when preachers, like doctors, were automatically respected. Today, people do not automatically say, “The preacher is right and I am wrong.” They do not see sin as bad and faith as good. No longer is the Bible the moral dictionary for most people. Right and wrong have become confused. Preachers are often seen as caricatures.

Some of the damage has been self-inflicted by preachers wanting to be thought of as “one of the boys.” It is comfortable but damaging for ministers to get up in the pulpit and talk, without restraint, about their weaknesses and doubts rather than their beliefs and hope. God has called preachers to a unique office, one that we dare not belittle.

Fulton Sheen once chastised those priests and nuns who wanted to be an “equal among equals.” He castigated them for giving up their power of “substitutionary grace.” While Protestants might not accept that theologically, they cannot avoid Paul’s willingness to say, “Follow me as I follow Christ.”

Another part of the modern depreciation has to do with the image the electronic church is creating. The cost of TV is so high that, of necessity, television preachers spend a great deal of time raising money. Therefore the unchurched tend to think preaching means money grubbing.

Malcolm Muggeridge once said television is not a good medium for spreading the gospel because it is essentially an entertainment medium. I think he is right. Newscasters recognize the entertainment factor—and so do most TV preachers. The ratings influence programming, which puts pressure on television preachers to be ever more dramatic and overly dynamic. This, too, tends to make people question their sincerity.

What we need today are preachers who can go onto a platform and be believable and persuasive—an example of God’s power. We are coming into a time when people will be most influenced by communicators, not by “preachers,” at least those who persist in the old form of three points and a poem delivered with a seminary brogue or an unnatural tone of voice.

Three Kinds of Communicators

The preachers and teachers I hear divide into three general categories: orators, speakers, and talkers. Effective communicators select the style that fits their personality and develop it into a consistently high skill.

• Orators. Few of these are left. Oratory demands the soul of a poet and the articulation of a great actor. Orators love ideas and design artistic phrases to properly attire them. They have the ability to present them dramatically without artificiality. Few individuals are noble enough by nature to be orators. There is something celestial about oratory. I wish I could do it, but I can’t.

I found that out in the middle of one of my first oratorical efforts. I suddenly stopped and told the audience, “Folks, I am not an orator, but I read a book on it, and I was so inspired that I tried it, and you’ve just seen me prove I can’t do it. Now if you’ll just let me talk to you, I promise never to try that again.” And I haven’t.

Unfortunately, I hear a great many preachers who were taught the basic skills of oratory, and from that egg has hatched an ugly gosling—an awkward, unreal caricature, owning all the disadvantages of oratory with few, if any, of the advantages.

Oratory, like grand opera, has a very limited audience and fewer capable performers. Or, to use another metaphor, oratory is a pocket watch in a wrist watch world.

I once met a young country preacher before a Sunday service. To my amazement, as soon as he walked into the pulpit, he changed his voice tone, tempo, and body actions. He delivered a badly beat-up oration that sounded like a poor impersonation of R. G. Lee. No one had told him how disastrous it is to imitate the unique. He would have been much better using his own style.

• Speakers. The speaker has a subject and an outline with understandable points, well illustrated, including some one-liners people can take home with them. The illustrations are from life, proving to the listeners that the speaker lives in the same world they do, faces the problems and sees the difficulties they see. They find answers they can use.

Speakers such as Chuck Swindoll, Dick Halverson, James Dobson, Howard Hendricks, and Charles Colson consistently rate high on religious radio surveys. These are the communicators most young preachers and teachers should emulate. It is not easy, however, because seminaries traditionally have not taught this style of communication.

• Talkers. A talker (and I’m one) is a lazy speaker—at least that’s what a great many people think. I, of course, would differ. To me, it is more difficult to be a talker than a speaker, for a speaker decides what he is going to say and sticks to it.

Talkers are more conversational, do not use a formal outline, and yet the good ones know exactly what they are trying to accomplish. They pause and talk to individuals in the audience. Everything seems extemporaneous, and the power of the style is that people do not see any art or structure. Therefore they are not distracted from the message itself.

Most often, good talkers carry two or three messages in their mind and adjust as their radar senses what the audience is receiving and understanding. Using fewer dynamics and dramatics, the talker doesn’t develop the verbal momentum the speaker or orator does.

For example, Arthur Godfrey was a talker. He was believable, informal, personal—the kind of person you would like as a friend. Will Rogers was a talker. Hugh Downs and David Hartman also have the talker’s personality.

Although there are differences in style between talkers, speakers, and orators, the dedication and necessary degree of preparation is the same. Only the kind of preparation is different.

