Charles R. Swindoll's Blog, page 7

I want to ask you four questions that only you can answer:

Do you give the people in your congregation the freedom to be who they are?
Do you let others go, or do you smother them and control them?
Are you cultivating spontaneous, creative, celebrants—or fearful captives?
Do you encourage, build up, and affirm those to whom you minister?

These four questions really boil down to one:

Are you one who models and ministers grace?

It’s time to take off the gloves, rip off the masks, knock off the rationalizations, and face the truth head-on.

Is the ministry you’re leading the result of your own flesh, energized by your own gifts and strengths? Are you relying on your charisma to pull it off? Do you often have a hidden agenda?

How about your motive? With a captive audience hanging on to your words and following your ministry (and your Tweets) with unquestioned loyalty, do you exploit them . . . do you use your power for your own purposes? Is the enhancement of your image of major importance to you, or can you honestly say that your work is directed and empowered by the Spirit of God?

Again, I ask you:

Are you one who models and ministers grace?

—Chuck

Our calling as pastors includes fighting.

I don’t mean we strap on the gloves and go toe-to-toe with our elders and congregational members. I mean, as pastors, we’re called to defend the faith.

As time passes, we will see our orthodox faith in Jesus Christ attacked more and more. We will find that the things of God are increasingly viewed with suspicion . . . addressed with cynicism . . . and, eventually, banned completely.

When we entered ministry, whether we knew it or not at the time, we entered a war zone. The pastorate is a battleground, not a playground.

This is why Paul included in his first letter to Timothy these sober commands:

Fight the good fight of faith; take hold of the eternal life to which you were called, and you made the good confession in the presence of many witnesses. (1 Timothy 6:12–13)

As pastors, it is never appropriate for us to earn a reputation as a fighter, in the sense of being argumentative or a bully. That’s the last thing the body of Christ needs—another angry, bullheaded preacher pushing his agenda.

No, here’s the type of “contender” we need to be:

We must have a strong determination mixed with keen discernment.
We must refuse to allow anyone to intimidate us in our convictions.
We must fight against those things that can damage the flock.
We must have a tough hide and a tender heart.

Paul commissioned Timothy to pastor the church at Ephesus. Interestingly, the letter Paul penned to that local body echoes with battlefield metaphors. Because our battle is a spiritual conflict, our weapons also are spiritual (Ephesians 6:11–17). May we never forget that our adversary is the devil, not our congregations. Speaking of our adversary, here are a few reminders:

He is wily, clever, and brilliant.
He stands against everything you stand for.
He will despise the times you preach the truth.
He will want you to soften your blow.
He knows you better than you know yourself, making a study of every chink in your armor.

The battleground of ministry always reminds me of Martin Luther’s ageless hymn, “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.” Take a moment now, lean back in your chair, and sing these verses out loud and clear.

And I mean sing! After all, we’re in a battle.

A mighty fortress is our God,

A bulwark never failing;

Our helper He amid the flood

Of mortal ills prevailing.

For still our ancient foe

Doth seek to work us woe—

His craft and pow’r are great,

And armed with cruel hate,

On earth is not his equal.


Did we in our own strength confide,

Our striving would be losing,

Were not the right man on our side,

The man of God’s own choosing.

Dost ask who that may be?

Christ Jesus, it is He—

Lord Sabaoth His name,

From age to age the same,

And He must win the battle.


And tho’ this world, with devils filled,

Should threaten to undo us,

We will not fear, for God hath willed

His truth to triumph thro’ us.

The prince of darkness grim,

We tremble not for him—

His rage we can endure,

For lo, his doom is sure:

One little word shall fell him.


That word above all earthly pow’rs,

No thanks to them, abideth;

The Spirit and the gifts are ours

Thro’ Him Who with us sideth.

Let goods and kindred go,

This mortal life also—

The body they may kill;

God’s truth abideth still:

His kingdom is forever.¹

—Chuck

 

Endnote:

Martin Luther, “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God,” in The Celebration Hymnal: Songs and Hymns for Worship (Nashville: Word/Integrity, 1997), hymn 151.

