By The following is my personal philosophy of ministry. A philosophy of ministry (POM) is neither the doctrinal foundation of ministry nor the nuts and bolts of ministry work. Instead, it is the “secret sauce” that bridges the gap between the two. To this end, I’ve intentionally crafted my POM as a collection of loosely organized principles. No matter what context of ministry I find myself or what particular role I’ll fill, these principles guide my thought process. These principles are core to my views on what it means to do ministry. I am intentional in staying broad and high level.
My POM is organic. It grows with me and grows out of my real-life ministry experience. I have already added and edited points and will continue to do so throughout my life. My principles so far are as follows:
- Major in the majors and minor in the minors.
- Always repent for your fallenness, always remember your finitude.
- Develop a thick skin and a soft heart.
- Never stop learning.
- Know your place on the mountain.
- Gain ownership and give it away.
- Be outward facing, see those who have needs.
- Train in season and out of season.
- Equip the saints to serve.
- You are what you eat.
- You are your own first sheep.
- I will fail. That’s a part of the plan.
Major in the majors and minor in the minors.
Ministry is multifaceted and demanding. Complexity expands in both breadth (the wide range of what is included in the work of ministry) and depth (the many layers of detail any one area of ministry has). Those working in ministry constantly combat the dual errors of either going an inch deep and a mile wide, or a mile deep and an inch wide. In other words, one can just as easily get lost in the details of one specific task as one can get lost in the big picture without ever getting down to practical work. Ministry can ask everything and pull one in a hundred different directions. In the face of that, it is easy to lose sight of what the main point of ministry is, and what one’s role is in that endeavor.
Remembering these three aspects of ministry are key to majoring in the majors: the stakes of ministry, the role of the minister, and the goal of the minister. First, the stakes of ministry are nothing less than life and death. Every single being on this earth is destined either for eternal life and delight or eternal judgement and death. I must keep this at the forefront of my mind every morning when I come into the office, every time I grab coffee with a member, every time I boot up my laptop after a long day at work, and every time I stand at the pulpit. This eternal perspective ought to be the frame that holds the picture of my view of ministry.
Second, the role of the minister is that of a herald who brings good news. Paul describes ministry as the work of a herald in 2 Timothy 4:1-5. The word he uses for “preach” in 2 Timothy 4:2 is from κήρυξον (kāruxon), which literally translates to “herald.” That’s a very specific duty. The herald’s one job is to communicate the king’s message as clearly and accurately as possible. Heralds do not have the freedom to say whatever they want. They speak on behalf of the king, and their word has the full weight of the king’s authority. The herald must work diligently to make sure he’s accurately representing the king. Preachers are bound to declare God’s word as revealed in Scripture. Directly related to that, the king’s message the herald brings is good news—that’s what gospel means. Pastors need to communicate not only the facts of the gospel, but the beauty of it as well. The message needs to sound like good news. The pastor ought to lead out of a profound sense of joy and gratitude.
Third, the goal of ministry is to invite others to see and celebrate Christ. Ministry is not self-serving. Heralds are not sent to speak to a mirror. God claims every bit of creation as his own. He sends his heralds to the end of the earth. And the mindset of the minister is to be a peasant telling other peasants where to find bread.
Everything I do in ministry, from the broadest level of church vision statements to the narrowest level of liturgy words and church barbecue logistics, needs to fall in line with this principle. My goal is to sweat the details only insofar as they align with and contribute to the main goal.
Always repent for your fallenness, always remember your finitude.
The stakes could not be higher, and the calling is immensely weighty. Anyone in ministry will feel that weight and might fear being crushed by it for two reasons. On the one hand, I might feel totally unworthy of the call to ministry because of my sin. On the other hand, I might feel totally unable to fulfill the call because of my limited abilities. Both inadequacies are real. Neither are necessarily disqualifying. I need to distinguish between the two and respond to each in kind.
