Tim Clark’s Blog

“The Philistines had mustered for battle at Lehi, where there was a field full of lentils. Israel fled before the Philistines, but Shammah took his stand at the center of the field, successfully defended it, and routed the Philistines. Another great victory for God!” (2 Samuel 23:11-12 The Message)

I used to read this passage and think that Shammah, one of David’s 3 mighty men, was also a lentil farmer; that it was his field, and everyone else could run away but he wasn’t going to let the Philistines get his land. Sounds like the Great American Western to me.

But lately, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think this was Shammah’s field at all. In fact (if he was anything like me) he may not have even known the difference between a lentil and a lima-bean. All we know is that the enemy was on the attack and this beanfield is where he happened to be when it went down. And we know that everyone else ran away, but that Shammah didn’t budge.

I wonder if, when he was fighting the Philistines (quite possibly hundreds of them), Shammah thought to himself, “This certainly isn’t where I planned to go out in a blaze of glory…I’m not even sure who owns this field”. Maybe not, but whatever he did think, whatever questions he might have had about how he got there, he was prepared to go down fighting for the place he discovered himself when the action got underway.

Perhaps you have found yourself in a place that isn’t of your own choosing. You thought (hoped?) you were going to have your defining moment somewhere very different than where you happen to be. And instead of a fortified city with plenty of weapons and your buddies supporting you, you are standing ankle-deep in mud…with a rusty sword…all alone.

Of course, you always have a choice. You can run away. That is exactly what plenty of people did that day. It’s probably even the smart thing to do. Nobody is going to blame you for living to fight another day. After all, it’s just a beanfield, right?

Or you can stand your ground. Who cares if the conditions aren’t perfect? Who cares if it isn’t your beanfield? Who cares if it’s un-glamourous? You’ve found yourself in the middle of something that needs to be done—so do it.

Sometimes, making that choice is the difference between the mighty and everybody else!

One more question: Was Shammah already one of David’s mighty men when he took his stand, or did he become known because he faithfully defended a beanfield that nobody else cared about? I think it’s the latter.

You don’t do mighty things when you become a mighty person, you become known as a mighty person because you do mighty things.

Even mighty things that nobody else (but God) may notice or care about!

If you came to our church for very long, you would know we often say goodbye to people. One of the reasons we exist is to equip leaders for the Kingdom and then help them find places of service that are quite often not in our little family. And that means sending folks out.

Sending someone across country to pastor a church (like we did 3 weeks ago) can be a clear cause for a real celebration, but what about when someone is feeling led to transition across town to serve another congregation? I think if it is a healthy move, it should be celebrated just as passionately and often just as publicly.

One time we were doing this—publicly praying for and giving a gift to a faithful family that had felt called to transition to another church—and a guy who was new to our church pulled one of our elders aside. “I can’t believe what I just saw”, he said, “we just blessed that family that is going to a church down the street—I’ve never seen that before”.

Sometimes I’ve even wondered if we should throw a combined party every month for the new folks at the church as well as for the ones who are leaving. We could say hello and goodbye (that kind of reminds me of the Hebrew greeting Shalom…and the Hawaiian Aloha!)

I want to always remember that our local church does not exist to build OUR kingdom, but we live to operate in GOD’S Kingdom. It is the Holy Spirit’s job—not mine—to assign people to different parts of the Family. People may seek, and I will give, pastoral wisdom and advice as they consider why, and whether, to go, but in the end, I can’t hold on tightly but should celebrate what the Lord may be doing in them as they look towards a new season of service.

I think it helps our church culture that we rarely talk about people leaving our church; we say we are sending them to serve another congregation. When we talk about godly transition publicly we model what it can look like to go somewhere else for a good purpose, instead of sneaking out the back door for a bad reason. That helps us all keep proper perspective. And it models for others why and how healthy moves can take place.

“You will do well to send them on their way I a manner worthy of God…we ought to show hospitality to such men so that we may work together for the truth.” (3 John 6 & 8)

I led worship this week on Sunday morning for the first time in years. Though my technical skills are a little rusty, I really enjoyed it. Worshipping (and leading worship) is one of the things that tap into my passion.

While I was leading (and destroying) some of the songs, there was a sense of breakthrough in our congregation. One of the best worship leaders I know, my friend Caleb Quaye, was visiting this week and later, over coffee he confirmed that God was doing something very powerful.