For anyone who decides to be an orator—and I’m not saying you should not, even after pointing out the difficulties and the lack of general interest—I must admit I cannot offer much help. I only warn: you had better be great, or you will be terrible.

On the other hand, for those wanting to be a speaker or talker, here’s a format that has been helpful to me.

1. Select a strong single idea.

2. Give it a handle, a one-liner, so people can carry it home.

3. Illustrate it so they will remember it and apply it to themselves.

4. If necessary, extrapolate from the idea to the principle. (Too much extrapolation, however, becomes condescension. If you have a good idea with a good handle and illustration, most people will get the principle.)

For instance, here are the elements of a talk I gave last week:

The idea: Live today so as to make tomorrow better.

The one-line handle: “Don’t make a junkyard of your old age.“

The illustration: A young man who walks out on his family is giving up his children and his grandchildren in his old age. He is giving up memories of life shared. He’s taking on the guilt of irresponsibility.

I spelled these out in some detail. I didn’t need to extrapolate: “Are you ever tempted to live for the moment … to make a junkyard out of your old age? Do you ever feel like taking your savings and blowing it all on one good time? Are you ever tempted to get into dope or escape into alcohol? These are the ways we make junkyards out of our old age.” None of this was necessary; the handle and illustration had done the work.

Addressing People, Not a Subject

Whether speakers or talkers, we must think of what our listeners need to hear, not what we need to say. Our material should not be an expression of egotism, our “much learning,” or the things people have complimented. Our content should grow out of a careful analysis of the needs of the listeners. I try to remind myself I’m speaking to people, not to a subject.

That may sound purely semantic. But many preachers are authorities on a subject without being authorities on the audience. They feel they have communicated whether the listeners got anything or not.

During World War II, when we needed to train technical people very quickly, we had a program called Training Within Industry (TWI). One of the basic tenets was “The teacher hasn’t taught until the student has learned.” If an applicant for a welding job went through TWI and came out unable to weld, we didn’t blame the student; we blamed the teacher.

As communicators, if people don’t get what we say, it’s our fault, not theirs. Our job is to influence the thinking and actions of the people who hear us. I am not relieved of my responsibility just by enunciating syllables to show my knowledge of the Word. I have succeeded only when they understand and apply the scriptural principles.

I used to do some professional speaking with Norman Vincent Peale at chambers of commerce and other civic meetings. I asked him one time, “How do you decide what to speak on?”

He said, “On Friday I ask myself, ‘What is the most common problem I’ve run into this week?’ That helps me to decide.” He was talking to people, not to subjects. No wonder he’s been so popular throughout his long career.

A misconception has gotten into a lot of preachers, based perhaps on something Ralph Waldo Emerson said: “If a man can write a better book, preach a better sermon, or make a better mousetrap than his neighbor, though he builds his house in the woods, the world will make a beaten path to his door.” That’s just one of the foolish things out of Emerson’s mouth. It’s basically Eastern philosophy—the guru out on a mountaintop, and people trudging out to hear him.

A lot of empty churches have proven Emerson was wrong. Even Jesus said, “Go into all the world.” He didn’t say, “Sit here, and the world will come to you.” One of our problems, I think, is that we have built a fishpond (the baptistery) and then invited the fish to come in and swim. It has not been the nature of fish to do that. We will have a lot more success if we go out to the lake, their natural habitat.

I used to get up at five in the morning and go to Lake Barkley in western Kentucky to listen to the fishermen. I like to be among enthusiastic people, even if they’re doing something I think is strange. Here were perfectly intelligent people getting up at four in the morning to be at the lake by five. Why? Because that’s when the fishing was the best. They were even buying night crawlers and red worms. Why? Because that’s what fish like to eat.

I doubt if fish would really go for steak. But I see Christians all the time trying to use bait they like. We have to ask, “What will the unbelievers be attracted to?” We don’t prostitute the gospel, but we change its form to make it attractive.

If the class I substitute-teach were suddenly to drop from seven hundred to one hundred, I would not feel righteous for giving them “the pure Word” and blame them for not listening. I would say, “I have apparently lost contact with these people and their problems.”

A singles group asked me to do a retreat: five lectures of two hours each, followed by discussion. I got there and realized what I had prepared was not the most useful thing for them. I didn’t deliver a single one of those lectures.

Instead, we had a tremendous amount of dialogue. Then I’d go back to my room and stay up half the night synthesizing what we’d talked about so I could bring it back in a cogent form the next session. I left there wobbling on my feet because I hadn’t had any sleep. But I got a lot of reaction from those people saying, “This was one of the most meaningful experiences of my life.” I was dealing with their problems, taking what knowledge I have of scriptural principles and applying it to their current needs.