First, I must always repent for my fallenness. Sin is real, and all but Christ are guilty of it. By our own effort, each of us has done nothing but disown our creator, disqualify ourselves from ministry, and deserve eternal judgement. The reality of sin is especially obvious to pastors who spend their careers beholding the holiness of God. The only appropriate response to this realization is to run full speed to the feet of Jesus and beg for forgiveness. Christ is eager to impart his righteousness to those who repent. Peter serves as a prime example. See how desperate he is to run (or swim) back to the feet of Jesus in John 21. See how careful and kind Jesus is in restoring him. Was he heartbroken by Peter? Absolutely. Does Jesus still love him? Even more certainly. Acknowledging my sin is essential in working in ministry. This is not just an act of quiet reflection or lip-service. Repentance is often presented abstractly, but is always enacted concretely. I must actively investigate myself and uproot sin wherever it can be found. Habits must be broken, restrictions must be put in place, accountability systems must be constructed and followed, regular times of vulnerable confession with trusted friends must be scheduled.
Second, I must always remember my finitude. The first sin was rebellion against the reality of humanity’s finitude—in truth, it was a denial of the Creator/creature distinction. Contrary to the serpent’s lies, God created humans as limited beings and declared it to be very good. The institution of a day of rest was not in response to sin, but was instead in harmony with the natural rhythm of creation itself. I often feel compelled to work ceaseless hours and sacrifice family, friends, and health for the sake of my calling. Nothing could be further from God’s intent. Among the most profound acts of loyal submission and worship I can offer is sleeping for eight hours a night.
Distinguishing between finitude and fallenness is vital. The response to fallenness is repentance. The response to finitude is rest. Responding to finitude by asking for forgiveness and pressing on when the tank is empty will inevitably result in burnout, and possibly even a jaded view of ministry. Responding to sin by denying fault and taking time to further indulge oneself is a recipe for disaster in line with the likes of Ravi Zacharias and countless other disgraced church leaders.
Develop a thick skin and a soft heart.
Ministry is fundamentally not professional. My relationship with my church members is not like an accountant or doctor. I don’t just provide a service and try to be polite. Ministry happens in close quarters. I am a friend and a shepherd. I will have a unique window into the deepest and darkest parts of people’s lives, and a unique responsibility to speak to those places and shine Christ’s light. I will see a whole lot of evil and I will likely be on the receiving end of a whole lot of evil. To that end, I need to consciously work at not growing jaded or fearful when people inevitably hurt me and my family. Ministry is intensely personal, and I can’t take it personally.
Having a thick skin means I am not easily offended. People can attack me and give rude feedback and push me away, and I need to absorb those blows. Having a soft heart means I’m not growing cold and indifferent to the suffering and brokenness in the lives of my flock. Sin sucks, this world is a mess, and it would be way easier (in some ways) to shut it all out and stick to the rote logistics of ministry. Doing so, however, would be to major in the minors. I can’t afford to shut myself off from my people. The stakes are too high, and my calling is clear.
What does this look like? I need to be quick to forgive. I need to assume the best in others and not be surprised when that assumption is wrong. I need to honor criticism but not take it too seriously. I need to be quick to apologize when I wrong others and slow in trying to justify or explain myself when all the other person needs to hear is “I’m sorry.” I need to be very careful of unhealthy ways I try to detach my heart from my work. Alcohol, pornography, video games, and passion projects are great at distracting me from feeling the highest highs or the lowest lows. I can’t afford to disconnect.
Never stop learning.
I’d be a fool to think that after my four years of seminary, I’ll have learned everything I need for a lifetime of ministry. I’ve always joked that the only purpose of undergrad was to teach me how to use google well. I don’t know everything, but I know where to look for answers. Seminary’s primary function is to prepare me for a lifetime of learning. It’s important for me as a pastor to stay sharp on theology, Bible reading, current affairs, and my particular cultural context. Furthermore, it is imperative that I continue to hone my research process and communication skills. One of my priorities in ministry will be to seek out avenues to continue learning in a formal structured setting. Whether that leads me to doctoral work, additional masters level programs, or some other type of classes, I am not sure. One of the best ways for me to learn is to teach. I want to prioritize teaching opportunities beyond preaching on Sunday mornings, whether through small group lessons, Sunday school courses, or seminary classes. Teaching beyond preaching is not a top priority, but it is a helpful practice when possible.
