Surround Yourself With the Right People

My dad had a lot to say about a lot of things. I mean, his mind was always going, and his analysis of most things was pretty thorough. His weakness, as I experienced it, was that he never publicly backed down from his assumptions and would not admit that, at least my point of view at merit. That being said, he did his homework and never opined without examining the available facts, except when it came to persons with whom he had an emotional bond – that is, with me. I could never get away with telling him he was wrong about me or my point of view. Nevertheless, Dad taught me many life skills that cannot be adequately described in a few paragraphs.

Many years ago, Dad was describing why he thought a particular president’s leadership was short-lived and mostly ineffectual. Dad said it was because the president failed to surround himself with the right people. I’ve never forgotten that. In fact, after I’d become a pastor, my dad often offered me jokes to use in my sermons and leadership advice for church councils. The jokes usually never made it into the sermons, but the leadership wisdom was applied regularly. The importance of surrounding yourself with the right people thing came up often.

When I was the associate pastor at a church many years ago, I witnessed the primary leader’s ego and deeply wounded self-esteem as his downfall.  His fears caused him to feel exposed by people on his team who possessed gifts and skills he lacked, especially in the preaching and leadership realm. I recklessly advised him to celebrate his talent for identifying and developing other’s gifts. I hoped he’d realize that the congregation valued him for his effective team building. But, he never seemed to be able to find peace without being the central figure in the life of the church.

I’ve learned some essential truths since those days, including the fact that a pastor will always be perceived as the central figure in a traditionally established church. This truth has several implications. It means that my former mentor had nothing to fear. It also means that, while the pastor is central, he is not always the most influential. Now I understand that my old friend feared he was becoming less influential. It’s pretty hard to lead toward your vision if someone on your team has a different vision and is more influential than you. So, it comes back to surrounding yourself with the right people. He did not, not even when he added me to his team. If you are committed to a particular plan, you’d better be sure your team supports it.

Before you can form a capable team, you must know yourself. You must know what will make you thrive and drive the vision and mission. If you are the leader and there is someone on your team whose personality weakens your ability to lead, you should probably part ways with him. Keep in mind that if your emotional, intellectual, and spiritual health is poor, you will probably never build the ideal team for your leadership style. It takes a strong, healthy personality to develop and lead a team of leaders. But, when you get a team like that sorted out, it will be amazing when you and they start pressing on toward the goal.

Dad was right, you must surround yourself with the right people. But, before you can do so, you must understand your strengths and weaknesses and accept them in peace. Then, build your team to compensate for the skills and gifts you lack and look for persons who enhance your strengths. You must be willing to work from the shadows and celebrate the team’s successes. If you want to be the most influential person in the church, then start with yourself. Figure out what you must do to be spiritually, emotionally, and intellectually fit and lead yourself toward health and vitality. Then do the same for your team. Love and understand your team and invest in them. Learn to motivate them and cultivate their loyalty to Christ and His vision and mission. Then, if they are healthy, they will love and serve with their humble pastor.

Thanks for the great advice, Dad. I miss you.

More to come . . .

All Our Griefs to Bear

      The old row house stood in line with its counterparts along a hill that overlooked a wide street that was split down the middle by an embedded railroad. Less than a block away, a complicated intersection of city streets and railroads were manually controlled by men in a shed that was perched atop a twenty foot tall pole. They could see the entire confluence of train and automobile traffic that took turns descending from or ascending to the high iron bridge that carried them across the Ohio River.

      Inside the grey and black shingle-sided house that smelled of cigarettes and frying grease, a little boy was yelling, “another train, another train,” to no one in particular. He ran through the front room and between his grizzled grandfather and the old black & white TV he was watching. The boy plunged through the metal-framed screen door and onto the covered porch. From there, he could see a string of rumbling black and gold locomotives easing onto the street and across the busy intersection. The train was heading away from the boy’s porch and off to unknown places. He yelled back toward the living room, asking, “What kind is that one?” The gravelly voice of his grandfather was hard to hear over the street sounds of cars and the train engines rumbling and sounding horns. Crossing bells clanged, and “Pop’s” TV blared, and yet, the little boy heard, “What’s it look like?” The boy yelled back, “They’re black and brown!” He then heard Pop cough out, “It’s a Monon” over the din.

