In recent posts, I have written about God’s servants feeling used and unappreciated, experiencing undeserved disrespect and resentment, and having hidden greed—a desire to be rewarded.
(Image from Pixabay)
From these very real and common perils, there emerge at least three timely lessons for all of us pastors to remember.
Lesson one: no servant of God is completely safe. A tough truth to accept! We who give and give become increasingly more vulnerable as time passes (read John 15:20).
Truth be told, there are times we’ll get ripped off. We will be used . . . even misused. We will feel unappreciated. But realizing ahead of time this will happen, we are better equipped to handle it when it comes.
I’ve been involved in a serious study of Scripture for more than half of my life. In all that time I have found only one place where Jesus Christ—in His own words—describes His own “inner man.”
(Image from Pixabay)
In doing so, He uses only two words. Unlike most celebrities, those words are not phenomenal and great. Jesus doesn’t even mention that He was sought after as a speaker.
Although it is true, He doesn’t say: “I am wise and powerful,” or “I am holy and eternal,” or “I am all-knowing and absolute deity.” Do you remember what He said?
The gentle and humble lifestyle of the Savior is nowhere more evident than in the scene recorded in John 13 where He washed the feet of His friends, the disciples.
(Image from Pixabay)
On that occasion He left us some timeless principles regarding serving God . . . principles we dare not ignore.
As a pastor, counselor, and seminary chancellor, I have often found myself in an unpopular spot. An individual who has come to me pours out his or her soul.
(Image from Unsplash)
And God very clearly leads me to confront or point out a few specifics that the person finds rather painful to hear, not to mention accept.
Suddenly, I become the verbal punching bag.
Now understand, I didn’t write the Book, and I in no way view myself as the individual’s judge, even though the person may think I do.
All of us pastors remember a man named Naaman, the high-ranking Syrian soldier. He was influential, wealthy, proud—a man of dignity, courage, patriotism, and military clout.
(Image from Pixabay)
There was only one problem: the man had leprosy. Through a chain of interesting events, Naaman was led to Elisha for cleansing from his dread disease (2 Kings 5:1–14).
It fell to Elisha’s servant to be the bearer of news the Syrian officer did not want to hear. As we read in the account, the high-ranking soldier was offended. In fact, he became enraged.
And look who was caught in the crossfire—the servant! The dear guy didn’t generate the news, he just communicated it . . . and boom! The result? Feeling and hearing the verbal blows of disrespect and resentment. You probably know where I’m going with this.
When I think of someone who may have felt used and unappreciated, Gehazi comes to mind. He was the servant who worked alongside the high-profile, greatly respected prophet, Elisha.
(Image from Pixabay)
After the Shunammite’s son suddenly died, Elisha dispatched Gehazi to the bedside of the mother’s son. We can be sure Gehazi’s heart was beating fast.
He must have anticipated an exciting response, as God would surely raise the lad from death. He would be involved in a miracle! But nothing happened. Not a thing changed.
Suddenly, Elisha burst on the scene, and phenomenal results occurred. A miracle transpired. The child was raised!
Does it surprise you that being a pastor is perilous? I doubt it. You live with the reality of it each day. But to some who are not in the ministry, serving others sounds as safe and harmless as a poached egg on a plate.
(Image from Unsplash)
What could possibly be perilous about it? Plenty.
As we examine Paul’s words in the fourth chapter of 2 Corinthians, I’d like to suggest several familiar misconceptions regarding serving God. Read the familiar words in verses four through seven carefully:
Nobody who was alive in the 1970s will ever forget Jonestown. At least, I hope not. That tragedy stands as a mute reminder of the awful results of a leader gone wild.
(Image from Pixabay)
I shall never be able to erase from my mind the same horrible scene that appeared on one television newscast after another.
It was not just death but a mass suicide—over nine hundred bloated corpses in the steamy jungle of Guyana.
People lying there in rows, “looking like full-grown rag dolls,” was how one reporter described them. Except for a few defectors who managed to escape at the last minute, every soul in that cult compound gave up his or her life as the leader demanded.
As I scan the lives of those I most admire in Scripture, I quickly discover that very few of them were loners. Not long ago, I spent almost a year studying the aging apostle John—a man who was still active in his mid-nineties!
(Image from Pixabay)
I’ve logged numerous hours perusing his first letter, which is filled with terms of endearment, like “little children” and “beloved” and his most-frequent exhortation, “love one another.”
John’s life remained intertwined with others. He never “outgrew” his need for people.
And believe it or not, when we get into that major work we call Revelation, which he wrote while all alone on the rugged island of Patmos, John isn’t halfway into chapter one before he identifies himself to his readers as,
Do you feel the tightening squeeze this time of year brings? On top of an already demanding schedule of preaching, teaching, counseling, and calling, you have had to add Christmas parties and programs . . .
(Image from Unsplash)
A creative Christmas series that you’ve never preached before—and still another eloquent sermon is coming up for the Christmas Eve service.
Such a schedule has a tendency to turn us into Scrooge-like characters, doesn’t it? (We secretly think: Humbug!) Work, work, work . . . nothing and no one will get in our way.
May I assume the role of one of old Scrooge’s ghosts for you? Let me escort you to your home. Peer into the window. Look closely. Is your chair empty at the dinner table?
