Page 4969 – Christianity Today (2025)

Sermon illustrations are tools. They can be used skillfully or clumsily. Poorly used illustrations dull the message and may even confuse the hearer. But illustrations deftly applied bring a message to life.

Here are 7 irrefutable laws I've learned.

1. Make illustrations fit the circumstance.

No tailor tries to adapt his client's body to fit a ready-made suit. Yet we preachers sometimes try to shape a sermon to fit a great story we're itching to tell.

A sermon illustration I hear often these days concerns the captain of a battleship who exchanges terse messages with a vessel dead ahead. Each vessel keeps telling the other to move aside. The denouement is that the other "vessel" turns out to be a lighthouse.

That illustration seems to belong best in highlighting our need to give way to the lordship of Christ. But I've heard it used as a minister was being introduced to a new congregation (Who was to give way there?) and-I confess-I've used it at a wedding reception, stating it was a wise man who knew when to give way to his wife!

It worked in each situation, but the story ought not be stretched too far just to allow an opportunity to use it. Obviously, the message to be preached ought to have priority over any illustration. If the latter is allowed too much latitude, we may lose the point of the sermon.

2. Keep a clear link to the message.

I'll never forget the horror of finding myself halfway through a dramatic illustration and realizing I had no idea whatsoever how the story applied to the sermon. Something must have caused me to jot the story in my notes, but I hadn't written any link to the main text. I had to cover the situation as best I could, but I'm perfectly sure that if I, the preacher, couldn't see a link, the congregation didn't either.

These days I always make crystal clear in my notes how the illustration fits. And if one phrase is vital to make the transition back to the message, I write it down and underline it.

3. Keep them short.

Some people are gifted storytellers, and the humor they inject in spinning a yarn greatly enlivens the message. But sometimes even a good illustration can be so long it detracts from the message.

I've used an illustration from my days at college when I played rugby. The story involved a long description of a teammate, Brian: his enormous physique and ugly appearance when he took out his teeth, how he wouldn't shave just to be more abrasive (literally) for the opposition, and so on. The story ends with Brian and an opponent swapping punches but cooling down when someone reminds them the match is only a friendly one-no trophy or promotion is at stake.

I used the story to illustrate that people fight when they feel there's something worth fighting for. I linked it to 1 Timothy 6:12, where Timothy is urged to fight the good fight. I asked, "What is there in life that is worth fighting for?" to which the answer was "eternal life."

In its original telling, the story took over five minutes. It could have been given effectively in less than two. But my story pales against one I heard from a preacher who went on some fifteen minutes with a single illustration. Considering the whole sermon was only about twenty-five minutes, that was quite a chunk of the whole.

Jesus did tell several lengthy parables, but many were short. John 14:18 contains a masterful illustration in few words: "I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you." The connotations of being abandoned and alone are all there, with the reassurance that this would not be the disciples' experience-and all in one sentence. Luke 5:36-39 has three parables in just four verses.

With only so much time in any one sermon, we ought to give no more to any one illustration than it warrants.

4. Never risk embarrassing others.

I can tell all the stories I want against myself, but to embarrass someone else can destroy relationships.

The classic example: ministers who embarrass their children. One minister's daughter said that as a child she dreaded each Sunday, wondering what personal stories about the family would be told.

And the preacher who uses pastoral experiences to provide living illustrations will soon find that not many seek his help. Even telling stories about people from a previous pastoral charge will warn off many who don't want anyone to know their secrets-ever.

If I want to use personal stories, I make it a point to obtain permission first. And I don't use quasi-spiritual blackmail: "I know you'll want to help others who are struggling as you were."

5. Withhold trivial details.

I've told my congregation how I still keep a stool that is too wobbly for anyone to sit on. Many years ago at school, I made it in a woodworking class, and because I made it, it matters to me. From there it's easy to speak about God's love for this broken world.

That's acceptable, even though the subject is of little importance. But what's not acceptable is to litter an illustration with trivial details.

Suppose I'd related the illustration like this: "Keeping a tidy home is an ideal for which we should all strive. And that means there's always dusting and cleaning to be done, along with sorting through the things we collect over the years. Do you know, as I sat in my study the other day, reading the mail, studying the Bible, and praying for each one of you, my gaze strayed to the corner of the room. There, almost in darkness, sat something that is very old now, and could so easily have been cleared out years ago. . ."

The congregation by that point has fallen asleep with boredom, and we haven't even heard yet that a stool sits in the corner.

An overweight man makes slow progress and usually dies prematurely. So does an overweight illustration.

6. Beware the illustration that is too striking.

Normally an illustration should be as striking as possible. But it's possible to go overboard.

I was preaching on the importance of a daily relationship with God, but I wanted to stress an important prerequisite. So, dropping my voice and lowering my head, I continued: "My friends, I have to tell you in all seriousness that there was a time when I did not love my wife at all." The congregation got very quiet. "It wasn't that love burned low. To be honest, I'd have to say I felt nothing at all for Alison."

The hush by now was total. People told me later they thought some terrible confession was coming next. "Yes," I went on, "and it continued like that for twenty-one years – until I met her!" There was one more moment of silence, and then guffaws of laughter as people realized I'd led them on.

I continued by saying we cannot love someone we haven't even met, and so before we can have a living, loving relationship with God, we have to meet him-to be born again. However, after such a heart-stopping illustration, no one was listening to me. People were still distracted by the illustration. After it was all over, the illustration was a great talking point, but who remembered the application?

7. Humor yes, jokes no.

Few of us can tell jokes, and we probably shouldn't anyway. The pulpit is not a comedian's platform.

And yet a careful use of humor can instantly bring back the congregation's wandering attention. The golden rule here is to make sure the story moves the sermon in the right direction and isn't being told just because it's funny.

I've used one about a department store that employed an efficiency expert. He kept changing things around; every day departments were moved to new parts of the building as the expert tried out new ideas. After two weeks of this, an elderly lady approached the doorman. In an exasperated tone of voice, she complained she could no longer find the millinery department and asked if he could please tell her where it was. He replied: "No, madam, I cannot. However, if you will just stand there for a moment, I'm sure you'll see it go by!"

I used that story in a sermon on change, making a point about the pace of modern life and the bewildering effect it can have on us. The danger is that humor can be more distraction than illumination.

Used well, illustrations make the difference between incomprehension and understanding, between dormancy and vitality, and thus between a forgettable and a memorable message. These basic rules help keep me from attaining the opposite of what I desire.

– J. Alistair Brown was minister at Gerrard Street Baptist Church, Aberdeen, Scotland.

Copyright © 1991 by the author or Christianity Today

HELPING ELDERS EVALUATE THEMSELVES

During a recent performance evaluation, I allowed a long suppressed desire to surface; “I wish elders faced an evaluation of their ministry-not just pastors.”

One of the elders picked up on my comment. “I think that’s a great idea,” he said. “Let’s do it!”

So we did.

My associate and I designed a simple tool for our elders to use in self-evaluation. We wanted to help them look at their performance in three areas: their constitutionally mandated responsibilities, their level of visible involvement in church life, and their personal spiritual growth. They were also asked to comment on the overall effectiveness of our board of elders.

Board members responded with enthusiasm when the idea was proposed. The forms were distributed, and they agreed to be ready to discuss their responses at the next month’s meeting.

Self-evaluation questions

We asked our elders to consider these six areas:

1. Elders are charged with the primary responsibility of helping believers grow. This includes shepherding, visitation, discipling, and teaching ministries.

-Present areas of involvement:

-Evaluation of my present level of involvement:

-Evaluation of my effectiveness:

-Plans for improvement:

2. Elders are to exercise oversight and liaison with other boards and commissions.

-Present areas of involvement:

-Evaluation of my performance:

-Plans for improvement:

3. Elders are to model the involvement and participation level expected from all members.

-An effective elder’s level of church involvement should include:

-My typical weekly church activities include:

-Evaluation of my pattern of participation:

-Plans for improvement:

4. Elders are to be growing in their walk with God, including knowledge, intimacy, and obedience.

-Areas of growth in my life in the past year:

-Evaluation of my present walk with God:

-Plans for developing this relationship:

5. In reviewing my involvement as a board member, I would make the following comments:

6. In reviewing the activities of our board, I would make the following observations:

-Strengths:

-Weaknesses:

-Suggested changes:

Discussing our responses

The meeting took place, but the discussion did not. The initial enthusiasm waned before the difficult task of self-evaluation. “I forgot to bring the form with me,” said one; “I didn’t have a chance to complete it,” said another. The comments seemed to reveal a natural reluctance as well as busy schedules.

In spite of that stuttering beginning, the discussion that finally took place after still another month was marked by a refreshing degree of openness and honesty.

Our board chairman started the process by responding to the first question in a very open manner. He then asked each elder to share his own response, and we proceeded through the entire form in that manner. That hour proved to be a highlight of my year! It continues to reap such fruit as:

• Honesty. Comments like “I’ve not been consistent in my quiet times this past year” or “I know I should be teaching a Sunday school class, but . . .” or “My wife and I seldom pray together” remove the masks we so often wear. Sharing our weaknesses and inadequacies with our peers is tough to do but is of inestimable value.

• Ministry. A cross-fertilization of ideas and solutions flowed naturally from the honesty everyone expressed. It’s nearly impossible to help those who think they have no need. On the other hand, admission of need invites ministry: “I have had that problem too, but God is helping me deal with it. Here’s how … ” Since those who helped had already revealed some of their own problems, the counsel came from fellow-strugglers, not elevated superiors.

• Sensitivity. I was personally helped as my elders removed their masks. When a man says, “I’d like to attend prayer meeting, but I leave the house every morning at 5:30 A.M.,” my frustration with his absence begins to melt. Seeing them in a new light renewed my sense of compassion for them. I became more sensitive to their unique circumstances. I suspect that they in turn will be better able to deal with mine as well.

• Expectations. “Why of course elders should attend every service!” But do they know that? “Certainly they should teach a Sunday school class or lead a Bible study regularly. An elder should be ‘apt to teach!'” But have they ever been informed of that? We call them unwritten rules or expectations, and each position carries its own set.

As our elders discussed the previous year, some of those unspoken expectations crept out of the closet so we could examine them. Some were rejected, and others were endorsed. This was especially helpful to elders who were new to the board: “At least I know what’s expected!” It was also good for those who carried unrealistic expectations to acknowledge, “We’re asking too much.”

• Accountability. With no pay raise to dangle in order to increase productivity, we sometimes assume we’re helpless in the face of poor elder performance. I’ve found that a shared self-evaluation drives people back to an even more effective motivator: the desire to display integrity.

Well, it’s nice in theory, but does it make a difference? It certainly does. One example is a younger man who established the goal of weekly Sunday school attendance. He has been faithful since that day, and everyone benefits-including the man, his family, and his church. This visible change has been matched by other goals, more private by nature, that will result in lasting fruit in the years to come.

At first we made this an annual exercise for our elders, but it helped so much that we’re now planning semiannual evaluations. We also want to develop similar evaluations for other church leaders. It has been a delight to see “iron sharpen iron.”

-Peter Pendell, pastor, Millington Baptist Church, Basking Ridge, New Jersey

DIAL 800-BIBLE

Offering spiritual guidance to those who wish to remain anonymous is a challenge, but in Upland, California, a telephone number is available twenty-four hours a day through a unique outreach program of the United Church of Christ. “Bible Call” offers a smorgasbord of prerecorded messages on Christian topics.

“This is not a counseling service,” says Gilbert Allen, pastor of the sponsoring church. “Instead, it’s a church outreach program that quotes biblical passages concerning problems people face every day.”

Each tape begins with a brief introduction: “Within the pages of the Bible are the answers to our most pressing needs. Accept only what you can read for yourself from your own Bible.” The tape runs for five minutes, and callers are encouraged to record the messages for future reference or to note Bible references for later study.

