I’m a Bad Pastor: And Why I Think it’s Worth Saying So!

by Anthony Moore

       As this post is re-published from the author's brilliant contemplations, I want to invoke all of 1 Corinthians 13. He is now a former pastor, primarily due to succumbing to the enormous burden of pastoring. The greatest caution I have been given repeatedly is the fact that once a man and his family enter or begin pulpit ministry, their life is pretty much public. Privacy is no longer a premium in ministry as there are many people in the flock who need your attention and counsel. Not only are there people who need you but people waiting for you to fail, both inside and outside the fellowship. No longer is my life about me. Well, Anthony Moore has great advice for that. Again and again many pastors who have served for over four decades offer such calming advice, all based around the theological pillar of grace. We in the church only get to enjoy a very special grace through faith in Jesus Christ. Treasure troves are deposited into a Christian's life at salvation and grace is one of those fortunes we now possess through inheritance (Ephesians 1:3-14).

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"Thirteen years have passed since our 35-1 National Championship run. Much has taken place since those glory days. For starters, I married a hall of famer, Natasha Neal, and together we have three beautiful boys: Marcus, Titus, and Malachi. Then, with great impact to my athletic figure, I exchanged my basketball shorts for a bible and a pulpit. Very few people know me now as an athlete anymore and most, if not all, value me pastorally navigating a difficult situation more than they do me navigating a particular defense. Still, pastoring and being an athlete have a lot in common, and in at least one way you might not have considered. Both being a pastor and an athlete come with public praise and scrutiny. Both require great discipline and perseverance. And, in both disciplines, those in attendance tend to overlook the amount of work invested in what’s being executed. Also, a successful pastor and a successful athlete should have in common a real understanding of one’s weaknesses. It’s this last point that I wish to consider just for a moment in light of pastoral ministry.

Human Perfection is an Allusion

In pastoring, and I would say the Christian life in general, there’s always the temptation to project an image of oneself that’s more adept and polished than what is actualized. Yet, faulty presentations of self are never lasting. When the athlete pretends to be better than he or she is, exposure is ushered in on the tides of failure and defeat. For the pastor, however, the greatest danger is not the loss of a game but rather every step toward achieving a polished look is a step toward deconstructing the portrait of grace in one’s life. Think about it for a moment: If the leaders we are to emulate in the church are perfect, in what sense are they, the leaders, able to point to the truth found in Scripture that Christ Jesus came to save sinners? It’s in light of this truth that I gladly make this confession—I’m a bad pastor! Here are three reasons why:

I’m Sinful

First, I’m sinful. I’m not the Good Shepherd in John 10. Jesus is. I sin daily and have to repent of things like anger, pride, and anxiety to my friends, family, and you the congregation. This is not a ploy or cute literary device. It’s the reality of the situation. When the Lord pronounces judgment on the counterfeit shepherds in Ezekiel 34, the operative question becomes, “Who, then, will shepherd God’s people?” The Lord answers that question with over fifteen references to Himself in one chapter as the one who will shepherd His people. Is that clear enough?! Of course, we know that Jesus is the means by which God indeed becomes the great Shepherd of His people. Why does that matter? It matters because Jesus is the great and perfect Shepherd of His people so I don’t have to be. I don’t have to be perfect and coming to grips with that is key. For example, the athlete who never acknowledges weaknesses will make light of the strength of his teammates and, therefore, fail to understand his need to lean on them when it’s needed most. So, too, the pastor must learn to acknowledge his weaknesses and utter dependency on Christ and His Word. That’s done by exposing weaknesses and painting big and beautiful portraits of the truth of the Gospel: God saves and uses sinners for His glory!

I’m Young

Second, I’m young. Don’t get me wrong, I’m competent. Or, at least I’ve thought intentionally about pastoring for 10 years (2 degrees at a seminary and an internship). My point is, I have so much to learn. I’m still a kid at heart. I’m still learning and still growing and trying desperately not to make childish mistakes. I have been through so much in my life and yet I feel like a pup. As a pastor, it’s my unwillingness to come to grips with my youthfulness that causes me to fail to give myself permission to grow. I want to be the pastor now that I will be in 15 years, Lord willing. That’s a high ambition with lofty expectations. If I make peace with that mentality, then I’ll quickly become heavy laden with despair. And one bad sermon or a botched counseling case or disappointed member will send me into a tail spin. That’s a very precarious place for a pastor, especially when the King of Kings and Lord of Lords has promised to build his church regardless of my carefully crafted illustration or ability to bring gospel truth to a situation. Related to the previous point, God is calling shepherds to demonstrate gospel growth to our congregation, not perfection.