Know your place on the mountain.
I often think about expertise in any field or niche with the analogy of a mountain. Whether it’s Super Smash Brothers or Lord of the Rings or quantum physics or politics or theology, every field and discipline has its own mountain. Let’s use the example of Biblical exegesis.
Most people in the world have minimal to no connection to Biblical exegesis. They live in the plains and foothills of the mountain of Biblical exegesis. Though they might know of the mountain, or live within eyesight of it, or have friends who are passionate about climbing it, they personally know very little about it and have no interest in climbing it.
The next group of people are those who live at the base of the mountain. They really admire Biblical exegesis, though they might not know if it by that name. This group includes most Christians who read their Bibles and attempt to understand the text. They like participating in Bible studies and listening to sermons, but they don’t feel like they want or need to lead lessons themselves. They don’t own any commentaries; they’ve maybe got a study Bible but rarely pull it off the shelf. In general, they’re content with casual strolls along the base of the mountain and day-hikes only a short way up with friends.
Another group of people are the amateur climbers. These people have quite the passion for climbing the mountain, but have no formal training and do not feel the need to pursue it. They’re content with keeping their careers and climbing separate. Such people might have sufficient equipment and experience to go for weekend camping trips up the mountain, reading commentaries on particular passages and listening to podcasts by the Bible Project. Occasionally they’ll lead friends on climbing excursions when they lead a Bible study or teach a Sunday school lesson. But amateur hikers know enough to recognize how little they really know. They’ve met professional hikers who have gone much higher than them and enjoy hearing their stories.
These professional hikers are pastors and professors. They’re professionally trained to climb the mountain and spend a good deal of their time fairly high up it. They’re well-versed in a number of other disciplines beyond just hiking—they also know about nutrition and anatomy and meteorology and other fields which help them get higher up the mountain. They do more than just read devotional commentaries and discuss Bible passages with friends; they break out lexicons and work with original languages. They know enough about linguistics and hermeneutics and ancient Near Eastern and Greco-Roman history to climb Biblical exegesis higher than most could even imagine. People at this level run the risk of becoming unrelatable to the common person or the casual fan.
Then there’s those who live at the summit: the mountaintop monks of Biblical exegesis. These nerds are so enthralled with the mountain they never come back down to its base; many, in fact, rarely ever lose altitude at all. They know the original languages like their mother tongue. They’ve read every book there is to know on the mountain. Their own books are the ones the professional hikers cite in their commentaries. Often they’re hard for even other mountaintop monks to understand because they’re so technical. Many hyper-focus on one specific part of the mountain near the summit and spend a lifetime studying it. Some of their work is pedantic, but these mountaintop super academics are responsible for some of the most valuable insights we have of the mountain.
As a pastor, it’s important for me to remember what my role is in the community and where I belong on the mountains related to ministry—and there are a lot of mountains in this range. Theology and all its various peaks, Biblical exegesis, pastoral counseling, church history, apologetics and cultural engagement, project management and event planning, and many others. I personally have a proclivity for theology and Biblical exegesis. Sometimes I dream about becoming one of those mountaintop monks. But as a pastor, that’s not my role.
Pastors are sherpas. (Disclaimer: I have not climbed the “mountain climbing” mountain very high, so I don’t really know the technical definition of what a sherpa does. But I’m assuming you don’t either, so just roll with my analogy.) They’re well-versed in the trade of climbing and familiar with the mountains they climb, equal to a professional climber like a professor. However, their real skillset is in leading others on trips up the mountain. They can teach a group the skills and information they need for the journey ahead and don’t bother to burden them with anything extra. They have a good understanding of what their group needs and only take them as high up the mountain as is wise. Most importantly, while they regularly go high up the mountains they know, they live at the base of the mountain. They are well integrated into their communities, which are made up of people who don’t care about their mountains and of others who deeply care about them. In other words, pastors carefully balance expertise in their fields, training congregants in relevant matters, and remaining relevant to the broader culture. Critically, pastors have an ability to reach anyone, no matter where they find themselves on the mountain—from the furthest foothill to the highest peak.