Also on tape are Bible stories for young children. One young person calls regularly to hear the story of Abraham. Many latch-key children call when they get home from school. In addition to pre-selected tapes that automatically play twenty-four hours a day, callers can request specific tapes during certain hours when volunteers handle the calls and play the tapes.

The busiest times are the few days immediately following publication of local newspaper ads that list the inventory of tapes available. Calls also increase following media reports of national and world-wide crises.

Tapes on loneliness and human suffering remain constantly popular. If callers want further information, reading materials on any subject are sent free. Free Bible study correspondence courses are offered. Persons completing a course receive a certificate presented to them at home by Pastor Allen.

If a caller seems deeply disturbed, such as a young girl who called in with questions on suicide, the option of seeking help from two area Christian counselors is offered. Most callers prefer anonymity.

“We find that many people who are lonely don’t want to admit it, although everyone suffers loneliness. Our messages tell them they’re never alone. God is always with us,” reports Allen. “One day a listener arrived at 8 A.M. requesting to be baptized. Another man called to ask if he, too, could be baptized some evening after work.”

Allen says the telephone outreach program is twofold: it helps the church reach a large number of people from the community, and it involves the older people from the church who answer the phones. The program, which costs approximately $6,000 annually, is popular with the congregation because members believe that in helping others, they also help themselves.

-Rita Robinson Bear City, California

SURROGATE GRANDPARENTS

Coming to a small, mainly older congregation in rural Tuelon, Manitoba, Canada (population 1,200), Pastor Earl Phillips was faced with the challenge of reaching young families most of whom reside on nearby farms.

Using birth announcements from the local newspaper, he writes congratulatory letters to families of newborns. He encloses two informative and inexpensive booklets from the World Home Bible League: Dads Only and A Miracle of Love. (Telephone in Canada: 416-7412140; U.S.: 708-331-2094.)

Each family’s name is forwarded to a volunteer senior couple in the congregation. That couple makes contact with the family of the newborn. Acting as surrogate grandparents, they provide food, child care, and friendship as needed. In many cases, rewarding relationships develop.

Over a recent eighteen-month period, twenty-four letters were sent to area families. Five families attended church-a 20 percent response. Three of the families have established a continuing relationship with Teulon Gospel Tabernacle.

“We anticipate a growing ministry to families,” says Pastor Phillips, “and we are compiling a list of children, which will assist us in implementing a new children’s ministry.”

What’s Worked for You?

Can you tell us about a program or activity that worked well in your church?

LEADERSHIP pays $35 to $50 (depending upon length) for each published account of fresh and effective ministry.

Send your description of a helpful ministry, method, or approach to:

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Copyright © 1991 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

We usually view other people’s jobs in their glamour moments. We see a surgeon appreciated for a dramatic and successful operation. We see his Mercedes parked in front of his plush home and think, It would be great to be a doctor. We forget about the difficult years of education, the late-night phone calls, the patients who don’t survive, or the families that sue.

We see a basketball coach carried off the floor after winning a championship, and we sigh, “It must be rewarding to be a coach.” We don’t think about lengthy practices, tedious game films, agonizing defeats, or players angry about their lack of playing time.

We may see the minister of a rapidly growing church in much the same way. We see the increased attendance, the expanding influence, and requests for speaking engagements, and we think, How rewarding to minister to a growing church.

For twenty-four years I have been privileged to minister to a growing church. It has been wonderful to watch a church grow in two decades from 125 to more than 5,000. I wouldn’t want to change places with anyone. But there is a downside to ministry in a growing church that many don’t see.

I recently attended a gathering of a dozen pastors from large churches. A special guest was Gordon MacDonald, who pastored a growing church in New England for a number of years. He suggested that we don’t yet know the long-range effectiveness of megachurches; they only recently have appeared in church history.

“The first test,” MacDonald told us, “will be what the megachurch does to those of you who lead one. Business executives know that the average CEO lasts only six years. It will be interesting to see where you are six years from now.” Then MacDonald added, “The growing church can become a monster that devours the very person who helped create it.”

As he spoke, I thought of the many ministers of large churches who have fallen to immorality, greed, heresy, or egotism.

Along with the many positive aspects of ministering to a growing congregation, there are also some drawbacks. Whether a church grows from 100 to 200 or from 500 to 5,000, we are wise to consider the full picture.

The Positives

Before we look at the dangers, I want to mention at least two benefits I’ve enjoyed as a minister in a growing church.

ÂA sense of well-being. A growing ministry has boosted my self-esteem. Many preachers suffer discouragement. They see little fruit from their labor and often feel like failures. The ensuing battle with poor self-image can have a negative effect on several areas in the minister’s life. In marriage, for example, the minister may look to his mate for support the spouse cannot give.

One minister friend received a nasty anonymous note at home. He was so discouraged with the criticism that he did something he rarely did-he shared the letter with his wife, who was not exactly enamored with his ministry. She read the letter and said, “I agree with it!” That’s discouraging!

But when the church grows, the minister gets a lot of positive strokes-notes of appreciation, verbal praise, and public recognition. When the numbers go up there is a feeling of accomplishment, a sense that “God is really working through me.”

Such a boost to self-esteem can raise both the minister’s confidence and effectiveness as a leader.

ÂAdditional resources. Another advantage of serving a growing church is-usually-a higher salary. Even though growing churches are almost always in debt and promising to do better by their pastors, I still make more than many in ministry. This leads to two tangible benefits

First, my family doesn’t have to live under the kind of constant financial stress that plagues so many preachers’ homes. My wife and I have had sufficient resources to get away occasionally and play golf or celebrate special occasions.

The best benefit has been that with the exception of my first year in ministry my wife has not had to work outside the home. My wife has shared in ministry, and she’s had the freedom to focus her energy and attention on the home. For that I’m grateful.

The Negatives

Ministers see church growth almost exclusively in a positive light. But other factors in an expanding ministry can blindside us if we’re not careful.

ÂAdditional pressure. When we minister to hurting people, our energy is depleted. Ministering in a growing church, then, means growing tension and emotional stress.

With a growing ministry comes increased expectation. Almost every minister has had someone say: “Hey, preacher, I’ve got a good friend who has finally agreed to come to church with me this Sunday! You better be good!” That creates pressure.

For me, sermon preparation puts on more pressure than sermon delivery. The better my preaching, the higher the expectations become, both from the congregation and from myself. I may exaggerate my role and think, If I don’t do well this Sunday . . . Every message becomes critical as self-imposed pressure mounts.

Feeding this pressure is the increased criticism that comes with a growing ministry. Someone suggested the only difference between a big dog and a little dog is that the big dog has more fleas. I’ve noticed that as the church has grown, I frequently receive critical comments, derogatory phone calls, and anonymous letters.

Recently, for instance, I was upbraided for the way I tried to make a point in a sermon about Jesus’ choice of disciples. I stated that if I could choose twelve assistants to impact the world, I would choose people like Diane Sawyer, Donald Trump, Zig Ziglar, Michael J. Fox, and Billy Graham. A woman called to express her dismay that I would link Donald Trump to Billy Graham.

A friend of mine preaches in a church that has grown from 150 to 300 in one year. He regularly receives critical anonymous letters from someone who signs each note, “The Thorn.” Attached to the first note was an explanation: since the apostle Paul had a thorn in the flesh, this writer felt this preacher should have one too, and thus, these notes say things the minister doesn’t want to hear. (My friend wants to find out who “The Thorn” is and send an anonymous letter signed, “The Hedge Trimmer.”)

I have the utmost respect for Dr. Billy Graham and others who regularly face thousands of skeptics and critical media people. I know I feel much more pressure with thousands in our worship service than I did when 125 attended.

A growing ministry also provides more frequent interruption. When the phone rings just as our family is leaving for a special activity, it’s not unusual for someone to say, “Don’t answer it!”

After church on Sunday morning, often one of those “very draining persons” pounces on me en route to the car. They have “just one question” and need “just one minute” of my time. But the conversation lasts considerably longer, and leaves my family squirming in the car.

This happens in churches of all sizes, of course, but in a growing church, those who interrupt are more likely to be strangers and the unexpected encounters more frequent due to my and the church’s increased exposure. Once as I stood in line to buy tickets at a movie theater, a man approached me: “I’ve been attending your church for several months. Could you tell me exactly what your church teaches about ‘once saved always saved’?”

While playing miniature golf with my family, I was interrupted by a woman wanting financial assistance so her children could attend a Christian school.

A local radio station thinks it is doing us a favor by playing my sermon tapes for free at 4:30 A.M. At 5:00 A.M. one Saturday morning, my phone rang, and a man said, “I just heard your sermon on baptism, and I have a couple of questions.”

At 7:30 I woke up and asked my wife, “Did someone call me this morning at 5:00? What exactly did I tell him?”

The demands of growing ministry can quickly drain me of emotional and spiritual energy. Getting out of our area code even for a few days helps. I also get refreshment with a round of golf, a visit to the lake, or an evening out with my wife. But I also need prolonged periods of retreat, times of meditation with God that replenish my spiritual reserves.

In recent summers I have taken off four to five consecutive weeks from preaching. This time off has benefited both me and the congregation. The church is reminded that the attention should be on Christ, not the minister, and I am rejuvenated for ministry.

ÂPhoniness. As ministry expands, it becomes increasingly difficult for me to be authentic. When there were 1,000 in our church, I knew almost everyone by name. When the number increased to 2,000, I still recognized most faces. But now I can’t do even that.

Yet I still feel like I should try to know everyone. Recently I saw a man at a community gathering who looked at me as though he recognized me. I smiled and nodded. He nodded back. I went over and shook hands and said, “How have you been?”

“Fine, and you?”Â

“I’m fine, too.”

“How’s your family?”

“Everybody’s doing well, thanks.”

“Some interesting people here don’t you think?”

“Sure are.”

We made small talk for about five minutes, when finally I said: “I’ve got to be honest with you. I can’t remember your name.”

He said: “I don’t know you either. Who are you?” We’d both been bluffing it for the entire conversation!

As ministry grows there’s a temptation to fake not only relationships but also knowledge. I used to know who was in the hospital, who had a new baby, who was having marital difficulty. But with greater numbers of people, I’m not able to stay in touch with all those needs. Shepherding responsibilities have been delegated. I still think, however, I should be aware of everything, so I’m tempted to bluff it.

That creates an unhealthy pretense. I’ve found that in a growing church, the minister must relinquish control of many areas and consequently may wrestle with feelings of inadequacy.

A friend of mine who preaches in a large church introduced himself to a couple in the church vestibule and asked if they were visitors. “No,” they said, “we’re members here. In fact, we’ve been youth sponsors for two years.” You can imagine his embarrassment.

The preacher with a pastor’s heart can feel guilty about not fulfilling the role of knowing every member as a shepherd knows the sheep. So we may be tempted to pretend to know about everyone; we may try to meet everyone’s needs. We become like the gossip who said: “I’ve got to go now; I’ve already told you more than I know!”

That kind of phoniness can be devastating to the minister’s family. Nobody likes a hypocrite, and my family members are the first to see if I have any pretense.

One of my constant prayers is: “Lord, help me to be authentic. Help me not to fake it. Help me not to say, ‘I’ll be praying for you,’ if I won’t. Help me speak the truth in love. Help me be a person of integrity.”

ÂBusyness. As the schedule becomes more hectic it is easy for the minister to suffer from what one writer labeled “Marthaplexy”-a disease of misplaced priorities. Martha served busily (and somewhat resentfully), but Mary focused on matters of the Spirit. The increasing demands of the ministry heighten the risk of Marthaplexy.

People ask, “Would you come speak to my group?” or “Would you play golf with us?” or “Would you eat out with us?” or “I need counsel; could you find time to help?”

When I comply too often with such requests, it becomes harder for me to seek first the kingdom, to sit at Jesus’ feet. I rationalize, “God will understand; after all, I’m doing his work,” but my logic falls short.