But it wasn’t because of the quality of music (he confirmed that too) and it wasn’t because we sounded “like the CD”, or because we designed the set just right.

What I needed to remember was that our songs in worship are simply a vehicle to an encounter with the living God. Too often in our church culture we look at songs as if they are a destination: Get the ‘band’ to play them just right, nail the transitions, build to an emotionally satisfying crescendo, and end big and right on time, and we feel that we just had an amazing worship experience.

As good as that might feel, the target is more musical and emotional. What we need is a spiritual target. When I am told of the churches where the Holy Spirit was moving so powerfully in the 70′s I hear that they sang simple songs without great transitions and often with little more accompanying them than a Piano or Organ. But worship was powerful. People got saved and healed and baptized with the Holy Spirit every week. Folks walked into the room and said “God is truly among you”.

And it wasn’t because the music was amazing. The songs were decent and true, but they were simply a vehicle to real worship where God moved in and through the praises of His people. I fear that we now have become so enamored with the songs themselves that we worship the worship, and not the God that the worship is designed to get us to meet (for more about what God thinks of that kind of worship, read the Old Testament book of Joel).

Many of us church leaders want to know why people have such a hard time keeping a long-term commitment to serving. However, I don’t think the problem is as much about what we are asking people to do, but about who we are asking them to be. Let me clarify:

An artist in my congregation has a real servant’s heart and a long history of cleaning toilets (and other such tasks) in past churches. She’s had no problem serving in that way, but in a recent conversation I had with her, she wondered out loud if the Lord could ever use the gifts and passions resident within her for the sake of the local church.

When we started to explore the possible avenues in which she could express her artistic talents in our little faith community, she started to tear up. The church slots she was used to being asked to fill were not in the arts.  But I could think of many ways that her unique gifts could be stewarded well to resource God’s specific call to our church: In adult worship, kids ministry, communication, design, etc…

So we came up with a handful of ideas that she is going to run with; and she’s going to get her artistic friends to run with them as well. We’ll be a more complete church because they are passionately involved by being part of the body that they were designed to be.

But here is the kicker: As we talked about having a servant heart, I realized that as this young woman expresses her distinct design, if we need someone to vacuum the floor or clean the bathrooms, she will be more than happy to do so. She will joyfully engage any servant-tasks that need to be done, because her primary assignment will correspond to her primary gifting and calling.

In other words, I can clean toilets all day long when I know my value is not simply what I am willing to do, but that I am treasured for who God has created me to be.

When we treat people as gifted (and as gifts), they usually don’t mind being asked to serve in other areas, too. But when we treat people like servants, they will eventually loose passion and burn out.

Remember: We are all called to have a servant heart, but we should never treat anyone else like a servant.

Multi-campus churches seem to be the hot thing right now among exploding churches, and among churches that want to be exploding. I have no criticism about the strategic value of this practice—I’m sure it makes sense for some, and out of necessity we even embraced a second location during the school year—but something I read in the Bible the other day addressed the motivation for expanding ministry this way.

In 1 Kings 12 and 2 Chronicles 11 we read about a tale of two kings. Rehoboam was the son of Solomon and leader of the Southern Kingdom Judah, and Jeroboam was the newly installed monarch of the newly formed Northern Kingdom of Israel. Though each of them seems to be paying a pretty steep stupid tax (and I would suggest neither as any kind of model for leadership), they also both set up multiple “ministry venues”, but for radically different reasons. And I want to be clear—I’m considering the motivation here, not the model.

Jeroboam created two worship sites because he was worried about losing people. While there is an obvious serious problem with his idol-centered-theology, there is something else going on here: Multiple venues were all about keeping people in his kingdom.

Rehoboam installed commanders in various towns to distribute resources and protection among the people for whom he was responsible. Multiple venues were all about serving (ministering to) people who chose to be in his kingdom, and about providing a place for the next generation to exercise leadership.

Ministry strategies are as varied as the sand on the beach. But with every new tactic employed, we must ask, and honestly answer, “why we are doing what we do?” If we create new venues to simply extend our own ministry reach or build the kingdom of our church, we should repent.

On the other hand, if we multiply campuses so that we can serve our people better and develop the next generations of leaders who will be ready to pastor God’s people, we may be tapping into something positive.