      Going to visit grandparents was always exciting in those days as the little boy could count on seeing, hearing, and smelling the constant railroad activities that captured his imagination. His grandparents, parents, brothers, and sister all found different places to be doing different things in the small confines of the old house. Still, he loved being on the front porch awaiting the next train, and his favorite was the Monon.

      The little boy in the paragraphs above was me more than fifty years ago. So much has changed since then that it boggles my mind. My grandmother died soon after the events described. My father’s company moved him to a faraway city so that I rarely visited the old house on Main Street after that. The wide variety of railroad names and colors gave way to mergers and acquisitions, and one-by-one, the latticework of rails disappeared from the streets. Automated signals took the place of the little shed on a pole, so it was demolished. The mighty iron bridge stopped carrying automobile traffic, so a once-bustling interchange became quite common and uninteresting. Train traffic through the streets dwindled to non-existent as my beloved Monon died away and was abandoned. The only railroad that uses the bridge rerouted out of the site from the old front porch. Eventually, Pop died too. The grey-shingled old house was demolished by a neighbor who used the lot for a new garage. The old house was my dad’s childhood home . . . . Then, last week, my dad died too. Every connection with that place is lost to me now. 

      Sometimes, the inevitability of change is almost too much to bear. It’s no wonder some people violently resist change since grief occurs whenever one realizes a permanent loss. Permanent loss is, after all, a kind of death, and that brings deep sorrow. It’s hard to believe the sin of Adam, and the great flood introduced entropy and grief to the innocents. I’m so glad the little boy in my story didn’t have to learn about this reality too soon. And now that I am old enough to be his grandfather, I am the only one left to comfort him in his sorrows.

      Pastor, when you talk to your colleagues, does it ever sound like you’re doing battle with an enemy you call, “them”?  Can you see the people whom you serve as those whose lives are so afflicted by sin and death that they just want to seek refuge wherever they can find it? Have you not also know such grief? Be gentle with yourself amid your sufferings and losses, and then do all the more so for Christ’s flock. We can all move through change and adapt to overcome, but God’s endless grace should be our weapon, and the Holy Spirit, our guide.

More to come . . .  

Honor Your Mother and Father

         The phone rang at 12:55 a.m. I heard my mother’s voice saying, “Dad just died a few minutes ago.” I’d been bracing myself for that news for a few years, and especially over the last week or so. My immediate concern was for my mother. I asked her if she was OK and she said, “yes” in a not-so-sure way. The conversation  ended quickly since she had more calls to make. As I lay in bed receiving the comfort of my bride’s presence and gentle touch I instantly remembered my dad’s face and voice as it was a week ago and then projected backward through my distant memories. I remembered when, just before the casket was closed over my grandmother, Dad’s mom, he said, “This is the last time you’ll see her until you get to heaven.”

My bride asked, “Are you doing OK, Honey?” I said, “yes” in a more sure than my mother sounded sort of way. The truth is, I didn’t know how I felt. In that moment, I was hearing the words of “I Can Only Imagine” in my head. I thought about my dad at rest from his physical sufferings and especially from his constant emotional turmoil. His sharp mind could stop trying to stay ahead of everyone and everything now. I know his faith and trust that he is with our LORD in paradise now. I hope he is able to really know that it was good enough, that he was good enough.

After several minutes, I told my loving wife that I wasn’t troubled for myself so much as I was for my mom and our kids. I said, “I realize right now that I truly believe what I preach, teach, and pray about God, Christ, the Spirit, and heaven.” I went on to expound upon many thoughts she’d heard from me before and she patiently listened. I’ve been blessed to have her at my side as we’ve lived in a world of constant change and endless possiblilites. I’ve seen how fear of change can cause people to act like chained dogs. Their little sphere is predictable and limited, and God help you if you get inside it to do anything other than feed and water them.

I cannot say that I won’t miss my father – far from it! It’s just that I know I will see him again and that I am his living legacy. I see so much of the good in him in me too. I see myself refining and improving upon his example where needed, but I am not ashamed of him for being broken. I’ve been able to prepare for this moment because I had truly and completely forgiven him for any debt I felt he owed me. I feel assurance of his love for me and pride in me. We had no unfinished business because every conversation ended wih, “I love you” and I meant it.