One woman at that retreat, a successful interior decorator, wrote me later: “I delayed writing you because I had decided at our session to do three things. I wanted to be sure I had done them before I told you.”

Nothing pleases me more than that.

Principles, Not Prooftexts

Sometimes we get superstitious about Bible words, as if they had special power. That’s why some of us were slow to change from the King James Version. If we gave up that particular combination of words, what might happen?

The principles are immutable. They are the way God runs this world. As long as we don’t violate the principles but make them applicable to people in a form they can understand and put into practice, we are communicating God’s truth.

Not long ago, I was speaking to a business group on “how a Christian takes loss.” By eight o’clock the next morning, the president of a company was in my office asking how I would like to lose several million dollars, file for bankruptcy, and have to move my wife out of our home.

I assured him that was not a high set of items on my priority list. I asked if that was his situation.

“Yes,” he said. “I heard you talk about loss, and I want to talk about mine.”

It would have been easy to escape my responsibility by giving him a few verses of Scripture, offer to put him on my prayer list, then slap him on the back and walk him to the elevator. That would also have been hypocrisy.

I spent an hour and a half with him, going through his options. We discovered some he had forgotten. A major loss casts a shadow over us, and often at these times, we need someone else to help us plan a way through the confusion.

Finally I said, “Don’t interpret this loss as the judgment of God, because he’s not as interested in your success as your maturity.”

Now I could have backed all this up with verses of Scripture, but that wasn’t what he needed. He needed the principles of Scripture, and he needed someone to help him apply them. I don’t feel I have a right to speak to people about solutions that I’m not willing to help them apply.

Making the Message Clear

The great communicators are great illustrators. I realize some preachers are sensitive about storytelling. Once at a ministers’ meeting, I was urging the move from old-time preaching to communication, and a young man came up afterward and said, “I would like to be more effective—but I’ve listened to those famous communicators you named, and all they do is tell stories.”

I replied, “Isn’t that what Jesus did?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he said, rather reluctantly.

Jesus illustrated mainly from current happenings. He didn’t tell a lot of Bible stories—which comes as a great surprise to many people. His illustrations became Bible stories after he told them.

We don’t need to limit ourselves to his stories to convey the truth. We need to take the truth he conveyed and put it into believable, current illustrations.

The Sunday morning class I frequently guest-teach has a lot of sophisticated, highly successful Dallas people. Not long after the Southern Baptist Convention had been in town, I told them the story of a large Christian meeting that was held downtown at the Hilton. The chairman came out of his room a little bit late to get the program started. He discovered a guy had been mugged in the hall, and he stood there a minute trying to decide whether to stop and help, which would mean delaying the convention, or … he finally concluded his platform responsibility was primary, so he rushed ahead.

Out of a room on the other side of the hall came one of the official messengers, anxious to get downstairs for the opening. He saw the guy who had been mugged, but since he was representing a large church, he really needed to be at the meeting.

Then along came a nonbeliever who took the guy to the hospital. He told the hotel manager that in a few days, this fellow would be better and would be checking back into the hotel. He would leave his American Express charge open so that if the fellow didn’t have adequate credit, they could just add the expenses to his account.

Now obviously, that was nothing but the Good Samaritan story. I went on from there to say, “The question of this story is not ‘What occupation do I have?’ It doesn’t mean you’re supposed to go patrol the halls of downtown hotels looking for people who’ve been mugged.

“What this story is about is defining who is a neighbor. A neighbor is anyone who provides you and me an opportunity to do good.”

Such stories, I realize, are not looked upon with favor in some preaching circles. Some Christians feel the “offense of the Cross” means we don’t try to make the gospel attractive or interesting. I disagree.

My responsibility as a communicator is to get as many people to hear as much of the gospel as I possibly can. It isn’t my responsibility to run people away. I could do that by just not having the meeting.

Being Sincere and Personal

Two of the most important traits of a communicator are sincerity and the ability to establish a one-to-one atmosphere quickly.

One of my friends, who has developed persuasion into an art, told me, “The most important thing in selling is to be sincere. The other person must believe you believe what you’re saying, even though he may not believe what you’re saying.”

Sincerity goes all the way from dress and manners to preparation and presentation. Audiences can read a speaker’s integrity. Sometimes in front of a crowd, I will change my material just to be sure I don’t say anything I don’t feel. If I were scheduled to do an inspirational talk and I didn’t feel inspired, I wouldn’t get up and prove it. I would change my attitude or my material.

Closely related to sincerity is learning to go one-to-one with the audience as quickly as possible. I do not want to be a speaker and them a mass audience. I want us to be friends.