Here is a great way to answer the motivation question: Are we ready to release our campuses to be full-fledged congregations as soon as the Lord impresses us to do so? Or, does our soul struggle with the thought because of all the money and energy and leadership that have been given to the endeavor?

One of my heroes, Ralph More, recently wrote “Healthy movements don’t own their church plants, they accept them as peers.” So, do we intend for a campus to “grow up” and become a self-sustaining autonomous congregation, or do we act like dysfunctional parents who make sure their kids always need them, not recognizing that healthy independence and intentional separation may be the best way to support generational Kingdom extension?

These are just some random things I’m thinking about this Monday morning. I honestly haven’t read a ton about multi-site, so this isn’t a critique of the practice, but just a challenge for the motivation. Maybe you can help support, correct, or refine my thoughts?

As I work with college students, one of the recurring issues I tend to deal with is initiative. As much as I may love an individual, I’ve discovered I can’t do much to develop a young adult who has little or no initiative. I’m just not built to be a hand-holder (some are, and thank God for them). For me, proper stewardship of my life dictates that I can help direct a moving vehicle, but I need to stay away from attempting to steer parked cars.

But even among those with initiative, I’ve found there is a nuanced difference in the type of initiative they show:

Reactive initiative happens when you realize there is something you want, or need, and you change course to take care of it on the spot. Someone showing reactive initiative may be driving along and see a person in a parking lot with whom they have been wanting to connect, so they make an instant decision to adjust their schedule, whip a U-Turn, park and jump out of the car to have a 10 minute conversation.

If that seems like a no-brainer to you, then you have at least some level of initiative. Many people would notice the person and just keep driving while making a mental note to email or call that person later (and then forget about it in 5 minutes.)

Proactive initiative, however, happens when that person knows they want to connect with an individual, and therefore writes it down on his or her to-do list and then takes time to set up a lunch appointment.

I’m not saying reactive initiative is always a bad thing—most of us react to things occasionally. But I do think the total lack of proactive initiative is something with which to be very concerned, because it usually implies a lack of discipline.

And while initiative is really important for a leader, discipline is non-negotiable. I work with a lot of twentysomethings who are self-motivated and highly creative, but without learning discipline they will never realize their full potential.

I have a little test I do with many of the students in my life (I’m giving away secrets now!): I get quite a few requests for discipleship meetings, and I often answer those requests by saying that I do my devotions at a particular Starbucks at 6:30 on a certain morning, and that they are welcome to join me—and then I never remind them.

While many take up that challenge and set themselves to be there, I’m always amazed at those who do not. No matter how much they protest that they really want to get together with me, they just can’t bring themselves to remember the time, or to pull themselves out of bed that early.

In a slightly different variation, when some see me at a service they try to set an appointment then and there. I always ask them to email or call me later in the week. I don’t do this because I can’t figure out my schedule when they ask, but I’m challenging them to develop a life of proactive initiative as opposed to simply reactive initiative. I get maybe 50% (at most) who follow through.

Initiative is good, but much like intention it must be driven by the engine of discipline, or it will produce very little impact in or through a person’s life.

Last week I wrote some thoughts about a respected Pastor, Tom Ferguson, who went to be with the Lord. Yesterday John Wooden, arguably the greatest college basketball coach of all time, died. I never had the opportunity to meet him, but as someone who wants to be a good ‘leader-coach’ and as a man who wants to be upright and godly, John Wooden’s life and work deeply inspired me.

The following words are taken from an article Rick Reilly wrote ten years ago in his Sports Illustrated column. Occasionally, I run across it in my files as I’m preparing for a sermon, and I re-read it, and weep. God bless you, John Wooden; thanks for the example!

On the 21st of the month, the best man I know will do what he always does on the 21st of the month. He’ll sit down and pen a love letter to his best girl. He’ll say how much he misses her and loves her and can’t wait to see her again.

Then he’ll fold it once, slide it in a little envelope and walk into his bedroom. He’ll go to the stack of love letters sitting there on her pillow, untie the yellow ribbon, place the new one on top and tie the ribbon again. The stack will be 180 letters high then, because the 21st will be 15 years to the day since Nellie, his beloved wife of 53 years, died.

