Minstry: Not What You Always Think

I have discovered, over time, ministry is not always what you think or thought it would be.  Both for the good and the bad.  I have discovered from growing up in a pastors home, having pastored a church, and within the context of my current ministry as a speaker in churches (revivals, men’s conferences, and youth events mainly) as well as working one on one mentoring men.  I also known many of you reading this have experienced the same thing, and for many this has been discovered the hard way.

I have discovered that many churches are looking for the wrong things in a minister or don’t know what they are looking for at all.  They are looking for guys to pastor their churches who will do all the work, visit the sick, bury the dead, kiss the babies, marry the couples, and preach the Word, but not to straight.  They are looking for someone with 10 to 15 years of experience, who is young, yet mature, who is educated from their institution of their denomination, and who has a silver tongue like Adrian Rogers or Charles Stanley.

Many in ministry have great aspirations and dreams and hopes and passion to glorify the Lord Jesus with their lives.  Which is what they discover many times to be so frustrating because they are not allowed to do so.  They do not plan or think they will find the resistance, be misunderstood, and find their families being studied under a microscope called “we own you.”  Sadly, many pastors leave the ministry, church or do not know what to do.  And even fewer find themselves being able to do what God has called them to do, although the church who voted on them said they were, “God’s man and we believe God has brought you here to LEAD us.”  Just the opposite actually is true.  The church meant, “You are God’s man that we now OWN and we have chosen you for you to do our work for us.  So don’t mess up!”

I was sent the following article from my dear friend Luke Frazier recenlty concerning his home church in Montana.  It is a beautiful story of what happens when God works things out and we allow Him to do so.  So, for those of you that are hurting, those that are wrestling, those who are thinking of going into ministry with glamorous dreams and aspirations, and for those thinking of leaving I want to share with you all reality, encouragement and the hope of what God can do!  My Dad and Mom are heroes of mine and are wonderful examples of this as well.  After watching and seeing the things they have gone through in ministry I have also watched God be gracious in their lives and serve as an example of grace and reality to me, my family, and my ministry.  As well as to many others.  May the following do the same to you.

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Vote for a Pastor

by Steve Van Winkle

A man in our church asked to see me in my office tonight. But, I never told you about the “vote” on me as pastor, did I? It was easily a poetic ending to a good old-fashioned bloodletting.

We had been through a year and a half of interim during which we candidated six men. Three never made the 80 percent required for a call, and three got the 80 percent and turned us down. Eighteen months later and after wading through human misery and sifting through the possible causes of God’s evident hatred for me, the inconceivable became the kind-of obvious.

I was the last man standing. I was a preacher in a church searching for a preacher. And, it was a church that was down to its last shred of hope, its last few dollars in the account and its last few people in the pew. In the beginning, the middle and the end, I didn’t want it.

I’m not sure the church wanted me, either, even after 18 months without a pastor. My “candidacy” was more like a cold, polite handshake. It is hard to explain, but this church was in the mindset it “deserved” someone spectacular. I remember one of the men, from Tennessee, standing and exasperatingly informing the church, “You aren’t going to get Charles Stanley up here.” That about summed it up. My candidacy was hurried and it was hushed. It was like two people embarrassed to be in the situation and wanting nothing more than to get it over with.

Which is what we did. We got it over quickly. The church was literally on its last leg, and securing a pastor – any pastor – was the most critical need. So, a brief interview, a brief question and answer and a vote was set. I mean, I had been here for a few years, how much can people not know about a guy after that long of time? However, one of the questions posed to me was by a man whom I knew and who was, probably, one of the people you would say was looking for Charles Stanley.

He simply asked: “Will you accept the vote, no matter what it is?”

I thought, sure, who wouldn’t? I said something to that effect that evening.

Like I said, a vote was set. David Klass came down (he had been the interim pastor), and Cheryl and I and Madison, who was then nearly a year old, sat in our apartment to await the result. About an hour after the service began, David walked into our apartment shaking his head. I remember him saying, “I don’t believe these people. What do they want?” Turns out I had fallen short by a couple percent. Even for a church that embodied desperation, I wasn’t good enough. Not good on the ego.

But in a weird twist, no one had a key to the church that evening. This is strange, because everyone who DID have a key was there the night of the vote, but all of them, evidently, had left their keys at home. So, my last official duty was to go and lock the church, since I was one of the few who had a key.