Some pastors spend very little time on the mountain. They’ve learned to talk all about the mountain by listening to the professional climbers, but they don’t really know what they’re talking about. They can impress casual fans with quips like “It says this in our English translation, but the original Greek says this,” without knowing any Greek at all. Such talk is dangerous. That pastor’s flock might feel inspired to launch their own expedition of the mountain without any of the proper training or equipment and end up finding themselves in all sorts of theological weirdness.
Other pastors spend way too much time on the mountain. They build a whole congregation of other experts who never leave the mountain. They become so small and insular and obscure that no one else is able to join—and no one wants to. This loses sight of the bigger picture. The goal of ministry is NOT to take as many people as high up the mountains of theology and Bible as possible. The goal is to proclaim the gospel of Christ’s kingdom to the ends of the earth; climbing mountains is only important insofar as it helps people understand what the gospel means.
In an article on Christianity’s view on evolution, Tim Keller wrote the following:
“As a pastor I have had to draw heavily on the work of experts. The first question, about Biblical authority, requires that I draw on the best work of exegetes and Biblical scholars. To answer the second question, about evolution as a ‘Grand Theory of Everything,’ I need to draw on the work of philosophers. When we come to the third question regarding Adam and Eve, I must look to theologians.
“In short, if I as a pastor want to help both believers and inquirers to relate science and faith coherently, I must read the works of scientists, exegetes, philosophers, and theologians and then interpret them for my people. Someone might counter that this is too great a burden to put on pastors, that instead they should simply refer their laypeople to the works of scholars. But if pastors are not ‘up to the job’ of distilling and understanding the writings of scholars in various disciplines, how will our laypeople do it? This is one of the things that parishioners want from their pastors. We are to be a bridge between the world of scholarship and the world of the street and the pew. I’m aware of what a burden this is. I don’t know that there has ever been a culture in which the job of the pastor has been more challenging. Nevertheless, I believe this is our calling.” (Tim Keller, https://biologos.org/articles/creation-evolution-and-christian-laypeople)
This is what I am committing to as a pastor. God help me manage it all well!
Gain ownership and give it away.
These two aspects describe a core posture of any community dynamic I aim to instill in my ministry. The general hope for any newcomer is that they gain a sense of ownership in the community. Whether it’s a campus ministry, a summer camp, a small group, or a whole congregation, I want newcomers to feel like there’s room for them in the group—not just a chair stacked in the corner, but actual space for them to come in, feel like they belong, and make the group their own. I want them to be able to say, “This is my group.” Ownership has the dual sense of belonging and responsibility. It is a place where one can feel safe, where one can come and take their shoes off. It is also a place where one needs to clean up, take out the trash, fix what’s broken, and be hospitable. Ownership means that the group has become precious and valuable to its members. It is not only something that serves them, but is also something they want to serve. There’s no room for renters in my ministry. I am not a landlord. We’ve either got guests or we’ve got members. Whoever becomes a member of my group, they become family and a co-owner.
As soon as a person gains a strong sense of ownership in a group, I want their next instinct to be to give it away. It is important for us to simultaneously love our group fiercely and hold onto it loosely. This might seem to be counterintuitive. Doesn’t ownership lend itself to keeping something? The only way someone can gain ownership of a new group is if those who are already in it let them in. The old-timers must be willing to let a group evolve with time as some leave and others join. Those who just gained ownership in a group might be tempted to keep the group exactly the way it was when they joined, but that would stifle growth and ultimately kill the group. They just found a home in a group that has become precious to them. Now, I want them to think about how they might bring someone else into the fold. Who else might find this group precious? From the perspective of the old-timer, whenever they let someone new into a group, they have to release some control and ownership over it. New members bring new gifts, new personalities, new needs, new preferences, new perspectives. An inescapable reality of this world is that nothing lasts forever. If a group has amazing chemistry and is dong great work for a season, it is good to relish in that time, but I can’t expect it to last forever, and I shouldn’t let that lock me into one way of doing things. This dynamic of ownership and giving it away is the cycle that keeps groups fresh.
Be outward facing, see those who have needs.