Busyness also threatens the minister’s marriage. During such times I am seldom home alone with my wife. When we are together, we are exhausted and rushed.

The multitude of demands can effect other relationships too. When spread too thin, I tend to have too few deep friendships, too little accountability, and too little opportunity to get off stage to relax and be real.

To cope with so many demands, I’ve had to learn how to say no. Left to myself I’d soon be meeting people at 10:00 P.M. and again at 6:00 A.M. for breakfast. Since it’s hard for me to say no face to face (I do like to please people), I’ve asked my secretary to help me. Now when I’m asked, “Would you . . . ?” I say, “I’d love to, but my secretary handles my calendar. Would you call her?” She limits my schedule and can say no much more kindly than I. This way I’m able to focus my efforts, and usually those needing attention get better help from others in the church than I could offer when I’m hurried.

ÂIncreased temptation. The preacher in a growing church may not be as vulnerable to the temptation of discouragement, but other temptations frequently surface.

In the midst of a large church, surrounded by success, it’s easy to get caught up in materialism. The cares, riches, and pleasures of this world can choke out the good seed of the gospel.

There is also the temptation to begin to believe the exaggerated praise thrown my way. As ego inflates, I can forget that God doesn’t use superstars-he uses servants.

Laziness lures the especially fruitful ministry. Everything can be delegated so efficiently that I could become slothful. I could coast and become careless while others do the work.

Temptations like these are a constant battle, and there are no easy solutions. Then again, I’m more likely to win these battles when I recognize the temptation for what it is.

With increased ministry, of course, comes increased sexual temptation. We are all too familiar with ministers of influence who have fallen in this area. Increased travel provides additional temptation. Increased influence creates greater appeal.

By God’s grace, I’ve not succumbed to this temptation, and one factor has been my wife. Among the many little things that help me in this area is the way she greets me at home.

When I came home at the end of the day, my wife used to announce, “Boys, your dad’s home!” She would act like it was a big deal for me to be home. One afternoon she didn’t hear me come in. After a long pause, one of my teenage boys called out, “Judy! Your husband’s home!”

Now that my sons are gone, she tells the dog when I arrive, “Bandit! It’s Bob!” We laugh about it, but I still like it.

The spirit may be willing to be unnoticed, but the ego is weak! When a minister feels like a hero at home, it’s a significant factor in overcoming the temptations of the flesh.

Someone has said, “I’ve been rich, and I’ve been poor. And believe me, rich is better.” I’ve ministered in a small church, and I’ve ministered in a large church. And, similarly, there’s a lot I like about the large church, despite the price to pay.

All in all, I’m thankful to God for the challenges as well as the rewards of a growing ministry.

Copyright © 1991 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

I bought The One Minute Manager. Then I bought Putting the One Minute Manager to Work. I like the idea of becoming a great leader in sixty seconds.

Given our ecclesiastical penchant for baptizing and marketing secular trends a few years after they've peaked, I've been waiting for someone to come out with The One Minute Pastor: A sixty-second guide to spiritual authenticity, vital prayer, and a fully-tithing congregation.

I wish it were possible. Sometimes I feel as if sixty seconds is all I've got. I went into pastoral ministry because I believe the quest to know God transcends all other pursuits. Yet I find the sheer busyness of this work hinders my pursuing God more than any other obstacle.

Often ministry actually reinforces my inattentiveness to God. And I have days when I feel if God really wants me to get all this work done, he'd better take care of his personal business with me in about a minute.

A phone call from a parishioner struck a chord. "I want to know God better, but prayer and reading Scripture always seems such an effort. Will that ever change?" I mumbled something about C. S. Lewis's insight that "what seem our worst prayers, those least supported by devotional feeling, may really be, in God's eyes, our best." But I didn't have much to say beyond that because she had asked the same question I was asking.

I began to wonder: Am I making any real progress in spirituality? Am I really any more like Christ today than I was five years ago? How do I even pursue that? I felt discontented and guilty about my own lack of spiritual development.

Then a statement in Dallas Willard's The Spirit of the Disciplines nailed me: "My central claim is that we can become like Christ by doing one thing-by following him in the overall style of life he chose for himself." If Jesus practiced solitude, silence, prayer, simple living, submission, and worship on a regular basis, the only way for me to become more like him is to arrange my life as he arranged his.

So I began trying to incorporate the spiritual disciplines into the life of a one minute pastor. I started with solitude and silence.

Accompanied in Solitude

Thomas Merton calls solitude the most basic of the disciplines, saying, "True solitude cleanses the soul." This was impossible to do at home. With three children under the age of five, our house has all the peace and quiet of Normandy beach on D-day. So each day I started coming into the office an hour or two before others arrive to take advantage of the stillness.

Then I decided to schedule a whole day away from the church for solitude. I waited for a week light enough to afford a workday away. It never came. So I finally designated a retreat day on the calendar and decided to work around it.

I had never taken a retreat like this before, and I wasn't sure what to do. In my tradition, a retreat is something you do with lots of other people, where you listen to speakers and lots of music, where there is always noise and activity to help you avoid silence and solitude. A really good retreat, by our usual reckoning, usually requires a week of rest afterward, for most are fashioned after the manner of General George Patton, had he been a Baptist.

My retreat, though, began in a chapel on a high bluff overlooking the ocean. The chapel is mostly glass, set in a grove of pine trees, designed so you can stand a few feet in front of it and hardly realize it's there. I sat down inside, alone, and began praying efficiently through a list I had prepared for the day-lest I should have nothing to do.

Sure enough, my worst fears materialized. By 10:30 A.M., I was prayed out. I had said everything I had to say, and God hadn't said anything at all. I wished one of us was more talkative.

So I went down to the shore and watched the surf come crashing in; I inhaled the salty sea breeze and thought about nothing. I was surprised how good I was at it.

It was while watching the sea gulls glide and the pelicans swoop and swerve and crash dive for their lunch that I understood what I was there to learn: my own life had become earthbound and wingless. I was plodding from task to task with blinders on, oblivious to the drama and passion of real life. I had shackled myself with my fear of not pleasing people. I had sculpted messages to find acceptance from those who happened to hold power over what I labeled success-even though their understanding of the spiritual life might not be the same as mine.

In solitude I observed that the purpose of flight is not just to find fish or a place to land. The purpose of flight is to fly, for the sheer joy of it.

The purpose of life is not simply to find techniques to be successful. The purpose of life is to laugh, to weep, to pray, to bring joy to my wife and children, to know God. Being saved means more than affirming a creed and avoiding a few highly visible behaviors. It means to live. Yet the lifestyle of a one minute pastor gave me no time to live, and hence no time to be saved.

Now I often spend my retreat days at the ocean. I still wrestle with restlessness, a sense that I should be doing something. But knowing these waves were crashing thousands of years before me and will be crashing thousands of years after me has a way of putting life in perspective and making me a little less messianic.

According to the Historia Anglorium, Canute, an eleventh-century king of England, decided to counteract the flattery of his counselors by sitting on a chair at the beach and forbidding the tide to come in. When it continued to come in, he took off his crown and hung it on a statue of the crucified Christ, and he never wore it again.

Silence Is . . .

Once a week I schedule a "quiet day," a fast from noise. I try to talk as little as possible. I take advantage of "quiet opportunities." For instance, I won't listen to tapes or the radio when I'm driving. During these days I realize how addicted to noise I've become.

By practicing silence, I have also grown aware that much of what I say is "impression management," designed to enhance my image. I was at a pastors' conference talking with two pastors when one of them asked the other how his church was doing, which is pastors' talk for "How big is your church?" and "How important are you?" After they both answered the question, they asked me the same, and I unthinkingly found myself about to inflate our attendance by fifty people.

In a moment of silence before speaking, it occurred to me, What am I trying to do? Am I really going to impress these people by convincing them the church is fifty people larger than it is? Am I really ready to sacrifice my integrity for the status gained by fifty lousy people? (So I stretched it by five hundred, figuring if I'm going to compromise my integrity, I might as well make it worthwhile!)

Reading Scripture Uselessly

Reading Scripture is another area where I fight the one minute battle. I used to try to save time by using the same texts for personal reflection I would later use for sermons. I've heard of pastors who center their devotional reading around material they will preach in three years.

But whenever I try to do something like that I end up focusing on how I can "use" the text in a message, and I relate it to every soul but mine. So I've had to deliberately read Bible texts I will not be preaching from.

I've also begun reading books that give specific exercises for visualizing or meditating on Scripture.

Spiritual Exercises, by Ignatius Loyola, has helped me greatly by prompting me, for example, to examine my conscience for the sin most destructive to me or to contemplate the consequences of sin.

The Freedom of Confession

The discipline of confession scared me more than any of the other disciplines. In spite of the fact that our culture values authenticity, being a pastor puts certain boundaries on self-disclosure. We can't just step into the pulpit and say, "I wrestled with lust this week, and I'm not sure I won."

Yet I wanted to do just that with someone-someone whose spirituality I respected, who could keep things confidential, offer unconditional acceptance, and be utterly truthful with me. I finally approached a friend of ten years who also is active in ministry.

We meet weekly for a time of confession. I attempt to disclose fully the attitudes and behaviors I've struggled with during the week. By now he knows my primary temptations, so he often comes at me with direct questions as well.

Finding the right place to meet can pose a bigger challenge than finding the right person. We'd finally settled on a snack bar at a local racquetball club. One Wednesday, while we each finished up an Orange Julius, one of us (who shall remain anonymous) talked about sexual temptations. When we got up to leave, we noticed two 10-year-olds at the next table hanging on our every word.

So now we meet at a secluded table or in empty tennis court bleachers, far from curious ears.

As awkward as I felt about beginning the practice of confession, now I can't imagine doing without it. Knowing I'm going to give account to somebody keeps me from falling into many traps I otherwise wouldn't avoid. And I get a tremendous sense of release from confessing to another person.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote, "Confession is the God-given remedy for self-deception and self-indulgence. When we confess our sins before a brother-Christian, we are mortifying the pride of the flesh and delivering it up to shame and death through Christ. Then through the word of absolution we rise as new men. … Confession is thus a genuine part of the life of the saints, and one of the gifts of grace."

Service Begins at Home

The discipline of service probably comes least naturally for me. One of the chief places I've tried to practice this discipline is at home. I'm often tempted to play I've Had a Harder Day than You, and I Deserve to Be Taken Care of by You with my wife. (Being a pastor is worth bonus points in this game. I'm not only doing work, I'm doing God's work.)

Recently on vacation at Yosemite, my wife and I, with infant in tow, had hiked about half a mile from our Toyota when we realized the baby's bottle had been left behind; someone would have to go get it. Since there was a tacit assumption (mine) that making sure we had the baby's bottle was my wife's job, I let her know I was frustrated at having to retrieve it.

I didn't say anything directly (like most pastors, I pout), I just gave her enough nonverbal clues to suggest I felt imposed upon.

It wasn't until the next morning that I saw I had turned what could have been an act of service, however tiny, given joyfully in love, into an act of withdrawal and self-preoccupation.

So I've started scheduling times when I take care of the kids or do extra things around the house, and I make an internal commitment not to keep track. I'm still no Brother Lawrence around the house; I've not made an omelet and then thrown myself on the ground in adoration and praise. But at least I've scrambled eggs a few times. And I'm more likely to help clean up afterward.

The Fasting Track

I wasn't sure how to use fasting when I initially tried it. The whole activity was foreign to me. It conjured up images of emaciated types in loin cloths who looked like Gunga Din.

My primary discovery the first day I fasted was how many fast-food restaurants there were in our community.

I've also discovered how much church life tends to revolve around eating: Wherever two or three Baptists are gathered together there shall be coffee and Winchell's doughnuts in the midst of them. It's been humbling to find out how much I think about food.

It has become progressively easier, however. Somehow-and I don't know what the connection is-when I fast I become much more aware of how hurried I am. I've also discovered a real link between fasting and the ability to resist cravings for things besides food.