I Can Be Hurt

Finally, I can be hurt! My greatest strength is that I love people. I really do. I invest in relationships and want them to be deep and authentic. Yet, like most people, my greatest strength is also my greatest weakness. My identity in Christ should free me up to truly love people. But, often times my identity can be more informed by people’s perception of how I’m caring for them than by my status in Christ. In those moments, it may not seem like it but I’m overcome by pride. I’m caring for people as a means of making much of myself. The world, my relationships, and God himself exists to serve me and difficulty comes when they don’t make much of me as I think they should. What does that mean? It means that I’m a sinner and have a propensity to commit sins, even sins against those I’m charged to shepherd. Often times my first response when confronted with my sin is to retreat. It helps me protect myself and provides me with a way around pain. Yet, that response is inconsistent with how my savior willingly gave His life for me. I should confess the opposite of perfection, I’m a sinner and I need Him more and more each day.

Christ’s Perfection is Real

I remembered sharing my struggles with an older pastor whom I respect and love and he responded and said, “Man, why are you in ministry again?” Seems harsh, but I think his words were needed. The weaknesses I have (and any weaknesses that could be stated) make me the least likely candidate to pastor. But herein lies the point: “God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being might boast in the presence of God” (1 Cor 27-29). The point, Paul concludes, “Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord.” Hence, if there is one compelling reason why I’m fit to pastor here at this church it is because I truly trust the power of the Spirit and the word of God to build His church––not my ability to craft sermons, not my personality, and certainly not my ability to be perfect. I trust Christ and the power of His Word. So, I have no problem admitting how and why I’m a bad pastor. If you’re a pastor or serve in a leadership position in your church, I would suggest you write a similar letter to your people. Try starting with something like this, “I’m a bad pastor and here’s why!” 

Source: http://thefrontporch.org/2015/08/im-a-bad-pastor-and-why-i-think-its-worth-saying-so/

Everyone Can See The Log Hanging Out of Your Eye. Why Can't You?

Published September 22, 2016 by Matt Rogers

It’s hard to miss Jesus’ point in the Sermon on the Mount. The imagery is just too clear.

“Look at the birds and the flowers, I take care of them and I’ll take care of you also.

“Don’t hide your light under a basket. It’s useless there.”

“Invest in things of eternal value. Things on this earth will just fall apart or get stolen anyway.”

And then this one:

Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do you not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when there is the log in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye. (Matthew 7:3-5 ESV)

The contrast is compelling, almost comical, and the implications are straightforward. Before you judge the actions of another person, address your own sins, which may be far greater in com-parison. This passage, and others like it, are often misread to imply that we should not point out the sins of others. That’s not Jesus’ point. Christian love requires that we call one another to holiness. But before we can do that with a tone of grace, a posture of kindness, and a motive of restoration, we must first consider our sins and seek, by God’s grace, to turn from them. We’ve got to take out our log before we can point out another’s speck.

But here’s the problem—at least in my own life. The log is so hard to see. It doesn’t seem to make sense considering the image Jesus uses. No one should miss a log hanging out of their eye, much less be able to notice the meager speck in someone else’s. But we do it all the time. Why? Why is the log of my own sin so hard to see?

On one level, the answer is pride. At the root of my sinful actions lies a prideful heart that is unwilling to acknowledge and turn from my sin. True enough. Since Augustine, pride has rightly been seen as the ground of all sin, the well from which all sorts of sinful actions are drawn. Yet, pride is a somewhat nebulous concept, an easy target to place blame and a challenging enemy to address. Bubbling up from my pride are a number of concrete factors that shape my inability to see, and remove, the logs of my own sin.

THE LOG HAS BEEN THERE A LONG TIME

Logs don’t develop overnight. They’ve been around for a while. The subtle, almost unrecog-nized, growth of a log over time blinds us to its existence. Like a scar, we just get used to it being there. Someone else might immediately recognize the blight, but to us, it’s just a part of who we are.

The log might begin as a dry wit that masks deep insecurity during a person’s middle school years. Over time, this dry wit morphs into biting sarcasm that eviscerates other people in loveless hostility. Or, the log might begin as a feeble lie meant to make yourself look better than you actually are. Rather than addressing the subtle speck, in time, the log grows to the point that you’ve become a mere caricature of the good Christian who’s all style and no substance.

THE LOG IS EXCUSED AS PART OF YOUR PERSONALITY

As a result, we are prone to conflate our sinful actions with our natural predispositions or inborn personality traits. The log has been around for so long that we assume it’s just how we are made.

Take the sin of worry for example. If I allow the sin of worry to fester in my heart as a teen-ager, then the log will continue to grow. Over time, I’ll get used to the log and fail to notice that it’s there at all. Then, when I do notice it—most likely when someone else points it out—I’ll excuse it away as just part of who I am.