This is directly related to ownership and giving it away, but it needs to be stated separately as an explicit priority. Church congregations should have times when they can look inward and care for their own family business, but in general, churches need to constantly be looking beyond themselves into their community. The Great Commission drives us out into the world, both our immediate community and to the ends of the earth. Our priority in this area ought to be determined by proximity and ability: who is closest to us, and what can we do for them? Service and evangelism aren’t necessarily the same thing as bringing people into the fold or working toward giving them ownership. Rather, it’s an end in and of itself. We don’t need to only serve people we think would join our church. With that being said, the group should operate in a way that attracts those whom it serves and is open to bringing them into the group.
Train in season and out of season.
This principle has to do with training people to deal with life through teaching and preaching. By “in season,” I mean a time when a person is facing any particular challenge or circumstance (for example, being in a season of grief or in a season of parenthood). By “out of season,” I mean a time when a person is not facing that particular challenger or circumstance (for example, I am not currently a parent). It is important to train people how to deal with challenges before they’re in those seasons. The worst time to learn how to grieve well is when you’re in the middle of grieving.
To use an analogy, a surgeon shouldn’t be reading a textbook on how to do a surgery while he’s operating on someone, with a textbook in one hand and a scalpel in another. Similarly, athletes train extensively for game day through practice during off season. I am an advocate of working through entire books of the Bible and expository preaching because it exposes people to tons of out-of-season material. This way, churches are not just reactive in learning the Bible or theology, but proactive. Similarly, because of the realities of life, everyone is always “in season” in some facet of life. There has to be some degree of on-the-job training. No amount of textbook reading and cadaver practice can fully prepare a surgeon for his first real surgery. There’s a different kind of equipping that needs to take place when one is in season. Consider the difference between a doctor who understands the diagnosis he gives a patient, and the patient who understands what the diagnosis actually feels like. The doctor was ready out of season, the patient is being made ready in season.
I want people to be doctors who can diagnose their own ailment. Out of season, they learn how to grieve, evangelize, combat spiritual temptation, and more so that in season, they’re not baffled. From this principle, I as a pastor need to be able to recognize what season my people are in, and what kind of equipping I need to provide to match that season. In general, my broad teaching will focus on “out of season” training—expository preaching that covers whatever the passage that week addresses, contextualized as appropriately as possible to my congregation. My personal discipleship and shepherding (and hopefully congregants meeting in small groups) will focus on “in season” training—how to address the difficulties of the particular seasons my people are in right now.
Equip the saints to serve.
This has to do with equipping congregants to serve as healthy members of the church. The underlying principle here ties back to ownership. Every member of my church has a role to play in the life and function of the church. There are no vestigial figures in the body of Christ. Service is a byproduct of the overflow of joy and gratitude from the gospel. It is my responsibility to help my members exercise their joy and gratitude in service. It will be my goal to gauge what people are good at and what people enjoy doing, and then do my best to plug people into service in places that overlap both. I also recognize that people aren’t always called to serve in the areas they are most gifted, or in the areas they enjoy the most. Calling trumps gifting and desire, but gifting and desire often suggest calling. Related to this is developing an effective leadership pipeline within the church, so as people are equipped to be mature and active Christians, they have opportunities to continue that growth and put it into practice—whether through leadership teams, elected offices, pastoral training and internships, or church planting.
This does not mean that the end goal for every congregant is to become and elder or a ministry director, nor does it mean that those in higher positions of authority or responsibility earn a higher “rank” in the family. The church is not a meritocracy. I want to encourage each of my people to express their joy and gratitude through service in a way that matches their capacity.
You are what you eat.
Humans are dynamic beings, constantly changing in response to their environment. What we consume shapes us, so consume critically. This is true literally, with the food and drink we take in. This is also true mentally, emotionally, socially, and spiritually. Therefore, it is important to be cognizant of what one is taking in. Physically, this looks like healthy self-care. It is my responsibility to care of my body. I cannot afford to constantly eat junk food. I need to make sure my body is getting the nutrition, sleep, and exercise it requires to function well.