Fasting is sometimes hard to reconcile with home life. One night when I had forgotten to tell my wife I was fasting, I came home to spaghetti that had been cooking all day just for me, and there was homemade cheesecake for dessert. I quickly decided that the discipline of submission and pleasing my wife was more important that evening than maintaining my fast.

A Disciplined Pastor?

Has practicing the disciplines made me a better pastor? I don't know. I hesitate to ask; one of my problems as a one minute pastor is the tendency to measure everything in terms of career enhancement.

I know one thing: I'm not very good at any of the disciplines yet. Thomas Merton wrote, "We do not want to be beginners. But let us be convinced of the fact that we will never be anything else but beginners all our life!"

I suppose the main thing I've gotten from the disciplines so far is hope-that the effort to become more like Christ has a definite shape. It's no longer just a vague desire. There are things I can do. And, given a lifetime, real change is possible.

That's good news. Because there are no one minute angels.

Copyright © 1991 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

The phone rang at home late one Monday afternoon. The voice on the line said, “Mike, did you know Grace is being transferred by ambulance to Greeley for heart bypass surgery?”

I didn’t know.

Since I had to watch our two preschool boys while my wife earned our living, I couldn’t get away immediately. When she finally arrived, I raced to the hospital, only to miss the ambulance by minutes-another frustration for a full-time pastor at part-time pay.

Grace’s family later told me they hadn’t wanted “to bother me.” Bother me! A pastor’s job means being there in a crisis. But they didn’t call because they knew I was occupied watching my boys while my wife worked.

Many pastors don’t have the luxury of a full-time salary from their church. An informal survey of our denomination’s Rocky Mountain district revealed that fourteen of fifty-nine pastors work jobs in addition to their pastorate, five raise home mission support, and twelve, like myself, rely on income earned by their wives. Juggling job, family, and ministry can be frustrating.

We began our ministry in Laramie, Wyoming, knowing the church could not pay a full salary. We thought that would change. It didn’t. Laramie is a university town with tremendous turnover. The Laramie directory changes 4,000 of its 10,000 addresses every year. Although Wyoming ranks ninth among the fifty states in area, it is last in population. Pronghorn antelope nearly outnumber people. Families uprooted by economic swings in the oil industry come and go in their search for work. I often feel as if I’m preaching to a parade: people keep moving on.

It wasn’t that the church wouldn’t pay us more; it simply couldn’t.

My expectation of the ministry and the reality of my situation didn’t mesh. In seminary I learned and in my first pastorate I practiced a reasonable pastoral schedule: study in the morning, visit in the afternoon, attend meetings at night, and take Mondays off. Most of these expectations went out the window when I moved to a church that couldn’t support us fully.

My wife and I began looking for work. Within two days Robin, with her MBA, found an office manager’s job paying three times more than anything I could find. I would be the at-home parent while she worked.

Robin’s income eased our financial shortfall, but my schedule now revolved around hers. Pastoral ministry no longer fit so neatly into evenings and weekends. Once I reserved a Good Friday for sermon preparation, knowing Robin would not have to work. But her boss called her in to prepare sales figures for the store. Once again my schedule came second. Robin and I argued more than at any other time in our marriage.

Despite Robin’s job, I still worried about paying the bills. Several times the church couldn’t pay my salary. I would read Scripture, “Have no anxiety . . .” and become more anxious. Normally athletic, I turned my anxieties inward and ate myself up to 200 pounds.

I preached and practiced lifestyle evangelism and church growth, but when the church didn’t grow, I felt like a failure. My self-esteem rose or fell with the size of the Sunday morning worship attendance. No matter how well I prepared my messages, nothing seemed to happen. My prayers for growth went unanswered.

I felt jinxed doing visitation. People with whom I spent a lot of time and effort seemed to end up at other churches with larger programs. I considered applying to law school or getting a teaching certificate. I questioned my calling.

Yet despite these frustrations, I learned to do several things that kept me going:

ÂRedefine success. God reminded me of my original call to ministry; 1 Timothy 3 again spoke powerfully to me. Kent and Barbara Hughes’s book, Liberating Ministry from the Success Syndrome, helped me focus on biblical success: I could be successful in God’s eyes even in a small, struggling church.

ÂScale back expectations. I focused on preaching and pared back other areas. I streamlined my study habits. Instead of translating an entire preaching passage from Greek or Hebrew, I zeroed in on key words and phrases. My preaching became more personal and less academic.

An Inter-Varsity staff member’s perspective encouraged me. He said, “Just to maintain ministry in such a turbulent town as Laramie is a tremendous accomplishment.” Instead of regretting what I couldn’t do, I began to accept what had been done.

ÂSee the advantages. The extra hours with our two preschool boys enabled me to know them as few pastors could know their children. We developed special relationships, and Andy and Tim will often come to me first with their hurts and joys. I gained new sympathy for mothers of preschoolers. I could also identify with the student dads in town who also watched their own kids. I was a proud ministerial “Mr. Mom.”

I understood two-career Christian families as never before. I empathized with them as we crammed church, job, family, school, and recreation into too few hours. My philosophy of ministry changed accordingly. Our church board planned activities in which entire families could participate, such as hikes and picnics in the mountains.

To compensate for my time limitations, lay leaders in the church took on more responsibility. For example, I trained four couples how to lead our midweek home Bible study. A student wife cheerfully watched our boys two mornings every week. In addition, she effectively led our high school youth group. Another woman, an organizational whiz, coordinated church activities like picnics and potlucks. Two men handled our church finances in a professional manner. In a step of faith, the church began paying our health insurance premium.

Because we operated out of our home instead of a church office, neighborhood contacts were natural. We made close friends with several non-churchgoers. One couple, former Catholics, even asked about dedicating their baby boy in our church, which led to a fruitful discussion about what a real Christian is.

I began looking for other good things to be found in our circumstances and gained new appreciation for this part of the country. I climbed 13,000-foot peaks. I caught wild rainbow trout in pristine settings. I saw and smelled the Yellowstone fires of 1988 firsthand. I enjoyed the small-town college atmosphere with its educational and cultural opportunities. I became a rabid Wyoming Cowboys basketball fan.

My frustrations eased with the birth of our third son, Matthew. Robin returned to work six weeks later, but only part-time. Matthew, nicknamed “Chuckles,” possessed a delightful disposition. Andy began kindergarten in the mornings, and I felt freed up for more ministry.

I still live with tensions, however. If I’m not in the ministry for the money, why do I worry so much about it? Those same extra pounds still hang around my waist. Watching my kids still wears me out. I fight fits of depression about whether I’m a ministerial success or failure.

But through it all, God has been faithful. He held on when I felt like letting go and made it possible for me to be a full-time pastor in spite of part-time pay.

-Michael F. Coughlin

Snowy Range Evangelical Free Church

Laramie, Wyoming

Copyright © 1991 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Stadtratte

For almost all of the eighteen years I have served in ministry, I have monitored myself closely in two areas, continually checking two gauges on the dashboard of my life.

Until recently, I thought that was enough.

First, I kept an eye on the spiritual gauge, asking myself, How am I doing spiritually? Apart from Christ I can do nothing. I know that. I don't want my life's efforts to be burned up because they were done merely through human effort, clever tactics, or gimmickry. I am gripped by the fact that I must operate in the power of the Holy Spirit.

To keep my spiritual gauge where it needs to be, I have committed myself to the spiritual disciplines: journaling, fasting, solitude, sacrifice, study, and others. Like many Christians before me, I have discovered that these disciplines clarify spiritual issues and pump a high-octane fuel, providing intensity and strength for ministry.

Even though the pace of ministry has dramatically quickened in the past few years, I honestly don't think I often misread my spiritual gauges. Looking at my life's dashboard, I can tell when I am spiritually half full, three-quarters full, or, sometimes, full.

When I'm full spiritually, I can look at my life and honestly say I love Jesus Christ and I'm attending to my spiritual disciplines and keeping myself open to the leading of Christ. When I'm spiritually full, I don't need to apologize for my motives. I can truly say: "I'm not in ministry because it gives me strokes. I'm excited about the fruit being borne through the ministry of Willow Creek."

Second, I have monitored the physical gauge-How am I doing physically? I know that if I push my body too hard, over time I will experience a physical breakdown or psychosomatic complications associated with high stress.

If I don't exercise, eat properly, and rest, I will offer the Lord only about two-thirds of the energy I have the potential of giving. The Holy Spirit tugs at me to be wholly available-mind, soul, and body-for the work to which he has called me.

Consequently, I have committed myself to the physical disciplines of running and weight lifting. I closely watch what I eat. And I receive regular medical check-ups.

The Near Crash

Since these spiritual and physical gauges-the only two on my dashboard-have consistently signaled "go," I have pushed myself as hard and fast as possible. But recently a different part of my engine began to misfire.

While preparing for a particularly difficult series of sermons, the message that week wouldn't come together. No matter how hard I tried, no ideas seemed worth saying. Suddenly I found myself sobbing with my head on my desk.

I've always been more analytic than emotional, so when I stopped crying, I said to myself, "I don't think that was natural." People who know my rational bent laugh when I tell them that. Individuals more aware of their feelings might have known what was wrong, but I didn't.

All I knew was, Something's not right with me, and I don't even have time now to think about it. I'll have to journal about this tomorrow.

I forced my thoughts back to the sermon and managed to put something together for the service.

But the next morning as I wrote in my journal I considered, Am I falling apart in some area spiritually? My gauges said no. My practice of the disciplines seemed regular, and I didn't sense a spiritual malaise. Physically, am I weak or tired? No, I felt fit.

I concluded that maybe this was my midlife crisis, a phase I would simply have to endure. But four or five similar incidents in the next few weeks continued signaling that my anxiety and frustration could not be ignored.

Then I noticed I was feeling vulnerable-extremely temptable-in areas where I hadn't felt vulnerable for a long time. And the idea of continuing on in ministry seemed nothing but a tremendous burden. Where had the joy gone? I couldn't bear the thought of twenty more years of this.

Maybe God is calling me to a different kind of work, I thought. Maybe he's getting my attention by these breakdowns in order to lead me to a different ministry. Maybe I should start another church or go back into a career in the marketplace.

At that time, the church was deciding whether to take on a major building expansion, which intensified my feelings. I knew that if we moved ahead, it would be unconscionable for me to leave the senior pastorate until the expansion was complete. Yet when I looked honestly at whether I wanted to sign up for another three or four years, the answer scared me. It was a big fat no.

You don't feel like it anymore? I asked myself in disbelief. You want to bail out? What is happening to you? Maybe I did need a change of calling.

Whatever it was, I was astounded that I could be coming apart, because I put so much stock in the spiritual and physical gauges, and neither of them was indicating any problem.

The Overlooked Gauge

After a Christmas vacation that didn't change my feelings, I began to seriously inspect my life. After talking with some respected people, I learned that I had overlooked an important gauge. The spiritual and physical aspects of life were important, but I had failed to consider another area essential to healthy ministry-emotional strength.

I was so emotionally depleted I couldn't even discern the activity or the call of God on my life. I needed a third gauge on the dashboard of my life.

Throughout a given week of ministry, I slowly began to realize, certain activities drain my emotional reservoir. I now call these experiences IMAs-Intensive Ministry Activities.

An IMA may be a confrontation, an intense counseling session, an exhausting teaching session, or a board meeting about significant financial decisions. Preparing and delivering a message on a sensitive topic, which requires extensive research and thought, for instance, wears me down.

The common denominator of these activities is that they sap you, even in only a few hours.

Every leader constantly takes on IMAs. I didn't realize, however, that I could gauge the degree of their impact on me. As a result, I was oblivious to the intense drain I was experiencing.

For example, many times while driving home from church, I would feel thin in my spirit. Sensing something wrong, I would examine my two trusted gauges.

In the spiritual area, I'd scrutinize myself: Did you give out the Word of God as best you knew how? Did you pray? Did you fast? Did you prepare? Were you accurate? Did the elders affirm the message?

