GospelDrivenLife

Bleatings from the sheep: respect for the people

It is one thing to be charged with leading the church in the stead of Christ, it is another to do it with humility.  One of the temptations of being the primary voice of preaching is to begin to think of the people I serve as resistant.  I become more focused on their sins than their graces. I begin to think I know a lot and they do not.  Bonhoeffer says that pastors are not called to be in partnership with the devil, as accusers of the brothers.  That hits home!

Here is another one of those simple comments that was packed with meaning. 

We were in the middle of some major changes in the by-laws of the church.  I had preached through the biblical reasons and had held some Q and A sessions with people.  But I started to hear second hand reports that some were resistant.

I was tempted to harsh judgments on one hand, and to self-doubt on the other.  I wondered why sheep were so stupid.  I wondered if I was called to be a shepherd -- maybe I should quit, or find another flock that would show greater respect for me. 

A few wiser men in the church (and there is a lesson in itself -- these were laymen, without my education and calling, but respected for godliness) suggested we slow down the process.  They suggested that people need time to absorb change.

I yielded to them reluctantly.  I wanted to see this as an authority and submission issue. After all, the case was clear from Scripture and I was called to bring Scripture to bear on people's lives.  They said people wanted to believe the Bible and follow it but they had heard other teaching over the years that was different than mine and they needed to weigh it out.  I assured them that the other teaching was wrong.  They agreed, but insisted we be patient.

We ended up with some more time for people to discuss these ideas.  Some of these key leaders went out among the people and asked questions and listened and served folks. The process took longer than expected and I was growing impatient, discouraged, angry.

Then a couple I greatly loved came to see me.  They told me they had concerns with this new direction.  They told me they had weighed it out and agreed with what I taught but they still had reservations.  They wanted to talk.  We did, at length.  I labored at listening, not defending.  I sought to get into their heads and hearts. My counselors words shaped my responses.

What was interesting was at the end of the conversation, they said they would support this direction.  They still had questions, but they would follow this plan.  Then they parted with these words, "Thank you for respecting us."

This couple was in their 70's and had seen lots of pastoral leadership over the years.  Those words were not throw away words.  They meant it.  It seemed that had experienced pastoral oversight that was disrespectful, impatient, overbearing, dismissive of the people.  In that conversation, they sensed I wanted to hear their concerns and would not dismiss them.  They were respected.

It became a good conversation with others in oversight -- do people sense we respect them?  love them?  cherish them?  or do they think I treat them like idiots?  obstacles?  resistant?

How easy it is to think of the people I serve as obstacles to what God wants to do -- and to treat them with disrespect.  They are not obstacles.  They are God's redeemed people, my brothers and sisters, as slow to change as I am.  Does God drive his sheep -- does God use a cattle prod?  I wanted to serve them as my Savior served me -- with respect for their persons.  Thank God for another sheep bleating!

Bleatings from the sheep: birthday cards

One of the marks of arrogance is viewing all of life through my eyes, not considering how others see things.  I find it all too easy to assume that my perspective, my abilities, my limits are the truth for all.  It is not so!  I am not the center of the cosmos.

Seeing how this affects others was the fruit of another comment by a member of a church I served. 

I was discussing my recent birthday with a friend.  I noted that I loved thoughtful notes from people or cards that were teasing, but did no always see the value of a card with a cute or sentimental verse.  First, my degree of self absorption is seen in that this person was one of the folks who faithfully remembered by birthday and always did so with a sentimental card.  Here was the height of sensitivity in me -- commenting on their practice in a critical way!  Second, why was I commenting at all?  Who am I to critique the gifts and thoughtfulness of others?

This person made a fine rejoinder to me.  They said, "Well, Mark, not all of us are good with words and we pick a card to say what we would want to say if we were able to say things well."

This was a strong rebuke to my pride.  I assumed everyone had the gift of gab.  That the only reason people picked cards with cute verse was because they were lazy or sentimental.  It had never occurred to me that they picked them because they needed help communicating their heart.

How often do I demand and critique because others do not measure up to my expectations and, of course, my "superior" gifting?  Am I aware that people are limited, as limited as I am?  Peter Drucker has a quote I live by.  In his massive book on Management, he notes, "people are weak, some of us are pitifully weak."

As a pastor I am weak, and my people are weak.  They have limited ability, and I have limited ability.  Demanding more from them is not the path of the gentle shepherd. 

I still am fighting this particular manifestation of pride -- but am so grateful for the bleating of a sheep to help me see it.