Socially, this looks like guarding my relationships carefully. You become who you eat with. Bad company corrupts good morals. Who am I spending my time with? How are they influencing my speech? My sense of humor? My love of God? Our friends and family shape the things we “eat” more than anything else. Are the people I associate with and confide in pulling me closer to Jesus or closer to hell? That’s blunt, but true. There’s only two final destinations.
Emotionally, this looks like reflecting on the emotional energy I spend my time sitting in. For lack of better words, what are the “vibes” I am surrounding myself with? How frequently am I laughing with those who laugh? Weeping with those who weep? What emotions am I overemphasizing or avoiding? I need to surround myself with emotionally healthy and well-rounded people, and be careful what emotions are evoked by the media I consume.
Mentally, this looks like paying attention to my intellectual and philosophical influences. Who am I reading? Who is influencing my worldview? I need to read critically, with a healthy view of both depravity and common grace. To this end, I ought not be afraid to “plunder the Egyptians.” Christians from outside of one’s own tradition, and even non-Christians, have plenty of wisdom and truth to offer. At the same time, I should not throw the baby out and keep the bathwater. Plunder the Egyptians without becoming them. Take all their gold but leave all their idols, then use that gold to furnish God’s temple. Only take what’s worth keeping, and don’t let the rest displace the gospel. Beneath all, I need to have a firm foundation of what’s true and what’s good, and weigh everything against that. Identifying my proper foundation is critical. Pyramids built upside down are liable to fall over, but ones built ride-side up can stand the test of time. Attempting to balance my intellectual pyramid on something other than the true base will make the whole construction more likely to tip and collapse.
Spiritually, this looks like remembering how prone my heart is to wander. Our hearts are a perpetual forge of idols, quick to grasp onto anything that suits our fancy and faces less resistance than the way of Christ. The mental aspect points to the facts we gain; the spiritual aspect points to the narratives we tell and place ourselves in. What shows am I watching? What songs am I listening to? What are they making me fall in love with? Where do they suppress the truth in unrighteousness? What vices do they celebrate and what virtues do they mock? What profane things are they making sacred and what sacred things are they making profane? Paul is clear when he instructs the Romans to “Make no provision for the flesh to satisfy its desires.” That needs to be taken seriously. Lot thought that fleeing to Zoar from Sodom was sufficient, until he saw the full wrath brought on by sin. Only then did he run all the way to the mountains with nothing but his life and his daughters. Even then, his daughters brought Sodom with them. Keeping pocket sins is a dangerous game, and consuming the spiritual brokenness of the world is an easy way to slip these idols into my pockets. They will consume everything in my life, including my soul unless God saves me.
I am my own first sheep.
This principle helps orient the leader to how they go about doing everything above. Primarily I think about this in two applications. First, I must teach myself. This is vital to remember when prepping a Sunday school class, sermon, Bible study lesson, or anything else. I am a student of the Holy Spirit just like my congregation. The role of a pastor is to invite others to see and celebrate the beauty of the gospel. That implies the pastor has already seen and is currently celebrating. My ministry work needs to come from an overflow of the love and wonder I receive from the gospel. I need to feel the full weight, the full emotional movement of my sermons first—does it resonate? Does it make sense? Is it compelling to me? Whatever my takeaways are, whether they’re reflection questions or challenges or assignments, I need to do them myself first. It is a terrible error to ask anything of my congregation that I can’t do myself—to place a burden on them that I myself cannot bear. Similarly, there is an aspect of how I live that really ministers to my people. How I live persuades people that there’s a savior worth living for. My life should model what I preach. People should be able to look at me and know what my life is all about.
Second, I must, lead with vulnerability. People are usually pretty intuitive to group dynamics. If they don’t feel like others are being honest, vulnerable, and authentic, they won’t break the trend. As the leader, it is my responsibility to initiate vulnerability. When I lower my guard, people are more ready to lower theirs. Erring on the side of vulnerable as a leader sets the standard for the congregation. This also gives me the opportunity to model healthy vulnerability. Some people have the tendency to overshare—to tell details too intimate to share with a particular group—and end up harming themselves in the process. Leaders who can model healthy vulnerability (practicing what I call “rigorous honesty” rather than “brutal honesty,” full truth but not full detail) can honor all the members of the group and protect them from each other and themselves.