If that gauge read normal, I would proceed to the physical area: Have you kept to your diet? Yes. Have you been working out? Yes. I must be okay. Buck up, Bill.

But something was wrong. I needed that third gauge-an emotional monitor-to determine my ministry fitness.

Often we attribute our discouragement to spiritual weakness. We berate ourselves: "I'm a bad Christian," or "I'm a lousy disciple." And sometimes our problem does signal that we are not rightly connected to Christ. Yet some problems in ministry stem not from spiritual lapses but from emotional emptiness.

Reading the Emotional Gauge

I have now committed myself to installing an emotional gauge in the center of my dashboard and learning how to read it. I take responsibility to manage the emotional reservoir in my life.

When my crisis hit, I didn't realize my reservoir was depleted until I (1) began to feel vulnerable morally, (2) found myself getting short and testy with people, and (3) felt a desire to get out of God's work. Suddenly I knew the tank was nearly dry.

Now my goal is to monitor my emotional resources so I don't reach that point. What signals do I look for?

If I drive away from a ministry activity and say, "It would be fine if I never did that again," that's a warning signal. Something is wrong when I look at people as interruptions or see ministry as a chore.

Another indicator: On the way home, do I consciously hope Lynne isn't having a problem and my kids don't want anything from me? That's a sign I don't have enough left to give. When I hope that the precious people in my life can exist without me, that's a sign of real trouble.

A third check for me is how I approach the spiritual disciplines. I journal and write my prayers. For months I found myself saying, day after day, "I don't have the energy to do this." I journaled anyway, but more mechanically than authentically. I dislike myself when my Christianity is on autopilot.

Each person has to find the warning signals for his or her own life. But after an intense ministry activity, it helps to ask some questions of yourself: Am I out of gas emotionally? Can I not stand the thought of relating to people right now? Do I feel the urge to take a long walk with no destination in mind? Am I feeling the need to go home, put on music, and let the Lord recharge my emotional batteries?

Recharging the Emotional Reserves

My next discovery was humiliating. I found that when my emotional fuel was low, I couldn't do an Indy pit stop and get a fast refill. Replenishing emotional strength takes time-usually more time than it took to drain.

The best analogy I can offer is a car battery. If you sit in a parking lot and run all your car's accessories-radio, headlights, heater, horn, rear defogger, power windows-you can probably sap that battery in about ten minutes. After that massive drain, suppose you then take the battery to a service station and say, "I'd like this battery charged. I'll be back to pick it up in ten minutes."

What would they tell you? "No, we're going to put the battery on our overnight charger. It's going to take seven or eight hours to bring it all the way back up." It has to be recharged slowly or else the battery will be damaged.

A slow, consistent charge is the best way to bring a battery back to full power. Likewise, to properly recuperate from an emotionally draining activity takes time.

When I first learned I couldn't get a quick emotional recharge, I shared my frustration about that with another pastor friend. He said, "Bill, you have found a rule you're not an exception to. You can fast and study the Scriptures and lift weights and do whatever you want, but there's no shortcut to rebuilding yourself emotionally. A massive drain requires a slow and steady recharge."

That discouraged me. I looked at my average week, and almost every day had an intense ministry activity-preparing a message, delivering a message, meeting with elders, or making some tough decision. I would find little snatches of refreshment during the week, but I finished most weeks with an emotional deficit. Then my family wanted me to have some fun and exciting things planned for them, but I was totally depleted.

I'm going to overload the circuitry, I said to myself. One day I'm going to find myself in the proverbial fetal position.

It has been humbling to take an accurate, honest reading of my emotional gauges. When I see my emotional gauge is reading low, I take time to recharge. Some people recharge by running, others by taking a bath, others by reading, others by listening to music. Usually it means doing something totally unrelated to ministry-golfing, motorcycling, woodcarving. The important thing is to build a ministry schedule that allows adequate time for emotional recharging.

Returning to Your Gift Areas

I've learned a second thing about maintaining emotional resources for ministry. The use of your major spiritual gift breathes life back into you. When you have identified your spiritual gifts and use them under the direction of Jesus Christ, you make a difference. You feel the affirmation of God, and many times you feel more energized after service than before.

I think of when Jesus had that important conversation with the woman at the well. The Twelve came back from buying food and said: "Jesus, you must be famished. We had lunch, and you've just worked through your lunch hour."

Jesus responded: "I've had a meal. I had food you're not aware of. I was used by my Father to connect with a woman who was in trouble." Jesus found that doing what the Father had called him to do was utterly fulfilling.

Conversely, serving outside your gift area tends to drain you. If I were asked to sing or assist with accounting, it would be a long hike uphill. I wouldn't feel the affirmation of the Spirit, because I wouldn't be serving as I have been gifted and called to serve. This is why many people bail out of various types of Christian service: they aren't in the right yoke.

The principle is self-evident, but unwittingly I had allowed myself to be pulled away from using my strongest gifts.

About the time Willow Creek was founded, I conducted an honest analysis of my spiritual gifts. My top gift was leadership. My second gift was evangelism. Down the list were teaching and administration. I immediately asked two people with well-developed teaching gifts to be primary teachers for the new congregation. God had given me a teaching gift, but it was far enough down the list that I had to work very hard at teaching-harder than a gifted teacher does. Both people declined to teach, however, and we had already set our starting date. I remember thinking, Okay, God, I'll start as primary teacher, but I'm doing it reluctantly. Please bring a teacher and let me lead and evangelize as you have gifted and called me to do.

Recently, when I hit emotional bottom, I decided to do another gift analysis. The results were exactly the same as eighteen years before: leadership and evangelism above teaching and administration. But as I thought about my weekly responsibilities, I realized I was using teaching as though it were my top gift. Seldom was I devoting time to leadership or evangelism.

I have talked with well-respected teachers across the country, and I have never had one tell me that it takes him more than five to ten hours to prepare a sermon. They have strong teaching gifts, so it comes naturally and quickly to them. If I, on the other hand, don't devote twenty hours to a message, I'm embarrassed by the result. I was willing to put in those hours, but slowly and surely, the time demand squeezed out opportunities to use my gifts in leadership and evangelism.

In order to adequately prepare my messages, I had delegated away almost all leadership responsibilities. And too often in elder or staff meetings, I was mentally preoccupied with my next message. My life became consumed by the use of my teaching gift, which wasn't my most fruitful or fulfilling ministry. Yet people kept saying, "Great message, Bill," and I wrongfully allowed their affirmation to thwart my better judgment.

Since realizing this, we have implemented a team-teaching approach at Willow Creek. It has been well received by the congregation and has allowed me to provide stronger leadership in several areas. It would be difficult for me to describe how much more fulfilled I'm feeling these days.

I have also found new opportunities for evangelism. Recently I met with three guys at an airport. One is a Christian, and the other two are his best friends, whom he is trying to lead to Christ. As we talked, I could feel the Holy Spirit at work. After our conversation ended, I ran to my gate, and I almost started crying.

I love doing this, I thought. This is such a big part of who I am. I used to lead people to Christ, but I've been preparing so many messages in the past five years that I've forgotten how thrilling it is to share Christ informally with lost people.

If I'm using a third- or fourth-level gift a lot, I shouldn't be surprised if I don't feel emotional energy for ministry. We operate with more energy when we're able to exercise our primary gifts. God knew what he was doing as he distributed gifts for service. As we minister in a way that is consistent with the way God made us, we will find new passion for ministry.

Balancing the Eternal and the Earthly

Finally, becoming emotionally depleted re-taught me a lesson I had learned but forgotten. I learned the hard way that a Christian leader has to strike a delicate balance between involvement in the eternal and involvement in the mundane. The daily things of life provide needed counterweight to timeless truths.

When we started the church in 1975, I had discretionary time that I used to race motorcycles, fly a plane, golf, and ski. I had relationships outside the congregation and interests other than the church.

Since that time, the needs of the church inexorably squeezed out these earthly pursuits. I became consumed with the eternal. I'm an early riser, so from 5:30 in the morning until I crash at 10:30 at night, barely one moment of time is not related to something eternal. I don't exercise at the YMCA anymore; I work out on equipment in my basement. While I'm cycling I read theological journals. When I pump weights, I listen to tapes or think of illustrations for a message. The eternal co-opted the daily routines.

In Jesus' day, people approached life differently. In the Bible, after Jesus ministers or delivers an important discourse, usually you'll find a phrase like this: "Then Jesus and the disciples went from Judea into Galilee." Those small phrases are highly significant. Such journeys were usually many miles long, and most of the time Jesus and his disciples walked. You don't take a multi-mile walk over a lunch break.

What happens on a long walk? Guys tell a few jokes, stop and rest awhile, pick some fruit and drink some water, take a siesta in the afternoon, and then keep going. All this time, emotional reserves are being replenished, and the delicate balance between the eternal and the mundane is being restored.

It's a different world today, and I wasn't properly aware of the changes. Put car phones and fax machines and jet airplanes into the system, and suddenly the naturally forced times for the mundane disappear.

Recently I made a commitment to speak in northern Michigan. Later the person who invited me called back and asked, "Can you give two talks while you're here?" I agreed. He called back several weeks later and said, "Bill, we need you to give three talks while you're here, and if you could meet with some of our people for breakfast, that would be great, too."

"How am I going to get there in time?" I asked.

"We'll send a plane for you."

Not too long after that call, another person called me from Texas.

"Bill," he said, "I'm in deep weeds. I've got a thousand college kids coming, and the speaker we had lined up bailed out. Most of these kids have read your book Too Busy Not to Pray, and we built the whole thing around your book. Could you help us out?"

"When is it?" I asked. He told me, and I said, "I don't think that's going to work, because I'm going to be in northern Michigan that morning."

He asked, "How are you getting there?"

"This guy's sending a plane," I said.

He said, "Well, could you call the guy and see if the plane could bring you down here?"

The result was that I got on a plane at 7:00 on a Friday morning and flew to northern Michigan, met with the leaders, gave three talks, and had a meeting over lunch. Then I got back in the plane and flew all the way to southern Texas, with a person pumping me for information most of the time. I met with another set of leaders over dinner, gave two talks, got back on the plane, and arrived home at 1 A.M. Saturday morning. Then I preached Saturday evening and twice on Sunday morning.

The point is that spiritually, I was fine-I had maintained my disciplines and was striving to obey Christ. Physically, I held up fine-it wasn't like running a marathon. But I was totally depleted emotionally.

I was filling my life chock full of eternal opportunities.

What's wrong with that? Besides the emotional drain, I realized two other hidden costs of such a ministry-centered lifestyle.

First, if you are concerned only with spiritual activities, you tend to lose sight of the hopelessness of people apart from Christ. You're never in their world.

Second, you lose your wonder of the church, of salvation, and of being part of the work of God. You can overload on eternal tasks to the point that you no longer appreciate their glories.

I should have known this, because what has saved my ministry are my summer study breaks. During those weeks away, in between studying, I jog or sail, often with nonbelievers. That's when I feel a renewed compassion for them, for I see afresh the hopelessness and self-destructiveness of life outside of Christ. During these breaks I also start missing worship at our church, and I begin craving relationships with the staff and elders.

Having enough of the mundane in my life makes me see the futility of the world and the wonder and delights of the Christian life. I cannot continue to work seventy- and eighty-hour weeks for many reasons, not the least of which is that they don't allow enough time to be away from the church so that I love it when I come to it.

Knowing this, I have renewed my commitment to integrate into my life more activities that are not church related. I'm golfing more. I recently enrolled in a formula racing school and learned to drive race cars. This past summer I learned how to barefoot ski. I want to fly airplanes. If I don't schedule these things-if I wait till my calendar opens up-they don't happen. In Christian ministry the needs of people are endless.

At a certain point I have to tell myself, Bill, you had better wake up to the fact that you're not going to get all your work done. It will be there tomorrow. I'm determining to live a healthy life so that I can offer more than a few short years of frenzied activity.