“Well, I’ve just got an anxious personality,” I might say. Or, “I’m just the kind of person who speaks my mind” rather than “I’ve got a sin issue with controlling my tongue.” Such excuses more deeply embed the logs we are meant to extract.

WE’VE TRIED TO REMOVE THE LOG BEFORE AND FAILED

The best time to remove the log is when it first starts growing before you get comfortable with its existence. Some try—they see the sin for what it is and seek to extract it. But they fail.

It’s much like the process of removing a splinter. You get out the needle and the tweezers and go to work—but it hurts, the splinter is deep, so you give up. Intuitively you know that an ingrown splinter will lead to greater pain in the future, but for now, you’d rather not endure the pain.

Anytime you are reminded of the splinter you remember the pain of the last time you tried to remove it and quit before you even begin. Then, if you ever go to remove the splinter in the future, you find an infection that makes it painful to even touch the skin around the splinter. Now, any hope of removing the culprit will come with great pain.

THE LOG IS SOCIALLY ACCEPTABLE

So the logs remain, glaringly obvious to others but hidden from our eyes. To others, our speck looks like a log, and to us, their speck looks like a log, so few are actually seeing logs for what they are.

This problem is compounded by the cumulative effect of logs in a culture. If enough people fail to remove their logs, and their logs look a lot alike, over time certain logs become the cultural norm. Everyone has one. Like flannel shirts and skinny jeans, if enough people have them then no one is willing to call attention to how funny we all look with logs hanging out of our eyes. Logs of materialism or sexuality are difficult to address if everyone else is walking around with the same log protruding from their eyes as well.

WE KIND OF LIKE THE LOG

All of these factors build up a head of steam in our lives. We’ve had the log for many years. We begin to assume it’s just part of who we are. We think we can’t get it out if we tried. And, we start to spend our time with a bunch of log-eyed people.

In time, we find that we start to like the log. We begin to think we should just embrace it—after all, we couldn’t get it out if we wanted to. So, masked behind the foolish cliché of “just be yourself” we begin to flaunt the log in our eye. We wear it as a badge of honor and foolishly call “what is evil good and good evil” (Is 5:20).

This process, over time, makes the simple command of Christ one of the most difficult to practice. It produces a horde of log-eyed people who simply can’t see their log anymore. Not only are we blinded to our own sin, but we are incapable of helping our brothers and sisters address their sins either. Far better to assume today that I have a log in my eye, begging the Spirit to allow me to see it for what it is and remove it before it’s too late.                                                                                              

                                                                                                                                                                              Source: http://theblazingcenter.com/2016/09/everyone-can-see-the-log-hanging-out-of-your-eye-why-cant-you.html?utm_content=buffer3c84a&utm_medium=social&utm_source=facebook.com&utm_campaign=buffer

Autopsy of a Moral Fall

"Now when evening came David arose from his bed and walked around on the roof of the king’s house, and from the roof he saw a woman bathing; and the woman was very beautiful in appearance.So David sent and inquired about the woman. 

And one said, 'Is this not Bathsheba, the daughter of Eliam, the wife of Uriah the Hittite?' David sent messengers and took her, and when she came to him, he lay with her; and when she had purified herself from her uncleanness, she returned to her house."

(2 Samuel 11:2-4)

Why I Listen to Old People

"Give instruction to a wise man and he will be wiser still,

Teach a righteous man and he will increase his learning."

Proverbs 9:9

Ever since I was a child, as much as I can remember I have always been around older people. I remember so fondly growing up with my grandparents for the first seven years of my life, how having them in full view was perpetually inspiring. I don't remember a day of boredom. They were also my very first mentors. I never forget their counsel.

That's why I love this article by Josh Riley who writes of the value of learning from those who are both older than us, and those who have gone before us. It is these who often tell us about most crisis, "It's not a big deal." Or, "Pray about it child, God will take care of it all." Chuck Swindol once said that he feels sorry for anyone who does not have a mentor. It's such an undeniable pity. I must remember by God's grace, to stay close to my mentors and listen to those who have gone before me.

The more I “mature” in age, the more I find myself listening to old people.

We sometimes hear about the difference between new writers and dead guys.  The appeal of the dead guys, of course, is that they have gone on to glory and its too late for them to become heretics or major moral failures.

And the new guys have some fresh insights, having been exposed to a different world growing up than older folks.  But there is a middle ground of life experience we need to pay attention to: the old guys who have most of life behind them and the reality of impending glory before them.  They have much to say worth listening to.

And by old folks, I mean people in the last quadrant and season of life—roughly 60 or 70 and over.