Bleatings from the sheep: tone

Creating downhill paths to the pastor's office and heart is critical.  By downhill, I mean easy easily traveled. My office, my most visible role behind the pulpit, and the call to be submissive create for my people large obstacles and a steep path to travel to my heart. It takes intentional effort to hear what they have to say.

But there are observations that are overheard as much as heard.  These are worth mining, as what is overheard is as significant as what is heard.

That brings me to a wonderful "overheard" comment. It was wonderful in that it brought light to a disposition of my heart that was leaking all over my words and shepherding.

It took place on a Sunday, after worship, when I stood in the lobby and greeted people.  I once thought this sort of ritual was empty of value.  I dutifully stood and greeted but at times my mind wandered into "more important things to do that I would do as soon as I was done with this."

That day a godly woman in her late 70's walked by with her husband.  As always, they greeted me, told me they loved me, they loved our family, and they prayed for us.  Then, without intending to correct me, she noted, "We love you, and we are so sorry we disappoint you.  We are trying not to.  Be patient with us."

I was floored.  The Lord had me in a "listening between the lines" mode of heart right at that time, and the words "disappoint you" were like a thunderclap.  She was sweet and soft spoken, but her words were like a hammer.

I was about 5 years into pastoring this particular church.  I came to them as a young man of 31.  I was in the midst of rethinking the Gospel and its role in my preaching.  I was seeing that my primary motivational tool was law, not grace. And then this -- some of my people were living under a burden of being disappointing to me.

Yikes.

I was tempted to think that this was a lone example.  But I knew that people's observations always represented what at least a few others thought.  And even minority reports could be spot on.

The following weeks took me down roads of discussing this with other men who were in leadership in the church.  It took me down the road of evaluating my sermons. Her observation was confirmed. I did have a scolding tone, a "coach's halftime demeanor" in my exhortations.  Overhearing brought repentance and the beginnings of change.

Overhearing what God had for me in an offhand comment proved invaluable to my pastoring, preaching, and care of my people.  I want to make it easy for my people to speak their concerns, but I also want to overhear what they say.

Bleatings from the sheep: slow to change

One of the most godly people to enter our pastoral world was a woman in the church named Helga.  She was 20 years our senior but far more our senior in maturity in Christ.  I had all the seminary degrees.  She knew God and knew herself before God.

For some reason in God's plan she was drawn to encourage my wife and me.  And it was a ministry of encouragement, not correction.  She did not nitpick.  She offered helpful words and a welcoming home and large corrections. 

Large corrections are the opposite of nit picking.  Nit picking is detailed correction -- tone of voice, choice of words, order of ideas, song selection, typefonts. Yes, I have heard all of those and more over the years.  She observed, prayed, observed more -- then offered her observation in a grace filled way.  In the years we knew her, she made just two or three corrections.  They were all game changers.  They recalibrated my compass to North.  Those kinds of observations are worth their weight in gold. 

I will always remember one in particular. 

I rarely preached in that context -- but I gave pastoral oversight to single, adult, and women's ministries.  She worked in the women's area and had occasion to sit with me in meetings and discussions.

I was young, energetic, filled with vision and ideas and doctrine.  I pressured people with my leading, but I did not know it.  I was an idealist.  I wanted the church to be all she could be -- and God's people to be all they can be.  I was full of promise and destiny too. I looked forward to being a senior pastor. I knew it would be in a big metropolitan area, where people would appreciate my ideas.

One day, as she knew we were considering a call to another church, she offered up one of her large observations.  "Mark," she said, "I hope you get to work in a rural church.  Life is much slower in rural churches than in metropolitan areas.  What you would see in a rural church is that people are slow -- and they change very slowly."

At first I ignored her idea.  But I shared it with my wife, who found it intriguing.  Then I told a mentor or two about it and they told me I should listen.  Apparently I was conveying impatience to people.  Apparently I thought I was made of more responsive stuff than most. I thought educated and urban people would be more responsive too. 

I did not know myself at all.  Helga knew it.  But she did not know it in a condescending way.  And she made her correction in a way that would reset my compass, adjust my thinking.

God did take me from there to a humble group of folks where I served for over ten years.  Many of the bleatings of the sheep came from them (and I will share more of these).  But Helga was right -- we change slowly, very slowly, no make that very very slowly. 

David Powlison says it is enough to take one bit of truth and apply it to one bit of life.  I find that hard to swallow still.  But I am grateful for Helga loving me enough to make a patient and large observation.

Bleatings from the sheep: OUCH!

Story One:

I have a "clever" side.  I once liked to preach in a way that debunks myths people believe.  In my first year as a pastor I did a series of messages on prayer. There are lots of prayer myths -- slogans that I found as easy targets for my brilliant critique.  Each message was a shot at wrong thinking and a declaration of truth.  I took down some major myths and applauded myself for prophetic courage.