My goal is to monitor my spiritual, physical, and emotional resources so that I can minister, by God's grace, for a lifetime. I often think of Billy Graham, who has been a high-integrity leader for the cause of Jesus Christ for forty-five years. He's humble, pure-hearted, and self-effacing, and every day he draws on the sufficiency of Christ.

It was a penetrating thought for me to think, What if God wants to elongate my ministry? If God doesn't change his call in my life, can I continue to live at my current pace for another twenty years?

I knew I couldn't.

I'm convinced God wants us to live so as to finish the race we've started. That's the challenge of every Christian leader. And monitoring all three gauges-spiritual, physical, and emotional-plays an important part in our longevity.

Copyright © 1991 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

The question took me by surprise.

Had it come from a young pastor, I might have known how to respond. But the minister sitting across the chrome and formica table in the small-town cafe was no rookie.

“What should I be doing in my church?” he asked again.

Conventional wisdom would have pointed him to preaching, prayer, and pastoral care. But he was already doing those things. His struggle was deeper: not how to perform ministry skills, but in what direction to point them.

“I’m not a visionary, not a type-A personality,” he explained. “I don’t have grand ambitions or the inner drive to stretch people to accomplish great things. I’m a pastor. I enjoy talking with people about God, Scripture, life, death, their families, and their character.”

From my conversations with members of his church, I knew this pastor was well-liked.

“He’s real,” said one.

“We can tell he loves us,” said another.

Jerry’s frustration?

“I feel like I should be doing something more. But what? Where should I be putting my efforts?”

We talked about what made his church unique.

We reviewed how other churches selected their emphases-how one pastor, for instance, upon coming to a new and troubled church, spent the first year focusing on healing strained relationships, the next year developing the infrastructure (primarily small groups and the youth program), and in year three focusing on outreach.

We talked about what Jerry felt he should do to keep himself spiritually vital week after week.

I came away with a new appreciation for Jerry and for pastors who aren’t naturally given to vision or structure or goal setting.

I also came away determined that this issue of LEADERSHIP, while dealing with “Priorities and Pacing,” not add to Jerry’s burden but offer realistic and practical help.

I await Jerry’s honest evaluation, and yours, as we continue to help one another minister more faithfully and effectively.

* * *

With this issue, we welcome two new associate editors to LEADERSHIP.

Richard Doebler arrives from Crossroads Community Church, a church he planted six years ago in Plymouth, Minnesota. Before that, he spent seven years pastoring People’s Church in Dalhart, Texas.

While Rich has arrived, his wife, Sharon, and their three children, Nathan, Micah, and Jennie, had to remain in the Twin Cities until their house is sold. Despite his periodic trips home, Rich wondered how his absence would affect the children. When Sharon reported that the kids were doing fine and didn’t seem to miss him, Rich was a bit miffed, and said so.

The next time he called home, he asked Micah, 7, if he missed his daddy.

Micah, apparently aware of his dad’s need for reassurance, replied, “Oh, yes. I miss you so much I’m skipping a TV show right now just to talk to you.”

Also joining the editorial staff is Craig Brian Larson (who, because his father is Craig O. Larson, goes by Craig Brian in print and goes by Brian among his friends).

After graduating from Illinois State University on a gymnastics scholarship, Brian pastored, for eight and a half years, a home-missions congregation, Central Assembly of God in Chicago. Then three and a half years ago he moved to Arlington Assembly of God in Arlington Heights, Illinois.

Brian is no stranger to readers of LEADERSHIP, having written numerous articles, all well-received, including “Gaining Respect the Old-Fashioned Way” (Spring 1988) and “The Pastor as Survivalist” (Winter 1990). And he’s the author of Running the Midnight Marathon (Revell, 1991).

He and his wife, Nancy, have four children: Aaron, Benjamin, Mark, and Brian. No word yet on what name little Brian, age 2, will go by when he begins to publish articles.

I’m sure you’ll enjoy the writing and appreciate the editing of both of these men.

* * *

The research department at Christianity Today, Inc., LEADERSHIP’s parent company, keeps us current on the demographics of our readers.

Did you know, for instance, that 70 percent of our readers have a graduate degree, and that since 1982 our readers’ median age has remained 39 years old? (This is one place where you can remain 39 year after year.)

We also discovered that the average subscriber has been getting the journal for almost five years and spends more than two hours reading each issue. Eleven percent of our readers have gotten the journal from its inception in 1980.

From such a loyal group of readers, we frequently get requests to index our articles and reviews.

I’m happy to announce that we now have available the complete eleven-year cumulative index. For those who want to know every article we’ve published on sermon applications or how to track down that piece by Eugene Peterson that lodged in the soul, send $5 to:

LEADERSHIP Index

465 Gundersen Drive

Carol Stream, IL 60188

Of course, this probably won’t be of interest to the 11 percent of our subscribers who admit to just skimming the cartoons. But for the remaining 89 percent of you who read other parts, too, we’ll be happy to send an index.

Marshall Shelley is editor Of LEADERSHIP.

Copyright © 1991 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

At least one church's long-range planning committee has had long-term and international impact.

In 1958, Kennon Callahan, then minister of evangelism at Lovers Lane United Methodist Church in Dallas, Texas, began working with the church's long-range planning committee, developing a plan for the future mission of that congregation.

Other churches, sensing their need for long-range planning but uncertain how to proceed, heard about the approach and began to ask him to come and help them. Such grapevine invitations accelerated rapidly when in 1970 he joined the faculty of Emory University in Atlanta. From there, the reputation and consulting opportunities of Kennon Callahan expanded extraordinarily.

Kennon is a man who, with a quiet and steady passion, aims to help the church reach the world. He does that by putting to full use his "gifts, strengths, and competencies" (to use his phrase) in research, analysis, and long-range planning.

In 1983 he authored Twelve Keys to an Effective Church, filled with insights that pastors and church leaders eagerly consumed. The Twelve Keys Leaders' Guide and The Twelve Keys Planning Workbook followed. His most recent book is Effective Church Leadership: Building on the Twelve Keys (Harper & Row, 1990). Over the past thirty-plus years, Dr. Callahan has led countless seminars with churches and held consultations with more than 1,000 congregations in the United States, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand. LEADERSHIP editors Marshall Shelley and Mark Galli caught up with Kennon in Denver, Colorado, where he was on his way to help another church.

What prompts a church to call you?

About half the churches I help are stable and growing churches that want to improve their mission and outreach. The other half are churches in some form of crisis-stable and declining or dying. Usually some event has precipitated the call, and they want someone to share some wisdom and research, to help them gain a sense of direction.

What's the most important thing you offer a church?

The art of working with a church is to match the plays and the players. The wise coach never sends in plays the players cannot run. I try to help churches match their objectives and their team.

Consultants, pastors, and key leaders are tempted sometimes to ask congregations to achieve some imposed goal. A given church's gifts, strengths, and competencies may be to deliver corporate, dynamic worship. But some leader may insist, "What we should be doing is starting new small groups."

Small groups may be created eventually, but the art of helping a church move ahead is to build the key major objectives on the strengths a congregation presently has.

The church that denies its strengths, denies God's gifts. The church that claims its strengths, claims God's gifts.

The genius to the Twelve Keys material is that it gives congregations a way to discover the strengths God has given them, so they can build on those. That, in turn, leads them to discover and nurture yet new strengths.

How important is it for a church to state its priorities?

First, I use the term objectives more than priorities. Priorities can be vague. Objectives are specific and measurable, concrete and achievable. We can know and celebrate when we have achieved them, and we can confess when we have not.

Second, every church has objectives. The key questions are: Do they know what their objectives are? And do these objectives help them do what God calls them to do?

Many churches I meet with don't, at the beginning anyway, have explicit objectives. But as I look closer, I discover they have implicit and informal objectives, usually the result of a variety of elements: congregational values, customs, habits, and traditions; the decision-making process; the communication system.

One congregation I visited recently was scared and scarred by events of the past. Although they had no explicit objectives, it was clear their main objective was what I call "protecting their place on the face of the cliff."

In mountain climbing, sometimes climbers find themselves on the face of a cliff where they can't find a handhold or foothold ahead or behind. In that predicament many people freeze. They cling for dear life. They fear any move could mean the abyss below.

This church was frozen on the face of the cliff. They couldn't find anything in their history that would save them. They couldn't see anything hopeful ahead. They became preoccupied with maintenance, membership, and money.

How do you help a church like that?

What you do not do is shout instructions from the safety of the ledge above. You join them on the face of the cliff and gently coach them: "We're going to start with the left hand, and we're going to move it four inches up and one inch over, and we're going to hold there. Now we're going to try the left foot." You coach a congregation in that predicament gently and wisely forward, one step at a time.

What problems arise for churches with explicit objectives?

One church I consulted had excellent leaders and an excellent pastor. The pastor's strengths lay in developing and maintaining competent programs and activities. In every church he had served, he had built strong programs.

Yet this church longed for a pastor who would be a good shepherd, practice pastoral care, and train lay people to visit. They also wanted more dynamic worship and preaching.

The pastor kept saying, "What we should be emphasizing is our church's programs and activities."

The congregation kept saying, "We do that well enough. What we want is a good shepherd and a good preacher."

How do churches get themselves into that predicament?

In three primary ways.

First, the pastor and key leaders get caught up in the "should syndrome." They decide the congregation should, must, ought to do this or that. They pursue objectives without considering whether they match the congregation's strengths.

Second, pastors and key leaders are tempted to universalize programs: if an idea worked well in one church, they assume it will work in theirs. When they try to transplant the idea, though, it often creates a mismatch, because their church doesn't have the gifts or strengths to effectively use the idea.

Third, people sometimes grasp for a straw in the wind, some idea or program that will transform the church, what I call "a short-term, quick-closure, highly visible, immediate-satisfaction achievement." Whether this fits the strengths of the congregation is hardly considered in the hurry to find a quick fix.

How do you approach churches whose objectives don't match their competencies?

I approach them like I did the young player on one of the baseball teams I once coached. He had pleaded all season, "Let me pitch, let me pitch." So near the end of the season, I started him as pitcher. One of the hardest things I ever had to do was walk to the mound in the first inning. We were nine runs behind, with the bases loaded, and no outs.

"Good friend, this is my fault," I began. "You are our best shortstop. Please, now, play shortstop. Sam is coming in as our pitcher, and between your fielding, the rest of the team's fielding, and Sam's pitching, we'll get out of this inning and beyond this game."

The temptation in working with churches is to think that someone-the pastor, the board, or the church itself-is simply incompetent. I begin with the assumption that there's no such thing as an incompetent person or church; there is sometimes a mismatch of competencies.

When I can help the pastor and church to work in areas in which they're competent, and to "build forward" on these strengths, I've accomplished my objective.

Do most churches aim for too much or too little?

Twelve characteristics contribute to strong, vital congregations. The art is to grow nine of the twelve.

More often than not, though, churches have too many objectives. Ironically, such churches accomplish little. It works like this:

Sometimes leaders and pastors have a deep desire to please. Plus, somewhere along the way they began to think they had to have something for everyone. The church, many people felt, should be like a supermarket.

On top of that, and more problematic, they bring to planning a latent "compulsion toward perfectionism." Combined with a desire to please, that compulsion drives them to suggest ideas, goals, programs, activities that the church "should" be committed to.

On a Saturday retreat, a planning group will wallpaper three walls with newsprint of all the things everybody can think of to do. A ninety-seven page document of the priorities and objectives is created.

They end up with too many goals, set too high, to be accomplished too soon.

That creates the desire to postpone. They sense that with these expectations, they're likely to fail. So they postpone action in order to postpone failure.

That, in turn, creates depression. And that leads to dependency: "If only the denomination . . . If only the culture . . . If only the pastor . . . If only the members . . . then we would be a great church."