John Stein, the great impresario, told me the common denominator of successful platform personalities is that people quickly feel they are persons, not performers. I notice how quickly Billy Graham does this even in a large stadium. He will say something like “You are not here by accident. You are here by the will of God.” Immediately he is one-to-one with them. They are no longer anonymous.

I’ve never heard worse advice than to tell a speaker to look a foot above the audience’s heads. That’s fine—if you’re speaking to the wall. Your words will bounce right back to you.

Using Your Radar

Radar is the ability to discern what’s really happening in an audience through their unintended cues—the noise level, the changing expressions, the movement of heads in agreement or disagreement.

If you have no radar, then you must decide what topic you want to treat, write down your remarks, deliver them, and hope for the best. I assure you, communicators do more than this.

You want to start using your radar before you get up to speak. I often start by arriving early, before the crowd does, so I can watch them choose their seats. If people fill up the back, they’re expecting a sermon. If they sit up front, they’re expecting a show. At church the cheap seats are up front; at a theater they’re in the back. That’s just human nature: If something’s going to be “good for you,” you get as far away as you can. If it’s going to be entertaining, you get as close as you can. It helps me to know what the audience is anticipating.

I also like to listen to the noise level of a group before they’re seated. A group of accountants makes very little noise. A group of salesmen makes a lot. You also can tell whether the group enjoys one another—are they hom*ogeneous as they move around, or are they in little groups?

I spoke at a large deacons’ meeting not long ago where before the meeting, the older deacons were all standing around talking to each other, with the young deacons standing “afar off.” I asked one of the older men, “Do you know the younger deacons?”

He said, “No, and I’m not going to try to know them.”

That was important information for me as I spoke!

Another important clue is what people laugh at and the quality of their laughter. A psychiatrist and I sat together during one speech, and suddenly he nudged me and said, “Listen to the hollow laughter.” People were laughing courteously, the way kids laugh (or even groan) at puns.

It pays to watch who laughs. Not everyone does. If you get only the old-timers to laugh, you’d better find something pretty soon to give the younger people before you lose them. One of the most wonderful preachers I know has lost all appeal to young people, and his audience is getting older and older. He’s going to have a real problem soon, because the old-timers won’t be around long. It’s young people who fill the nursery.

Beyond laughter, I watch for any point that gets a reaction. Women generally react more openly than men. But if you start compromising yourself just for reaction, doing the sentimental things that many women react to, the men will soon turn you off, and you’ll be talking to the Women’s Missionary Society. So if you do something sentimental, remember to do something a little tougher, too. Everybody should leave the meeting having gotten at least one thing. If they don’t, they will question whether they ought to come back. They may come back for ritualistic purposes, but they won’t listen when they do.

While reading noises and movements, of course, you can’t be bothered by one or two deadpan people. Some deadpans are listening intently. One of the worst mistakes I ever made while giving a talk was to let one person irritate me. I got to talking to that one person and forgot the audience. Even if one person goes to sleep, that’s not bad. (Now if they’re sleeping all over the audience, that’s another story.)

I like to watch people who take notes and see if they’re taking notes at the right places. You see a lot of people who don’t know how; they’re writing down the wrong thing, and you want to stop and say, “Hey buddy, you missed the real point!” (Of course, then he might say, “I wasn’t listening; I was doing my income tax.”)

How is it possible to use your “radar” and still keep your actual words coming out straight? It’s like learning to drive a car. The first time you sit behind the wheel, you’re overwhelmed with instructions: Stay in the lane, don’t ride the clutch, remember your turn signals, don’t jam the brakes all at once.… But before long, you drive with all the ease in the world—and you read the highway signs to boot. It has become second nature.

The mind is capable of doing fantastic things once we get interested in developing it. A speaker ought always to be reaching out, increasing sensitivity, awareness, calculation powers. There isn’t anything like hard work to make a good speaker. When I speak, it’s nothing for me to spend forty to fifty hours on one address. The audience has no idea; when it looks effortless, they think it’s extemporaneous.

Jackie Robinson playing second base had a marvelous ability to relax. You’d think he was asleep, but when the ball came his way, or he was running the bases, you found out differently. Art should always appear effortless. But it takes effort to appear effortless.

How to Use Humor

Humor should be used to sharpen the truth, not to dull it. Humor should never help people escape from a truth; it’s easy to let people off the hook.

How can humor dull the truth? Here’s an example: “Yes, we’re all sinners—but how else could we enjoy life?” That remark would be buying a cheap laugh at the cost of an important point. The crowd would laugh—but there’s an old saying, “While the audience laughed, the angels cried.” That’s one of my tests of appropriate humor: Do the angels laugh too?