I wrote you the last two weeks that the ministry is not our job. It’s our calling.

That calling requires that we flee from certain things.

However, along with fleeing from those things, we need to follow after other things.

I love the double action stated here. While we are fleeing from certain things, we are at the same time following after other things. The word that appears in my Bible is pursue (1 Timothy 6:11). The tense of the original term indicates that we should keep on pursuing these things.

Paul lists five pursuits for Timothy—and for us:

Pursue righteousness—another word for integrity.
Pursue godliness—a reverence for God and a hatred for sin. May that always be true of us! Don’t hold loosely your relationship with God. Samson did that and we all know what happened to him as a result. Hold very closely your relationship with Christ.
Pursue faith—a deliberate refusal to walk by sight. You will be tempted repeatedly to let your sight guide you. You’ll be surrounded by others who will choose to do that. Don’t go there. Trust God . . . lean on Him . . . rely on Him. Have Him fight your battles for you. Have Him clear your mind of things that are disturbing you and distracting you from your calling.
Pursue love—“seek the highest good of others” (the best definition of love I’ve ever read). Be affectionate in season and out of season. When you feel like it and when you don’t. When you’re younger or when you’re older. When it’s early or when it’s late. When they like you or when they don’t like you. When the church is growing or when your ranks have plateaued. Perseverance in love should mark your life.
Pursue gentleness—another word for meekness. May you be known as a humble man of God, giving others the credit they deserve and always pushing that credit away from yourself.

Keep on pursuing these things. As you do, you’ll honor God.

Next week, I’ll talk about the right kind of fighting.

—Chuck

Our calling as pastors includes running. Lots of it.

I’m thinking in particular of Paul’s words in his first letter to Timothy: “You, Timothy, are a man of God; so run from . . .” (1 Timothy 6:11 NLT).

The word run comes from the Greek term pheugo. We get our word fugitive from it. It may sound strange at first, but we who are called to minister are like a fugitive. We should be constantly fleeing from evil.

Paul’s letters contain certain things that the man of God is to run from. In fact, you and I will be running from these for the rest of our days:

Immorality (1 Corinthians 6:18).
Idolatry (1 Corinthians 10:14).
Arrogance and conceit (1 Timothy 6:3–4).
Covetousness (1 Timothy 6:6–10). Guard against every temptation to covet your parishioners’ salaries (you will rarely make as much as they do) or longing for the things they own.
Youthful lusts (2 Timothy 2:22).
Quarrelsomeness (2:24). I urge you to be known as a person who keeps the unity of the Spirit, rather than one who disturbs the peace of God’s saints.

An older man in ministry once shared with me four common things that cause a minister to fall: silver, sloth, sex, and self.

Flee from those things as they relate to evil. That’s right. Run!

May the things God calls us to flee from never be associated with you . . . or with me.

Next week, I’ll write about what we should follow after.

—Chuck

As a pastor, it doesn’t take very long before you understand that the ministry is not a job.

It’s a calling.

I love Paul’s first letter to his younger friend, Timothy. It is full of great reminders for us as pastors.

Over the next few posts, drawing from this essential epistle, I’ll be challenging all of us in three areas related to our calling, specifically:

What do we flee from?
What do we follow after?
What do we fight for?

By the way, I see our calling as pastors as a responsibility that comes from God . . . without any expectations of pastoral perks on our part. Here’s what that means:

We don’t do it for the money.
We don’t do it because the hours are good.
We don’t do it because everybody will love us.
We don’t do it because of where we get to choose to live.

Why do we do it? Because we cannot be satisfied doing anything other than our calling.

Honestly, can you think of any greater privilege?

—Chuck

If you’ve ever traveled up Highway 1 along the coast of California from Los Angeles to San Francisco, you have passed through the little town of Castroville.

Castroville is noted for one thing. Artichokes.

If you like artichokes, you’ll love Castroville. If you don’t like artichokes, well, there’s not much else to like in Castroville.

As you drive through the town, you think things like, Oh, I’m so grateful God has not called me to Castroville. And if you’re in the ministry, you always add, But I’m available, Lord! I’ll go if that’s where You would like me to serve.

We learn to say that, don’t we?