I sometimes say to churches, tongue-in-cheek, that it takes considerable ingenuity, creativity, imagination, drive, energy, and determination to create a stable and declining congregation. (Laughter)

Have you seen a church break that pattern?

Certainly, and many, many times. The key is progress, not perfection. The three good friends are progress, pace, and prayer.

It sometimes takes a church twenty years to get itself into a predicament. It may take more than two years to move beyond it! It takes a professional football organization five years to build a winning team. If it takes five years in something as simple as professional football, it may take at least five years in the complex matter of God's mission for a church.

When a church focuses on progress, not perfection, it sets a few objectives that are realistic and achievable. That creates action not postponement: "Yes, we can achieve that."

That action creates satisfaction not depression: "Our lives do count for God's mission."

And satisfaction creates not dependency but growth and development, not in numbers in the church but in the congregation's sense that they are maturing in God's mission.

It's also helpful to think more clearly about some of the analogies we propose for the church. For instance, supermarkets, in fact, don't offer something for everybody, even the largest of them. They don't sell cars or manufacture parachutes. They don't even sell every kind of food available. The best supermarkets have specific objectives.

A better analogy is this: a local congregation is like a M.A.S.H. tent, delivering competent "missional care" at the front lines of peoples' hurts and hopes. It has a specific purpose. It doesn't try to do everything.

It sounds like the task for most churches is not to come up with goals and objectives, which they can do readily, but to determine which one or two are most important right now. How do churches do that?

Four principles help churches focus their objectives.

First, and most important, find the objectives that build the competence and confidence of the congregation.

Coaching basketball years ago, I learned one key to success is to help each player find his best shot. In practice I encouraged each player to work on that shot, so that seven out of ten times as the ball left his hand, he would have both the confidence and the competence that the ball would go in.

That creates a spillover effect. When the player gets the ball in another part of the court, he brings with him the confidence that the ball is going in from there, too. That confidence often produces a new competence.

Each congregation can find the areas in which they are already competent. I suggest they study the twelve central characteristics of church life [see end of article], and identify their best strengths.

Second, expand a strength first. Take a current strength that is, on a scale of one to ten, an eight. Advance and improve that to a nine or a ten. Build on your strengths. Do better what you do best.

That means, naturally, you will want to be at peace about some weaknesses, at least for the time being. One church I was helping concluded after an evaluation, "Our pastoral and lay visitation in the community is, on a scale of one to ten, a low two."

"It's an excellent two!" I said. They were a little puzzled. I continued. "Good friends, it's among your best weaknesses." By that I meant they could be up front about not investing immediate resources in a current weakness.

We can refuse to let our compulsive perfectionism sidetrack us. With honesty and candor we can say, "Ahah! This is an excellent two. That's where it ought to remain."

Third, the four questions I encourage churches to give up for Lent are:

What are our problems?

What are our needs?

What are our concerns?

What are our weaknesses and shortcomings?

Those four questions I call "The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse" or "The Four Assassins of Hope."

I help lots of churches with their problems and concerns, but when you begin with your weaknesses, you're in the weakest position to tackle them. When you first improve your strengths, you are now in the strongest position to work effectively on weaknesses.

Fourth, add complementary objectives.

One church I was helping said, "We have two objectives. We plan to become the church in the county known for using only classical music in worship; that will make us distinctive. Second, we plan to reach young couples with small children."

"You have two excellent objectives," I replied. "One of them heads you in one direction, and the other heads you in almost the opposite direction. I happen to know the results of radio marketing surveys of this community. Young couples here listen to two kinds of music: soft FM and country western.

"Now if you had told me, 'We plan to launch the best preschool program in the community, and we plan to reach young couples with small children,' you'd have complementary objectives. They reinforce and help each other.

"If you had told me, 'We plan to sing only classical music in our worship services, and we plan to have the best preaching in the county,' you would have complementary objectives."

I also said to them, "If you plan to sing only classical music, be sure to have the best preaching in the county. It will help greatly." (Laughter)

I say that as one raised in classical music. I also know the world is a mission field.

Is that how churches ought to think of themselves as they begin the planning process-as a mission?

Yes. The purpose of planning is action in mission. We live on one of the richest mission fields on the planet. I encourage churches to determine their future based on mission rather than growth, based on strengths rather than size. We do the mission for the sake of the mission, not for the sake of gaining more members.

Explain the distinction.

The ultimate goal of planning is to help people with their lives and destinies, whether or not they ever join this particular congregation. We're not trying to grow an institution; we're trying to grow a mission, no matter our size.

There are small colleges in this country that have decided to be excellent small colleges. There are small colleges in this country that have not yet decided to be excellent small colleges, and they're in trouble.

So even a small congregation-a small mission outpost-can decide to be an excellent small congregation, delivering well nine of the twelve central characteristics. The key is to discover the central characteristics and a few key objectives that God calls this congregation to achieve.

What's the biggest misconception people have about long-range planning?

That the job is to figure out what the congregation should be doing three years from now. No. We plan long range to know what to achieve today, this week, this month. The reason we look three years ahead is to know what to accomplish now.

It's like planning a wedding. People set the date for the wedding, and then they work backwards. Once they have the long-term objective in place, they can determine when to order invitations, hire a photographer, rent a reception hall. Once they set the date, they know what to do this week and this month, then next month, and then the next month.

People who set the date tend to get married. Those who never set the date for the wedding hardly ever get married.

How far ahead should churches plan?

I encourage churches to look at least three years ahead, and to do so developmentally.

An ineffective way to plan is in three-year blocks. In the fall of 1991, the church looks at 1992, 1993, and 1994 and determines a three-year plan. Then with a sort of driven determination, it sticks to that plan for three years. Then at the end of 1994, it creates another three-year plan.

In a developmental approach, long-range planning advances continually over three years. In the fall of 1991, a church would determine objectives for 1992, 1993, and 1994. Toward the end of 1992, it would do two things.

First, advance and improve the objectives for 1993 and 1994. They might delete some things, improve others.

Second, add the new third year, incorporating objectives for 1995. Thus, they always look three years ahead-flexibly and dynamically.

Developmental planning looks more like a fast break down the basketball court than a neat, tidy plan where every detail is in place and stationary.

How much time should a church take in doing that each year?

Not a lot. Again, it's more like a time-out in a basketball game. The Callahan principle of planning is that "Planning expands to fill the time available. Therefore, limit the amount of time you invest in planning."

Churches invest best in six planning sessions totalling nine to twelve hours to discover their long-range plan. It takes even less time to keep it moving. The art is wisdom more than time.

How do churches get much done in that short time?

By following a few planning principles. I encourage churches to remember the twenty/eighty principle. Twenty percent of what a group does delivers 80 percent of its results. Eighty percent of what a group does delivers 20 percent of its results.

We're not trying to create a ninety-seven page long-range planning document. The best long-range plans are three pages long, five pages long, or even one page long! It takes no wisdom to list many, many goals. What takes wisdom, and what makes a difference, is finding the 20 percent that produces 80 percent of the results.

Another planning principle: work smarter, not harder. The myth in the church is "If we were only more committed and worked harder, things would get better." The truth is when people work harder they get "tireder," but things don't automatically get better.

When a church headed in the wrong direction works harder, it just gets there quicker and faster.

Another planning principle: Plan less to achieve more; plan more and you will achieve less. That relates closely to another principle: The purpose of planning is action, not planning. The importance of both these principles is illustrated by a church I visited some time ago.

As I stepped off the plane, the pastor and the chairman of the long-range planning committee met me. As we were waiting on my luggage, they gave me three notebooks thick with data, which they had invested two years in gathering. They asked me if I would look at them before the 7:30 breakfast the next morning.

Data and I are old friends. By 2:30 I had worked my way through the three notebooks. When we gathered for breakfast, they asked me, "What do you think?"

"Good friends," I said, "the day for analysis is over. The day for action has arrived. The day for data is done. The day for decision has come."

They were facing a tough decision. If you had a bar graph to determine the level of certainty for a decision, it would have read 65 percent. They'd spent two years and gathered three notebooks of data because they believed the more data they gathered the more they could raise the level of certainty, perhaps to 85 or 90 percent.

There are a lot of decisions in life we have to make with a 65-percent level of certainty.

I said to them, "I can show you how to gather four more notebooks of data that you haven't even thought of. It will take two years. Then you will have spent four years and gathered seven excellent notebooks of data. But the day for decision will have passed you by. And even with seven notebooks of data, the level of certainty for the decision is still going to be about 65 percent. So let us decide."

Who in a church should do the long-range planning?

As many people as possible. The classic mistake is to appoint a fifteen-person planning committee to spend two years developing a plan. Then they have the problem of convincing the congregation of the committee's conclusions. That top-down approach does not work.

I encourage churches to create a five- to eight-person steering committee for long-range planning. Their task is to lead as many people as possible in the congregation through the planning process so that planning comes from the grassroots.

The rule of thumb is to involve at least 20 percent of the average worship attendance. That figure might be higher in a small, rural parish and lower in a large parish.

The point is to achieve a critical mass. Involve enough people so that members know the plan is theirs.

In putting together the steering committee, you invite people who have the capacity to look at the whole not the parts, the long range not the annual, who prefer to plan less, not more. You look for people who have the capacity to share leadership.

What exactly do the people do?

Members of this steering committee serve as study, planning, and action leaders. They lead as many people in the congregation as possible through a study, looking at the twelve central characteristics of effective churches.

After the study comes the planning. The planning sessions are done in teams of two. If you have forty people participating, they are grouped into twenty teams of two. The point is, no person works alone; each person has a chance to check his or her ideas with another person.

These teams are charged with coming up with one or two excellent suggestions they know will help the whole. Then these teams report back to the larger group.

Then, let's say, fifteen possible key objectives are offered in total. Each team picks eight out of the fifteen that they feel the church could most likely achieve, given the church's strengths, gifts, and competencies.

What I find more often than not is the group quickly forms a consensus on two to four key objectives. So they choose these two to four. The other eleven were excellent ideas, but these four are the "20 percenters."

Once key objectives are determined, how are they reflected in the budget?

I encourage churches to develop a mission budget, organized around the central characteristics and key objectives the church plans to expand and add in the coming one to three years. You might have a section on "corporate, dynamic worship" and another on "pastoral/lay visitation in the community." Staff salaries are allocated to the various central characteristics in proportion to the time invested there.

Regrettably, organizational budgets are often structured in terms of the committees in the church. They focus more on which committee controls what money than on the key objectives to be accomplished in the coming year.

In a mission budget, the focus is on the specific key objectives decisive for the year ahead. The important point: the budget is based on mission objectives to help people with their lives, not on committees and control.

What's the pastor's role in long-range planning- prime keeper of the vision or enabler of the congregation, so it comes up with its own vision?

Neither. The task is to discover the mission to which God now calls us. Were a pastor to think that he or she is the prime keeper of the vision, that would deny the priesthood of all believers. Nor is it helpful for the pastor simply to enable the congregation to develop its own goals. Enablers tend to focus on the process but tend not to share with the group their best wisdom.

For me, the pastor is leader and coach. As leader, the pastor leads, sharing his or her own best wisdom and judgment. Thus the congregation is not bereft of the pastor's best thinking.

In addition, the pastor coaches the congregation's best wisdom forward, so that they together discover excellent ideas and new suggestions.

The long-range planning steering committee also serves with the pastor as leaders and coaches. The pastor does not have to carry the leader and coach roles alone.

As a leisure activity, long-range planning probably isn't the activity of choice for most church members. How do you motivate the congregation to participate in planning?

I see five motivational resources that draw people to a church, encourage them to be workers and leaders, and help them to contribute their time and money: compassion, community, challenge, reasonability, and commitment.

All five are present in every person; and two of the five are generally predominant at a given point in a person's life.

Among the key leaders, challenge and commitment are the strongest motivators. They're committed to the church, and they rise to the challenge of seeing it thrive.