In her memory, he sleeps only on his half of the bed, only on his pillow, only on top of the sheets, never between; with just the old bedspread they shared to keep him warm.

There has never been another coach like Wooden, quiet as an April snow and square as a game of checkers; loyal to one woman, one school, one way; walking around campus in his sensible shoes and Jimmy Stewart morals.

He’d spend a half hour the first day of practice teaching his men how to put on a sock. “Wrinkles can lead to blisters,” he’d warn. These huge players would sneak looks at one another and roll their eyes. Eventually, they’d do it right. “Good,” he’d say. “And now for the other foot.”

Of the 180 players who played for him, Wooden knows the whereabouts of 172. Of course, it’s not hard when most of them call, checking on his health, secretly hoping to hear some of his simple life lessons so that they can write them on the lunch bags of their kids, who will roll their eyes.

“Discipline yourself, and others won’t need to,” Coach would say. “Never lie, never cheat, never steal,” and “Earn the right to be proud and confident.”

If you played for him, you played by his rules: Never score without acknowledging a teammate. One word of profanity and you’re done for the day. Treat your opponent with respect.

He believed in hopelessly out-of-date stuff that never did anything but win championships. No dribbling behind the back or through the legs. “There’s no need,” he’d say.

No UCLA basketball number was retired under his watch. “What about the fellows who wore that number before? Didn’t they contribute to the team?” he’d say.

No long hair, no facial hair. “They take too long to dry, and you could catch cold leaving the gym,” he’d say. That one drove his players bonkers.

One day, All-America center Bill Walton showed up with a full beard.  “It’s my right,” he insisted. Wooden asked if he believed that strongly.  Walton said he did. “That’s good, Bill,” Coach said. “I admire people who have strong beliefs and stick by them, I really do. We’re going to miss you.” Walton shaved it right then and there. Now Walton calls once a week to tell Coach he loves him.

It’s always too soon when you have to leave the condo and go back out into the real world, where the rules are so much grayer and the teams so much worse.

As Wooden shows you to the door, you take one last look around. The framed report cards of his great-grandkids, the boxes of jellybeans peeking out from under the favorite wooden chair, the dozens of pictures of Nellie.

He’s almost 90 now. You think a little more hunched over than last time.  Steps a little smaller. You hope it’s not the last time you see him. He smiles. “I’m not afraid to die,” he says. “Death is my only chance to be with her again.”

Problem is, we still need him here.

I remember first meeting Tom Ferguson when I was 28 years old and getting ready to plant a church in Seattle. He was to be my District Supervisor, and we were getting to know one another since I was coming from out of the area. After talking and praying with him for an hour I recall that I had two distinct thoughts:

First, that he was a godly man. Here was a leader who didn’t just talk about praying, he prayed. When most of us see the encouragement to ‘pray without ceasing’, we somehow read it as slightly hyperbolic; Tom saw that, and lived it literally. There was a constant connection to the Source of his life and that connection was clear to those who knew him.

His humility was just as marked as his prayer life. Tom seemed to embody Romans 12:3—“Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the measure of faith God has given you.” There wasn’t false-humility or heavy self-deprecation; he simply came across as unpretentious and solid.

Second, that he was a very authentic Christian leader. Though his life of prayer and devotion was evident, when I asked him what he liked to do with his time he said that he and his wife and friends loved to go see movies. I don’t know why that impressed me so much—it wasn’t about the movies as much as it was about the down-to-earth way he answered that question. It was just so apparent that he wasn’t trying to impress anyone; that he was a real guy who loved Jesus, loved his family and friends, and was faithful to fulfill whatever assignment God had given him.

In other words, his position of leadership (one of the highest positions of leadership a person can have in our denomination) didn’t change who he was. His role didn’t shape his reality. This was simply an assignment that he would steward well, but that didn’t cause him to forget his identity, either.

In subsequent interactions, I would realize that Tom was a very positive guy. I never heard him speak a negative or cynical word, and many others didn’t either. This was a man for whom hope was reality and that flavored the way he talked. One person said that “his vocabulary was always tied to the future”.

That was said last week at his funeral. Tom, who was only in his mid-60′s, died on May 20. A guy who could have had 20+ more years to encourage younger leaders to be godly and real and positive went to be with the Lord. I moved away from the Northwest and hadn’t connected with him for a few years, yet I will miss his influence. And the Foursquare Church I am a part of is poorer today because of our loss.