I have a physician friend who left Fort Lauderdale and moved to Tyler, Texas, to practice academic medicine. He and his wife lived in an old house and put down deep roots and enjoyed things like backyard barbecues and sandlot baseball.

One day we got a letter saying they had moved back to Fort Lauderdale. My friend wrote, “Do you know why we now live in Fort Lauderdale? Because I said when we were in Tyler, ‘We will never move back to Fort Lauderdale.’ Now here we are.”

Insightful words.

So take it from me, friend, God may call you to Castroville. If He does, you go.

And when you do, I have some advice for you: learn to like artichokes.

—Chuck

My word to those of us engaged in ministry is, keep a healthy balance. Here are ten tips I’ve found helpful:

Because you teach, also remain a good student. Stay teachable.
Read more.
Listen better (especially to your spouse).
Be ready to change. And change!
Admit wrong where you are wrong.
Stand firm when you know you are right (but be nice).
Because you are called to be a leader, follow well.
You cannot do it all, so delegate.
You have a big job to do, so let others help you do it. And when they do it well, make sure they get the credit.
The ministry is serious work, so keep a good sense of humor.

Here’s a bonus tip: take God seriously but don’t take yourself too seriously.

Let me elaborate on that last one, because we pastors need it more than most. When you listen to the recordings of your sermons (yes, it’s okay to admit you do that), I urge you not to be afraid to laugh at stupid things you’ve said in the pulpit. I get to do this regularly. You see, at the end of each year, those who do the work of putting my messages on the radio and Internet give me a CD of all the mistakes they took out of my messages during the year. It’s sort of a Christmas “gift.” Nice, huh?

I cannot believe some of the dumb things I have said. It is enough to reduce one to the size of an ant.

Sometimes it’s good for us pastors to see ourselves as ants.

It keeps us looking up.

—Chuck

There it was. One of those posters. Some are funny. Some are clever. Others, beautiful. A few, thought-provoking. This one? Convicting.

It said something like this:

A prayer to be said when the world has gotten you down,

And you feel rotten,

And you’re too doggone tired,

And you’re in a big hurry,

And you’re mad at everybody . . .

“Help.”

I remember one week it seemed I saw the poster everywhere. God really wanted me to get the message. He nudged me when I first read it in a friend’s office. He slapped me hard in Newport Beach when I ran into it again. While moving faster than a speeding bullet in Portland, I came face-to-face with it again. It was silent as light but twice as bright . . . smashing me down and pinning me to the mat for the full count. How did I interpret God’s message through that poster?

“My son, slow down. Cool it. Admit your needs.”

Such good counsel. But tough to carry out. Why? Why in the world is it such a struggle for us pastors to cry out for assistance?

In my entire life, I’ve never seen a football game played without substitutions.
Even the finest surgeons receive help in delicate and extensive operations.
Highway patrolmen travel in pairs.
I was taught all the way through my days in the Marines to dig a hole before combat big enough for two people in battle . . . never for just one.

Asking for help is smart. It’s also the answer to fatigue . . . and the “I’m indispensable” image. You want to know what’s at the heart of much of our boundless ministerial drive? We can get pious and call it “passion.” But it’s something else.

Pride.

Plain old, stubborn unwillingness to admit need. You see, the greatest battle in the pastorate today is not inefficiency; it’s super-efficiency . . . that is, it’s being too proud to ask for help.

The result? Painful though it is to describe, you know it’s true: impatience. We become easily irritated. Often angry. Longer hours. Less and less time off. Little laughter. No vacation. Zero time with family. Inflexibility. Longer and longer gaps between meaningful (personal) times in God’s Word. Precious few (if any) moments in personal prayer and prolonged meditation.

Say, my friend, it’s time to declare it. You are not the Messiah of the 21st-twenty-first century! No way can you keep going at this pace and stay effective year after year.

Analyze yourself any way you please, and you are H-U-M-A-N . . . nothing more.

So?

So, slow down!

So, give yourself a break!

So, stop trying to cover all the bases!

So, relax!

—Chuck

You’ve probably preached Exodus 18:17–27 at some point. I have too.