Here are a few reasons why you should listen to old people:

1. Old people have lived more of life than the rest of us.  When they stand up to speak, they have a long track record of life from which to draw.  And much of that time was spent actually focused on living life rather than memorizing passwords, tweeting trivia, engaging with video games, Facebooking, and texting.  Much of that time was spent thinking, reflecting, and doing real things–often hard things– rather than watching people pretend to do real things on television. They know more about the human experience and the struggles of the human soul.  They have regrets.  Regrets we can learn from and, if we are wise, strive to avoid.

2. Old people are done with ladder-climbing and can speak the truth without fear of losing a job, donors, followers, blog readers, a career track, supporters, customers, conference invitations, record deals, or a popular reputation (those things shouldn’t impact any of us…but let’s be honest.  They do).  Do you ever wonder why modern-day preachers rarely speak out against heresy the way New Testament apostles did in virtually every New Testament epistle?   It’s simple, really.  We don’t want to lose our platforms.  If we speak the truth, we’ll anger the liberal heretics on the left, the conservative Pharisees on the right, and the money-changers who rule both and who control more of the religious trinket and publishing empires than we’d like to admit.  Truth is, we value acceptance over faithfulness—that’s why we hoard influence rather than dispensing 100 proof Truth.  Old people just don’t care about that kind of pretense any more.  They’re no longer trying to climb the ladder, so if they offend gatekeepers and aren’t invited to the latest conference, it’s OK.  They probably don’t want to fly all the way out there anyway.  They don’t have to walk on eggshells, fearful their church following might shrink, which in turn would shrink their own reputation, which would in turn shrink their own income and lifestyle.  It’s already shrunk, due to empty nest syndrome, age limitations, and the general downsizing of life that takes place at that age.  It’s so easy to justify compromise when we’re seeking fame and influence that we don’t recognize we are doing it…. until we get old and don’t need the fame to feel good about ourselves, the income to sustain a very comfortable lifestyle, or the reputation to impress the flock into buying our stuff.  Old people can truly view people as…well, people, rather than religious consumers. They are prepared to give people what they need, rather than what they want.  Having lived most of life, they have a better understanding of what people need, whereas younger people have a better understanding of what people want. They are willing to dispense spiritual surgery to address the rot in the soul, rather than hand out pretty Band-Aids, pain killers, and entertainment that do little more than cover up soul pain and make it feel good for a while.

3. Old people have walked with God and have seen and heard most all aberrant theologies and pharisaical perspectives.  They’ve seen personal shipwrecks caused by every kind of perverted theology from liberal “grace” abusers who turn grace into licentiousness, to conservative, legalistic Pharisees who have extra rules and rules and more rules for everybody.  Most of them have lived on both sides of the fence at some point in their lives and have learned to major on the majors and minor on the minors.  They fight for the gospel and ignore secondary issues, where the younger guys still fight for influence, acceptance, and a viral blog post, Instagram shot or video.

4. If they are truly regenerate, the older they get the more aware they are of their own shortcomings and the vastness of the grace of God. They’ve learned to enjoy growing and living in grace, and responding to it with obedience and gratefulness rather than callousness or performance standards.  They aren’t impressed with themselves and don’t waste much time on nonsense.  They realize how silly 95% of the stuff people on earth get excited about on earth really is.  They know they don’t have another 50 years ahead of them and so the things of eternity are becoming clearer to them as the clutter of life is pulled away.  They still believe God has a sense of humor but they somehow sense He isn’t laughing at most of the stuff we are laughing at on television.  They are more serious about life, and yet often less anxious at the same time.  They spend less time stressing in the pursuit of coolness, and more time resting in the pursuit of godliness…less time striving to be accepted by ungodly people or churchy people and more time enjoying the acceptance of God they already have.

Sure, there is a tendency in old age to become a grump, a curmudgeon, and a luddite resistant to change and technology.  But that shouldn’t prevent us from learning and listening.  After all, young folks have a few undesirable tendencies too.

So, that’s why I increasingly listen to old guys, not just dead guys and young guys.

Do you want to know what is temporal and cool?  Talk to a millennial.  Want to know how to make money?  Talk to a boomer.

But if you want to be wise?  Listen to some faithful old guys and ladies who have walked with God two or three times longer than you’ve even walked the earth.

The internet is filled with wisdom from some of these folks…people like Alistair Begg, J.I.Packer, Peter Lord, or Steve Brown, John Stott (recently deceased, sadly) and Billy Graham come to mind for me.

But you don’t have to just listen to “professional” Christians.  Some of the godliest and wisest men and women you’ll ever meet might be just down the hall in your own church.

Or even in your own family.

Lets learn from those who came before us and are still with us. 

Source: http://worship.com/2013/08/why-i-listen-to-old-people/