As I watched his funeral live, online, from 3,000 miles away, there was one more thing I learned about Tom, and it doesn’t surprise me. A friend of his said that Tom didn’t believe that structures or systems or organizations were anointed, but that he was convinced God takes delight in anointing people. I think that is easy to forget. But I want to be more concerned with the anointing on my and other’s lives than I am with the structures or systems we seek to build.

And, I want to be like Tom!

Are you intentionally looking for people who will speak challenging truth into your life?

This is one of the most effective ways to grow: Cultivate real relationships with people you trust who will tell it to you the way it is. We need those who will say, “you really blew that and here is why”, or, “that was pretty good, but it wasn’t great…and this is how it could have been great”.

In the debrief meetings our church has after events and services, we always ask people to weigh in on what went well (the good), what could have gone better (the bad), and what was a potential train wreck (the ugly).  I’ve discovered that most ministry folks are good at talking about the good, and can even muster up the courage to acknowledge the truly ugly, but they seem to be pretty timid about bringing up the bad and have an even harder time communicating why the good could have been great.

Why is that? I think a big reason is our bent towards encouragement in the church. We want to build others up, not tear them down—and that’s good! But our understanding of the word encouragement is flawed.  Encouragement literally means to put courage into someone, and encouragement is only needed when there is a reason to be courageous.

It takes courage to recognize your weaknesses. It takes courage to see where things fell apart. And it takes courage to admit that you missed the mark. Then it takes courage to stand back up and try again!

Who is going to help you find that courage? Who is there to say, “this is not going well for you, but I believe in you, and think that by digging deep and making a few adjustments, this thing can turn around”?

If you don’t have a friend who will tell you the truth in love, start looking for one. He or she will make you a better, more effective person. And when you find that person, really listen, without defending yourself, and figure out where change is necessary. Then thank them for the honesty.

If you are a leader, one of your primary responsibilities is to be that person in other people’s lives. It may not feel good to correct or challenge people, but the alternative is to let them stagnate and never become all they are called and gifted to be.

Remember: Wounds from a friend can be trusted, but an enemy multiplies kisses. (Proverbs 27:6)

Most churches I know have a great volunteer challenge. It takes a high percentage of volunteer workers in order for everyone to be served well within a given structure. But, season-by-season, those workers are hard to come by, and sometimes even harder to keep.

Most mature believers will step up to the plate and fill a slot that needs to be filled—for a while. But when push comes to shove, they’ll look for a gracious way out. I’ve even known people who leave the church altogether because they served too long in a role they had no passion for, and didn’t know how to say they were done—so they simply left.

John Fehlen is a friend of mine who pastors the effective and exploding West Salem Foursquare Church. Earlier today he tweeted the following question: “Awesome 3000: a study in volunteerism. How come churches can’t find volunteers for children’s ministry but a race attracts hundreds?”

The Awesome 3000 is a huge annual run in his town of Salem Oregon. Hundreds of adults come out to volunteer and thousands to celebrate as over 3,000 kids participate in this non-profit fundraising event for local schools.

Anyways, I couldn’t stop thinking about John’s question today. But my mind wandered from the kids ministry volunteer question to why non-profit runs that take place all over the country attract so many participants in the first place, and how anyone who works with volunteers can learn from this:

A Calling: Let’s call it passion—something that really floats your boat. Some people just like to run. Give them any opportunity to do so and they will sign up. But many didn’t figure that out until a friend invited them into the activity. You usually need to be introduced to something to catch the ‘bug’ and find the passion. Most volunteers don’t just ‘find’ their calling, they have to be introduced and invited into it.

A Community: Running solo is for the few, the proud, the…(fill in the blank).  What people really love is carbo-loading before the race; running with others; knowing there are people cheering them on; looking forward to the after party—that is what attracts even non-runners to this thing. It’s also interesting that most long runs have ‘mini-versions’ of the race too so even more folks can be included into the community—and for every runner there are usually multiple people providing logistical support, encouragement, and participating in the community in other ways. Volunteers, too, can’t operate in a vacuum, but are seeking a real community to join.