But today, it’s time we apply it.

It’s the account of a visit Jethro made to his son-in-law Moses. Old Jethro frowned as he watched Moses flash from one need to another, from one person to another. From early morning until late at night, Moses was neck-deep in conversations, decisions, and activities. (Sound like your week?)

Moses must have looked very impressive—eating on the run, moving fast, planning other appointments, meeting deadlines.

But Jethro wasn’t at all impressed. “What is this thing that you are doing for the people?” he asked (Exodus 18:14). Moses was somewhat defensive (most too-busy people are) as he attempted to justify his ridiculous schedule. Jethro didn’t buy the story.

Rather, he advised Moses against trying to do everything alone. He reproved him with strong words: “The thing that you are doing is not good. You will surely wear out” (18:17–18). The Hebrew term means “to become old, exhausted.” In three words, he told Moses to CALL FOR HELP.

The benefits of shifting and sharing the load? Read Jethro’s words for yourself: “It will be easier for you . . . you will be able to endure” (18:22–23). Isn’t that interesting? God wants our lifestyles to be easier than most of us realize.

For some reason, we pastors seem to think it’s better to have that tired-blood, overworked-underpaid, I’ve-really-got-it-rough look. You know, the martyr complex that conveys to the flock, “I’m working so hard for Jesus.”

Really?

The truth of the matter is quite the contrary. That hurried, harried appearance usually means, “I’m too stubborn to slow down,” or “I’m too insecure to say no,” or “I’m too proud to ask for help.”

But since when is a bleeding ulcer a sign of spirituality? Or no time off and a seventy-hour week a mark of efficiency? When will we learn that efficiency is enhanced not by what we accomplish but more often by what we relinquish?

The ministry getting (or gotten) you down? Feeling rotten? Too tired to pray . . . in too big a hurry? Ticked off at a lot of folks?

Let me suggest one of the few four-letter words God loves to hear us shout when we’re angry:

HELP.

—Chuck

Ours is a day of superficiality. That’s true . . . even for pastors.

If we can fake it, we’re often admired as being clever and creative, not criticized for being shallow and phony. Mediocrity can mark many of those in ministry just as overtly as it marks many of those who work for the government and are employed in the corporate world. I’ve also noticed that staying longer in the same place often perpetuates the problem. People tend to let seniority excuse the absence of excellence.

The ministry, unfortunately, is no exception. People trust us to be diligent, to stay spiritually sensitive; to do our homework; to think deeply; to remain fresh, innovative, and excited about our calling; and to be pure in motive.

But the painful truth is that we ministers can be lazy, indifferent, perfunctory, controlling, and mean-spirited. We are not above predictability or plagiarism, especially if we’ve not managed our time well. I know of few professions where envy can be more prominent and where pride can be more manipulative.

It’s easy to learn how to hide those ugly faces behind pious masks. The “flesh” of the clergy is no better than the “flesh” of the criminal. We’re all depraved. The difference is that we’re better at cover-up.

There are five promises I believe every pastor should make. I’ve worded them in first person, because they are promises I have made as well.

I promise to maintain a heart for God. That means I will pray frequently and fervently. I will stay devoted to Christ and to my calling. I won’t talk about doing those things . . . I’ll simply do them.

I promise to stay faithful to my family. My wife deserves my time, affection, and occasionally my undivided attention. Our children and grandchildren, the same. I won’t forget this fact, no matter what.
I promise to keep doing original and hard work in my study. No hectic schedule will rob my congregation of a strong pulpit. The flock deserves the best of my efforts.
I promise to remain accountable. Living the life of a religious Lone Ranger is not only unbiblical, it’s dangerous. If my flock needs to ask me a hard question, they needn’t hold back.
I promise to be who I am. Just me. No amount of public exposure will turn my head. If I start acting sophisticated, I hope someone reminds me how disgusting it looks, how ridiculous shepherds appear when they start using a lot of polysyllabic words, trying to strut their stuff. I plan to keep laughing, hanging out with people who aren’t impressed with me, and remaining authentic.

If you haven’t already, I urge you to make these promises . . . today.

—Chuck Swindoll