Among grassroots members, the best motivators are compassion and community. They want to help people, and they want to belong.

What we have in many churches, then, is a motivational gap. Often the same few people do everything in a church because the key leaders, motivated by commitment and challenge, send out messages on the radio frequencies of commitment and challenge. But the grassroots listen on the radio frequencies of compassion and community. That's a motivational gap.

I help lots of dying churches, where the only people left are key leaders committed to the challenge of keeping the doors open. When I ask those key leaders what drew them to the church years earlier, they usually talk about a compassionate pastor and the sense of family and community.

But in the thirty years that have come and gone, weighted down by the institutional baggage of trying to keep the blooming venture afloat, they have "nurtured forward" the motivations of commitment and challenge.

They say to me, "Dr. Callahan, what we need in this church is people with more commitment."

"You just told me that compassion and community are what drew you to this church," I reply. "Now if compassion and community drew you who knew the churched culture to the church, how do you expect to draw people from an unchurched culture by means of commitment and challenge?"

Then I gently add, "It was not said of the early Christians, 'Look how committed they are to one another' but 'Look how they love one another.' What we need is people with more compassion, not more commitment."

I'll often invite the key leaders to a "bridging" challenge: "From today forward, I invite you to commit yourselves to the challenge of doing whatever you do out of what drew you here in those early years, namely compassion and community."

You'd be amazed at how many key leaders rise to the challenge and make that commitment. Consequently, we create a motivational match between key leaders and grassroots, pastor and unchurched.

How would that be reflected in preaching?

The pastor centers less on commitment and challenge and more on compassion and community. Note I said "more." All five motivators are present in each individual, so it's appropriate to address each of the five from time to time.

But the bulk of the preaching is best not focused on "The Challenge of Our Future," filled with scoldings like "If we will only deepen our commitment …"

Nor is it wise for preaching to center on institutional objectives: "We need more teachers, money, members." People cannot be scolded into Christian service. They can be won with compassion and community.

I'm talking, of course, about a compassion that is rich, full, tough, and helpful; not a syrupy, sentimental understanding of compassion. People are not interested in superficial forms of community. They can find those lots of places. They're looking for roots, place, and belonging.

Regrettably, in a few places, preaching still spends eighteen minutes on problem diagnosis and two minutes on a glowing generality. Increasingly, I hear lots of preaching today where in the first two minutes the pastor identifies the specific human hurt and hope that the gospel addresses, and then, richly and fully for twelve to fifteen minutes, describes some handles of hope that can be found in the Bible. People long for, look for, three things in a church: help, hope, home.

What's the first thing a leader should do to begin an effective planning process?

There are three first steps. First, begin by giving up any latent compulsiveness toward perfectionism. Progress is more helpful than perfectionism.

Sometimes I invite leaders and pastors to do just that: "During the coming week, drive out near the middle of Nowhere. Pull your car over to the side of the road and have a last, pleasant conversation with that old, old friend, Compulsive Perfectionism. Then open the door of the car, shove gently, quickly close the door, and drive rapidly down the road.

"In about a mile, you will find three new friends-eager, smiling, hoping to be picked up. These three good friends are Progress, Pace, and Prayer. Fill your car-fill your life-with those three."

Second, effective leadership begins with the confidence that hope is stronger than memory, the open tomb stronger than the bloodied cross, the risen Lord stronger than the dead Jesus, Easter stronger than Good Friday, resurrection stronger than crucifixion. Effective church leadership is built on the confidence that we are the Easter people.

Third, begin to see yourself as a mission leader. The day of the professional minister is over; the day of the missionary pastor has come. The day of the churched culture is over; the day of the mission field has come.

Now we're in a strong position to be effective leaders, "growing forward" the strengths of a congregation in advancing God's mission.

12 CENTRAL CHARACTERISTICS OF AN EFFECTIVE CHURCH

Relational Characteristics:

1. Specific, Concrete Missional Objectives

2. Pastoral/Lay Visitation in Community

3. Corporate, Dynamic Worship

4. Significant Relational Groups

5. Strong Leadership Resources

6. Solid, Participatory Decision Making

Functional Characteristics:

7. Several Competent Programs and Activities

8. Open Accessibility

9. High Visibility

10. Adequate Parking, Land, and Landscaping

11. Adequate Space and Facilities

12. Solid Financial Resources

Copyright © 1991 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Adapted from Common Sense for Men and Women in Ministry by Donna Schaper (Alban Institute, 1990).

As a pastor and a parent, I work two shifts, one at church and the second at home. At the church, I minister and administer, marry and bury, preach and pray, and in a thousand other ways, “do church.” At home I get cards to in-laws, groceries to refrigerators, children to birthday parties, and garments to and from the dry cleaner.

Like most pastors (and parents), I have been charged with the job of caring. It’s a never-ending task.

This job description joins my authority as pastor in requiring me to shoot the next person who tells me to “take care of myself.” I know I can’t continue forever to do dishes and talk on the phone simultaneously. The day will come when I won’t have the energy to do my correspondence in the evening while watching television. I don’t plan to go on like this forever, not wasting a moment. But until my three children are raised and/or the millennium arrives, I don’t plan to take care of myself. I plan to take care of my children and my promises to God and the church.

Some people accuse me of doing too much. My mother does, as do my friends who read too many magazines on the fine art of self-care. “Oh, my,” they all say about my three children, my fulltime job, and my full calendar, “I just don’t know how you do it.”

“That’s the whole point,” I reply. “I don’t do it.”

My vocation is caring, and every day I fail to fully realize it. You can’t succeed in caring; you simply do as much as you can and try to stretch your capacity.

I don’t finish everything I start. For every call I make, I can think of two more I should have made. I leave the phone answering machine on for extensive periods when I am home. I cut corners. I keep sewing projects in plastic bags for years just so I can remember that I would enjoy an evening with busy hands and an empty mind.

I triage my desk every few months and throw out piles of unanswered mail. Every week I do the same with the telephone list. If the stack of calls to return goes over thirty by Friday, I declare an emergency. Then I pick the five or so who really need a reply and lose the rest of the pink slips. Then I forgive myself for not “doing it.”

Am I proud of my tendency to overextend? You bet. I don’t think being overextended is the sin the self-care movement purports it to be. Rather I am inclined to locate sin in self-care, in being careful not to get tired, in focusing on the limits rather than the possibilities in my energy.

Do I get tired? Yes. Frequently. Worse-and this really makes my New Age friends cluck-I even get sick. Colds, the flu, minor aches, and once a serious illness. Yet even after that illness, once I learned I wasn’t going to die tomorrow (a fear I indulged quite thoroughly), I went back to my old bad habit of filling up the appointment book and trying to have fun at the same time.

The ability to care does not mean that you don’t have fun or that you don’t relax. I find time to be quiet and prayerful each day. I find time to write almost as often. I get to my garden for several good sessions of earth a week. And I have an active social life. People seem to fear caring for others because it threatens these things. The threat is mental not actual.

So why am I going to shoot the next person who advises me to take care of myself? Why this long, defensive description of my lifestyle? The reason is simple. I feel like I am under attack, being shot at by some new and sinister enemy, whose cover is “Take Care of Yourself.” But his real purpose is to stifle my ministry, to keep me from having the fun of making my own contributions to the world, and to keep me from making other people uncomfortable.

Rather than backing off our full schedules, I think we should invite other people to join us in full-throttle caring. Caring goes wrong when I carry all the responsibility for it. It safely expands if I do it publicly, freely inviting others to join me in caring. Choosing a full life means being busy.

Caring, by its very nature, grows. Try to care well for a few, and if you succeed, you will find more people calling your name. Welcome one homeless person to your congregation and see what happens.

I remember the head of a local welfare agency saying that he didn’t want to provide good service to his clients because that would only increase the demand. What a complex excuse for not caring.

Being busy is not all that bad. Right now I actively choose ministry and children and friends and quiet. That’s how I take care of myself.

I tell people: “If the chaos of my overbooked life is getting to you, or if you think my contribution has become haggard, by all means ask me to rest. I will appreciate your concern, deeply. I don’t want to look like an overdeveloped suburb any more than you want to look at one. I want the plantings around my house to look mature; I want space left over. I need margins as much as anyone.

“If you think I’m looking crowded, say so. But don’t ask me to do less, and don’t accuse me of ‘not taking care of myself.’ That I simply don’t plan to do.”

-Donna Schaper

First Congregational Church

Riverhead, New York

Copyright © 1991 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

In seminary we committed ourselves to studying one hour for each minute in the pulpit. It seemed only right.

When we got to our first church, however, we learned that unwittingly we had also signed on to handle office flow, plan worship, visit hospitals, lead weddings and funerals, and keep committees on track-not to mention “saying a few words” to assorted classes, clubs, and social occasions. Oh, I nearly forgot, we’re also supposed to find time for our families.

Our hour of study for each minute of sermon? Unfortunately, most of our congregations want sermons longer than three minutes.

Here, then, for the overextended preacher, are some all-purpose sermon stretchers. Use these, and any sermon, no matter how short, will begin to expand to the fully desired length.

1. Stretch one idea into a three-point message. Studies have shown that after hearing a three-point sermon, most people remember only one point. So why waste two perfectly good ideas on the forgetful? If you have time to think of only one point, make the most of it, like this:

I. The Lord

II. Came

III. To Save Sinners

This automatically frees you from two-thirds of your preparation time. And by expounding on the word or two of each point (see Strategy 5), you’ll easily have a sermon of acceptable length.

2. Read your chosen text from the King James Version. This inevitably necessitates explaining such curious archaisms as “bowels of mercies,” which adds significant time to the sermon. Reading from the King James also gives the opportunity, if you need to fill more time, to digress on the history of Bible translation, the Textus Receptus, and the Dead Sea Scrolls.

(An alternate approach: Read from the Amplified Version. That way, reading even four verses becomes a mini-dissertation.)

3. Sprinkle Old Testament references throughout your message, asking people to turn to them. While you are waiting for people to find the verses, valuable seconds are ticking away. Maximize this strategy with back-to-back references in the minor prophets. (“This morning I’d like to compare the prophecies of Obadiah with those of Zephaniah; so let’s first turn to Obadiah, where we find . . .”)

4. Build a sermon around a recent television show you’ve seen. This way, most of your preparation is done by the scriptwriters of Cosby. It takes at least five minutes to retell the episode. Add your biblical parallels and contemporary application, and the message is virtually complete. Some members of your congregation may resist this approach, but you can disarm them with an appropriate introductory comment on contextualization and relating to the contemporary world, which takes up more time still!

5. Create “instant” etymologies and word analyses. When you don’t have time to study the Greek text directly, you can fall back on a lexicon. But when you don’t have time to study a lexicon? Turn to Noah Webster and improvise: “The Greek word for ‘rob’ used here means ‘to steal; to take captive secretly; to seize another’s possessions, against his or her will, for personal gain.'” No one will question your method. They’ll only wonder, Where does he get the time to do such thorough research?

6. Establish each point by negation as well as assertion. Any preacher can make the simple declaration, “The Lord came.” Short and to the point. That’s the problem. It’s short. The master stretcher makes sure to amplify: “The Lord came, friends. Notice that he did not refrain from coming. He did not hold back. No, the Lord came.”

7. Listen to the radio news on the way to church. A major world crisis or local controversy will call for some comment before you begin your message. A humorous human-interest story becomes an illustration. An ad becomes a commentary on the deteriorating condition of our society. You get the idea.

8. Instruct your song leader to sing all of the verses of the chosen hymns. This doesn’t lengthen your sermon, but it shortens the time available for it.

During certain crisis weeks, you may not have time even to implement these strategies. But all is not lost. Though the service begins at 11:00, remember that you don’t actually start to preach until 11:25. That gives you a full sixty seconds of preparation time for every minute you’ll be in the pulpit.

– Kevin A. Miller

contributing editor

LEADERSHIP

Leadership Spring 1991 p. 73

Copyright © 1991 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.