I walked in one last time and went into the spartan office. In that office, on a table, were the ballots. There I stood: Me and the ballots of my first candidacy. Wouldn’t you have looked at them, too? Some had messages on them, like, “He’s a good preacher, but we need more.” Yea, I understood that. I was flattered someone thought I was a good preacher, but I was 27 and the church was in need of a grizzled veteran of ecclesiastical triage, not an intern fresh out of college. I think one said, “He’s not ready yet.” I agreed.

Just before I left, I noticed the piece of paper that tallied the votes. I turned to walk away and then turned back to see if I had read it right.

Seeing how the church had steadily declined in attendance, it was fairly easy to know the entire membership in my head. Consequently, I knew exactly how many people should be voting. The number was somewhere around 30. The number of ballots received: 38.

There were more ballots than people. How did it happen? I have no idea.

A new vote was called by the pulpit committee. I didn’t oppose it, because I thought a vote should at least be fair. I guess I didn’t care about not getting the church – it was hemorrhaging from every major cavity – but I didn’t want something shady determining my and the church’s future. I didn’t ask for the vote; I didn’t demand a revote. I was just sitting home tying flies.

About that time the phone rang. It was the man who asked me if I would accept the vote, no matter what. He was livid. Seems in the aftermath of all this a good chunk of those left in the church were leaving, because they couldn’t stand going one more day without a pastor or one more day searching for one. It was not pleasant.
Like I said, he was livid. He had that kind of voice that was higher pitched and quivering as he was trying to restrain his rage from spilling out from between the fibers of his vocal chords.

“You told me you’d accept whatever the vote was.”

“I will, when it’s a fair vote.”

“Why are you asking for a new vote?”

“I’m not, the trustees and pulpit committee are because there are more ballots than people.”

“That wouldn’t be necessary if you would do what you said you would do.”

“I’ll accept whatever vote comes, but I want it to be fair. We’re a corporation, and on top of the vote being a dangerous affront to God, it’s illegal.”

His voice tensed even further: “Hasn’t this church been through enough? I can’t believe you would put us through more. You ought to do what you said and leave.”

Click.

The next vote gave me, I think, 88 percent.

There were major fences to mend with the aforementioned man. Not mended in the “frontal” way. Rather, mended in a way only time can do. While I was putting books on the shelves, he walked in the office like nothing had ever happened. He said only, “You have a huge responsibility now.” That was it.

Over time is sometimes the only way a person finds, not just vindication but credibility. Over time he and I have had a tense relationship, more from my perspective than his. I wondered initially if he would ever be “behind me” and what I was trying to accomplish at the church. I knew he would leave, and I expected him to make it, maybe, a week-and-a-half. His wife was cool to me; I think she initially told me that she didn’t respect me as a pastor.

We worked together. We crossed and conflicted on many turns regarding marginal issues. We have different ways of doing things, and each time we saw things differently, I knew it was the last I would see of him. Nope. It was a gradual but steady process, but for the last three years or so, I haven’t questioned his affection for the church and, really, his respect for me and what we’ve accomplished here. He became more and more congratulatory and more and more supportive. Along the way, I have grown to appreciate him and his unorthodoxy. Over time, the distrust has faded and, amazingly, he and his family stayed.

You’re probably wondering why I had to tell you all this. Because it makes what happened the other night seem so much more meaningful.

This is the man who came to me tonight wanting to “talk” in my office. That’s normally not a good thing, and when he mentioned it, it wasn’t hard for me to revert to my old perceptions: “This is finally it. They’re finally leaving.” Hardly.

He told me he was about to sell his business. It was all but a done deal, and when it was said and done he would have enough money for the rest of his life, which he wants to spend in some ministry capacity. The reason he wanted to talk to me was because when the deal was done, he would be giving the church a gift that nearly equaled our annual offerings and needed to let me know how it was going to happen. Then he told me he wanted to give my associate and me the equivalent of about a year’s salary.

Me: [Blank stare]

He went on and said the church has never had a better spirit than now, and that he is excited about what God is doing, and he wanted to fuel the excitement in any way possible, the money being the most obvious at the moment. I had been a blessing to him these last nine years, he said, and he wanted to be a blessing to me in return.

Me: [Blank stare]

It sounds convenient, but, in the blank stare mode, I was thinking not about money, but about how far we had come from that phone call. It seemed I had been here a long time as I listened to him with my ears but revisited our history in my mind. And, all I could think was: God, how can I thank you for making all things work together for good over time?

It all reaffirms for me that what God can accomplish over time is never indicated by the moment. In the moment, you wonder if it will ever end or if it’s worth it. Over time we find God’s answers to our premature questions.