About a year later a member of the church asked to come see me.  It was clear that she was full of fears in doing so.  I assumed she had some personal problems.

On the day of the appointment, she sat in my office, established rapport, and then asked, "Do you remember the messages you gave on prayer a few months ago?"  I certainly did! I assured her I remembered them.  I did not say this, but I thought they were so good they should be heard by all!  I assumed she was there to tell me how great they were.

She then 'bleated" -- she sounded forth her pain as a sheep under me as a shepherd.  Here is what she said, "Mark, after I heard those sermons I did not pray for 6 months." I did not see that one coming.  I was floored.

She then made a series of observations about my edginess, my "critiquing mode" of preaching, my harshness, and how it was hard to relate to me. She noted that I had done more to undermine her faith than build it.

I am tempted to pride like all of us.  My pride is not helped by being a pastor. 99.9% of the people in the church will not speak to me in critique -- rather, they put me on a pedestal.  I get used to being 6 feet above contradiction.  I begin to confuse my preaching of God's word with my preaching of my word.  I am a messenger but I begin to think of myself as the sender.

What happened next hinged on whether I would value her perspective or dismiss her as a "dumb sheep" and think that I knew better as a shepherd. God gave me grace at that time. I listened, I wrote down her thoughts.  I asked an older man and a mentor in the church for his perspective.  Actually I shared the story in a way that I hoped would bring him to my defense. 

He walked me through the evaluation and pointed out that there is a difference between shepherding God's people with truth and shepherding them wisely with truth.  He noted that I used truth to bludgeon people.  I was called to make truth acceptable and faith-building.

I had some lessons to learn.  Most of all, I was to find that the people I served had good noses -- they may not know all the nuances of theology, but they could smell the stench of pride and the fragrance of true worship in my heart.  And they could also tell me if I was helping them or hurting them.

God gave grace.  I began to adjust my teaching and preaching to serve people, not critique their ideas.  The woman and her husband became good friends. They are fellow sheep before the Great Shepherd and have more than once given further help to me.  I am so grateful for that day she had the courage and love to speak to me.

Bleatings from the sheep?

A recent Wall Street Journal article noted a comment from the recently Senator from Massachusetts.  Discussing his victory in the long held Kennedy seat, he commented, in essence with, "The people are not stupid."

I was thinking about this since.  If that can be said by a man about the citizens of a republic, what would say about the people of the church?  The saints are born of God, indwelt by the Spirit, objects of grace and the active working of Christ in them. 

Eugene Peterson, a favorite author of mine, notes:

 . . . the congregation is not stupid and lumpish, waiting for pastoral enlightenment. Condescension in pastors is even worse than hostility.  No, the congregation is topsoil--seething with energy and organisms that have incredible capacities for assimilating death and participating in resurrection. The only biblical stance is awe.

One of the great temptations of pastoral ministry is to treat the congregation, the members, as "stupid".  We may not use those words, but we act like either they are slow to grasp truth and need constant prodding or nagging, or they are children and we pastors are fathers who must care for them.  Both bear bad fruit -- both create a clergy/laity division which, it turns out, is not just a Catholic problem.  Both can lead to a spirit of distrust and excessive carefulness in how pastors shepherd their flock. 

I have known both temptations.  I still do.  More often than I like to admit, I am tempted to impatience.  This is rooted in incredible self-righteousness. I think I am better than they.  I have the same temptation with my wife -- and I have known it with my children.  My wife helps me when she reminds me of how slowly I have responded to her needs over the years.  When I think of how dull I am, I am more amazed at God's patience with me.

But there has been change and progress in how I see the people I serve. God has shown me that the people of the church are a rich gift to me as a pastor.  As Peterson says, the proper stance before them is awe. They are born of God!  

Classic models of ministry called for pastors to be with their people during the week.  The goal was to know the flock, to love them, to serve them well.  There was great wisdom here.

I am not denying my responsibilities as an elder but I think I can say that I have learned more from the people I have served than anyone else. For a thousand hours in elders meetings, one hour with one of the flock has often been more instructive.  Sometimes just a comment explodes within.

They are neither trained theologians nor do they aspire to the office of an elder. They have not been equipped with exegetical methodology.  But they have the Holy Spirit and they love Christ.  Over the years their comments and observations have shaped me deeply.  This has not been just in matters of personal character but in ministry wisdom, counsel for leadership, and observations about the church.I want to do a series of posts on this.  I have some specific stories. People see more than you think and their counsel may be wiser than you expect.