I’m not a very good joke teller. Instead, I use situational humor. Jokes make you a comedian; situational humor makes you a Will Rogers. He had the ability to use humor to set up points. He did not dull them. I prefer to have the doctor lubricate the needle before he sticks me. That’s what humor can do: lubricate the needle.

Good humor ought to be like good spice, permeating the whole. I object to a speaker who uses humor only at the opening of a talk. When I speak, I’m never more serious than when I’m humorous, because I am firmly convinced I can say almost anything with humor if I work at it.

It’s true that some people have a greater gift for humor. But nothing is more attractive to an audience than somebody who has the humility of humor. A wealthy young businessman who’s developing a national reputation asked me about public speaking, and I said, “Tell stories.”

He said, “My ego wouldn’t let me.”

That’s what keeps a lot of people from using humor. They want to seem heavy, profound. Others view humor as a high-risk venture; what if the punch line bombs? That, incidentally, is why I practice any major piece of humor on several friends before I ever use it in public.

For example, I said to my rather affluent class the other Sunday, “I’m very depressed today.…” (Normally I’m not depressed, and they know it. I also don’t believe in using an audience for my own therapeutic purposes. I’m there for them; they’re not there for me. So I wasn’t complaining.)

“I guess the reason I’m depressed is that Mary Alice and I just got back from two weeks in a very posh Colorado resort. And I realized I was the only one there with a green American Express card.

“Do you know how embarrassing that is? All my friends had gold or platinum. It was just so hard to feel good about yourself. I mean, how are you going to impress a waiter with a green card? When it came time to pay the bill, I found myself hiding my card with my napkin.…”

While I built up the spoof, they were laughing, but they were also thinking: That’s one of my problems, isn’t it? I could have stood up and preached against materialism and comparing ourselves with our neighbors, but they wouldn’t really have heard me. Humor made the point much better.

But I had to practice that parody on several friends in private conversation, to see how they responded, before I ever used it on an audience.

The Power of the Parenthesis

There’s more effect than most people think in “the power of the parenthesis.” People tend to believe parenthetical remarks because they seem extemporaneous.

That’s why I never say to an audience, “Last night when I was talking on this subject.…” That makes the listeners feel they’re getting something warmed over. They start listening to my words as a speech, not a communication.

Instead, tremendous results can come from inserting things that seem off the subject but really aren’t.

For example, before one crowd I said, almost as an aside, “I came home tired the other night, ate dinner, sat down, went to sleep, and woke up just feeling terrible. It was one of those nights when I would have had two big belters if I were a drinking man. But I guess I’m old enough to know drinking just causes problems—it doesn’t solve them.”

I dropped that remark because one of the big problems in that group is social drinking. They’re under constant pressure at parties. Some of them may just be waiting for a rationale to refrain. (I remember talking to an executive who drank because everybody else did. When he asked me why I didn’t, I said, “Because I have a right not to drink.” He had never thought of it as a right, and he stopped drinking as a result.)

These asides can be more effective than making a full-blown point. The truth seems unthreatening, it catches people off guard, and I’ve found that for some strange reason, they remember it longer.

This is why I could never read a speech. I might as well send it in the mail. I’d lose the personal feedback, the eye contact, the body language, and especially the opportunity to throw in parentheses.

We do these things in conversation all the time. You may be talking to someone about a business matter, and you say, “That reminds me of something that happened at our house the other night.” It’s a little psychological break, a breather. The mind can handle this as well as keep track of the main subject.

In fact, the main subject often proceeds better after that, because you’re relaxed. Sometimes I even say, “Excuse me for that little diversion.” But I sense people appreciate the diversion if it makes sense.

The Joyful Debt

I still get as excited about preparing a speech as I did years ago. I’m not as excited about giving it these days, because I’ve spoken so much.

I have a little saying by which I test myself occasionally: “You’re not ready to speak for God until, after preparing, you’d rather have somebody else speak.”

One of my friends said, “That lets me out.” I know the feeling, but I stand by my test.

When a pastor says, “I don’t mind standing up in front of people; preparation is what kills me,” I suspect he’s not a communicator as much as he is an exhibitionist.

When you realize every person in the audience is giving you thirty to sixty minutes of their lives, the numbers get pretty big. I’m humbled at the number of human hours I’m responsible for. I owe them something. Even small crowds deserve my best.

I hate to admit this, but it’s true: Most audiences are not expecting much. They haven’t gotten much in the past, and they’re not anxious for you to start talking. You may be nervous, but they’re not.

If you give them something a little exciting, new or helpful, they will appreciate it. They got more than they expected. And they’ll probably be back to hear you next time.

Copyright © 1986 by Christianity Today