I’m grateful that my spiritual maturity came well ahead of his death because it gave me time to talk “man-to-man” with him instead of as broken-son to broken-father. As a pastor I have seen the heartache and anquish that lies in the wake of bitterness and unselttled accounts. Experiences like those have not gone to waste in my life. I have been strengthened by learning from the lives of others as I journey with them. Therefore, pastors and the like, take note: Your sermons, programs, leadership, hospital calls, funerals, and weddings; your years of service to the denomination or the board, and your long-suffering subsistance on church salaries and life in parsonages will not buy you more favor from heaven than the forgiveness you give freely to those who gave birth to you and raised you. If your eye causes you to sin, cut it out – honor your mother and father.

More to come . . .

Pastors Too

Phone calls and text messages that come in the middle of the night seldom bring good news. Recently, when I received negative news about my father’s health, it happened overnight and contained sufficient cause for anxiety. It made me pause and reflect upon the hundreds of times I’d been asked to pray about the same sort of concerns in other people’s lives.

As I write this, my 89-year-old father is hospitalized yet again as his well-used body is running out of steam. After 25 years of pastoral ministry, it is surreal to be in the position of so many lovely people with whom I’ve been privileged to walk this road. It is part of the middle passage that we all must go through. Those who anchored my life for so long, my parents are no longer independent.  My children are independent (accept the two handicapped ones that still live with us). I can envision retirement for the first time in my life – I’m not at all sure how I feel about that!

Like most church pastors, I find that few persons can and will come alongside me in the same way that I endeavored to do so for others. I don’t usually mind that since I’m not too comfortable with being on the receiving end. In an earlier blog post, I alluded to a regional leader that tried to make himself that sort of person in my life. He was very intrusive and often drew conclusions that were entirely rooted in his assumptions. He talked like a presumptive personal counselor, but his skills were critically flawed, at least as they were applied to me. My experiences with that regional leader have only hardened my shell. This post may be as close as I will ever get to share my “feelings” with outsiders.

Pastoral service inevitably takes you to places you might never have gone if not for the call. I have encountered death to the degree that would have been inconceivable 30 years ago. I’ve had up-close and personal encounters with sudden losses, lingering passages, and celebrations of life. I’ve witnessed the closing of hundreds of caskets, and am frequently the last familiar face to lay eyes upon the deceased. I’ve applied the same skills I used in EMS and fire service to maintain my composure for the sake of those whom I serve.

Gazing across the sea toward the “undiscovered country” is inevitable.  As I consoled and assisted families and individuals through their life’s dramatic events, I strove to act with the highest integrity. It was and still is a vital part of my service. I’ve witnessed too much disingenuous, farcical behavior by clergy who somehow managed to make themselves heroic and essential participants in the sacred moments of others.   Therefore, I’ve dedicated myself to being supportive, silent, and above all, priestly. In these cases, I mean that I attempt to be a sign of the LORD’s presence, nothing more or less. I pray that the LORD will make me a channel of His peace.

It is difficult to relate to my siblings as I walk the same road of grief with them. We have a shared sense of duty and sorrow as our parents begin to leave us. Our shared love and gratitude compel us to do all that we can to support them. And, guilt regularly surfaces as we witness one sibling doing the lion’s share of it. My dilemma stems from my years of familiarity with this road. I know the landmarks, the surface changes, and the destinations too well. It may seem to my siblings as if I don’t “feel” to the same extent. It may be true because of pastoral service and its constant struggles to balance facts and feelings. I have years of experience that inform me that my parents are growing close to their heavenly home. I wonder how I will grieve and how I will feel when we siblings are settling our parent’s estate. I wonder how my experiences will impact me then too. I just don’t know.

I am writing this blog to share what I’ve learned about pastoral ministry with hopes that 21^st Century pastors and similar leaders will benefit as they strive to honor the LORD and serve His flocks. This post is written amid the COVID-19 self-guaranteeing of 2020. It is springtime, and the typical storms of the season are wrecking lives with sudden, forceful fury while people hunker down in anticipation of an insidious, invisible virus. All the while, bodies wear out, birth defects afflict their habitations, tissue destroying disease, and other ever-present sorrows continue to run their courses. Pastors don’t get a pass. We must find comfort in our faith, cultivate our spiritual well-being, and be extra attentive to our families. If you are the sort of pastor who cares about your reputation and your legacy, then start with your own home!

More to come . . .