I will fail. That’s a part of the plan.
I am not Jesus, but I will be like him.
I am not Jesus. I cannot and will not love my flock perfectly. I’ll probably bomb a few sermons. I’m going to teach lessons and lead small groups that completely flop. I will most assuredly give bad pastoral guidance, and even more assuredly will remain silent when I should have said something. I will drop the ball on things that are really important. I will hurt people and fail people. I will say thoughtless and hurtful things. I will fail in a hundred other ways I can’t even imagine. Try as I might (and I promise you, I will try my darnedest) I can’t not fail. As stated above, I am both fallen and finite, and that is a recipe for repeated and significant failure.
This is not me excusing my mistakes or getting ahead of bad press when I fail. See above on what the proper response to finitude and fallenness is. The role of a pastor is important; pastors have unique access into the most sensitive and vulnerable parts of people’s lives, and the gospel is a matter of eternal life and death. Because of that, I will need to make every effort to build systems to protect my people and to uphold myself as a person of integrity and gentleness. And yet I will still fail. That’s a part of the plan.
Consider Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians. He apparently has received a ton of criticism from “super apostles.” They seem to be guys who never fail in their ministry. By earthly standards, they’re tall and handsome and wealthy and eloquent and popular. Their sermons are witty and convicting. Their churches are growing rapidly. They’re not getting arrested or beaten. They’re not really suffering at all—and they’re probably pointing to their comfort and success as confirmation that God favors them. At least, they’re pointing to Paul’s apparent failure and rejection as evidence against him. How could God possibly be on Paul’s side if he’s rotting in prison? And his message is so hard and miserable anyway.
Paul has a different perspective. Paul viewed failure and weakness as a part of God’s plan, not contradictory to it. He believed that God ordains our suffering for our sanctification, to make us more like Christ and to grow our dependence on him and increase our appetite for our resurrection. His ministry reflects this reality. His lack of eloquence and his suffering enforces his authority in line with cruciformity. In other words, Paul was like Jesus. Nobody would have assumed God was displaying his power through the cross. When you look at the pattern of salvation, life is only possible for us through Jesus’ death. Our adoption depends on his abandonment on the cross, our life on his death. By the world’s measurement, Jesus was an abject failure. Paul wants to follow in his footsteps. The point is driven home most clearly in what Paul chooses to boast in throughout the letter. See what he writes in 2 Cor 12:7b-10.
A thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to harass me, to keep me from becoming conceited. Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
Again, none of this is meant to excuse my own weakness or pardon my own failure. Rather, I hope my failure even helps to display the gospel to my people. What a profound mystery it is that God chooses to use broken, ugly people to herald his kingdom. I hope my “worldly failures” show off the glory of the kingdom of God. My church will not be the flashiest or the fastest growing. My preaching and teaching may very well be dull or confusing or impractical sometimes. My advice might be poor. I personally might be awkward and boring and unattractive and off-putting. I highly doubt I’ll ever be caught on “Preachers and Sneakers.” Yet, I strive to model cruciformity in my ministry and pursue heavenly treasures rather than fleeting earthly treasure. Lord willing, I will be like Jesus.
Even in my moral failures, when I am guilty of sin in my ministry (Lord willing, not a ministry-disqualifying sin; if I’m ever guilty of that, I pray that my congregation, my family, and I myself have the wisdom to remove me from my station) I pray that these show off the mercy of God. God has asked a broken sinner like myself to tell other sinners about the forgiveness he loves to give. I hope to lead by example in sharing my own testimony of failure and forgiveness as gospel proclamation. I hope to teach my people how to repent by being the first to repent. I hope my profound gratitude and love for my merciful Father spreads like wildfire through my flock. That’s the plan.
Two closing thoughts. For my flock, I hope they can treat me with patience and charity. I pray they never put me on a pedestal, and if they do, that they do not jeer me when I fall. For myself, I need to welcome and genuinely listen to criticism. Just because I’ve been hired to do ministry full-time doesn’t mean I have all the right answers. Even when people offer poor and unclear feedback, I need to humble myself and appreciate that they care about me enough to want to correct me.
Take Note Of This 