A Cause: In many of these runs there is more than just running going on. Whether it is raising money or raising awareness, there is usually some focus for which the race exists. Another example: I’m never going to buy a candy bar from someone simply selling sweets door-to-door, but when it is tied to a cause that I understand and believe in, I’m at least tempted to do so (even if I’m on a diet). What is the clear cause our volunteers know they are joining?

A Competition: The thrill of victory; the agony of defeat—It may sound unspiritual, but I’m convinced that if we could clearly articulate what we are fighting for, people with a competitive spirit would have an inner drive to step up to the plate to help bring the win.

A Completion: Even in a Triathlon, there needs to be a finish line. I’m not talking about having a defined season of service (an end date to your volunteering), but about understanding the definition of completion in your ministry. Andy Stanley says that every ministry needs to establish what a win looks like, because people need to be able to determine whether they are winning or how to adjust if they are loosing.

A Celebration: At the end of a race there is usually a massive celebration. It’s the afterglow that makes it all worth while; the stories of how you felt when you hit the wall, the play-by-play of the little and big details that made running satisfying; the hours on the couch with your friends while your body recoups. This celebration is the culmination of all of the other elements combined. Volunteers want to be able to regularly celebrate with one another for the important and impacting things they are accomplishing together.

For a first hand account of the kind of experience I’m talking about (that, frankly, I can’t provide) you might want to read this ‘running’ post from a guy I met in Wisconsin a few weeks ago.

But lets get back to John’s original question: Why will hundreds of volunteers show up to help with a kids race but not sign up to help in kids ministry? It’s not just about their personal calling, community, cause, competition, or completion (though I think it is part of it), but it’s about helping the kids discover these things, too. When you volunteer for an epic event that engages kid’s imaginations and impacts the way they see the world, you know it was worth it.

Does our children’s ministry engage the passion of both the adults and the kids, or is it mostly about asking adults to fill necessary slots and about providing obligatory care and teaching for kids in the church without fully contending for that which is epic and passionate and impacting and memorable? I think the answer to this could make a big difference with our volunteer situation.

The other day I had an honest conversation with a dear friend of mine. It was good—I was challenged in just the right places to think through some of my assumptions. I left without taking any offence whatsoever; if anything, I was encouraged to grow to be a better leader.

A few hours later he sent me an email asking my forgiveness for pressing so hard. While I honestly felt that there was nothing to forgive, I thought his response to his conscience was fantastic. Too often we feel what might be the conviction of the Holy Spirit, and we blow it off. We do this for many reasons, but one of the chief ones is that we think people will think we are just being overly sensitive.

Our biblical friend David faced a situation in which his conscience-sensitivity did not match that of his friends. In 1 Samuel 24, when David fell into a perfect opportunity to kill Saul (who, by the way, was trying to kill David), his men egged him on to do it. Instead of killing him, David secretly cut off a corner of his robe.

It seemed that David had every right to preemptively defend himself against Saul, and that taking a little souvenir was harmless. But he was conscience-stricken for doing even that and he subsequently rebuked his men for their insensitivity… then he went on to essentially expose his life before Saul.

I’m not sure his men ever understood why he did that, but this episode was just one in a life long series of events where David displayed a sensitive and soft heart before God.

Usually our sensitivity isn’t to the Lord, however, it is to our pride and our flesh.

A couple of weeks ago I was talking to a young man who feels called to leadership and he was sharing how he had felt wounded by something a more mature pastor had told him. As we unpacked the cause of this pain, it turned out that a godly elder had delivered a very appropriate word of loving correction and rebuke. But the young man was offended and hurt. He was more focused on his pride and flesh than he was on the opportunity to be trained and developed. I told him that unless that changed in his life, there was no healthy pathway to leadership available to him.

My refrain to developing leaders is this: “learn to develop a soft heart and a tough skin”. A soft heart maintains sensitivity to respond to the correction of the Spirit and of others. A tough skin doesn’t allow every instance of criticism by others—whether appropriate, misguided, or, more usually, somewhere in between—to destroy you.

It may be embarrassing to admit fault or receive correction, but it’s even more damaging to become insensitive to the Lord. On the other hand, if we cultivate sensitivity to our own pride, that will eventually take us down.

So let’s remember to be sensitive to the right things.

The story found in the first few chapters of 1 Samuel both encourages me and makes me ill every time I read it.

I’m encouraged because what happens to young Samuel has many parallels to my hopes and prayers for my own kids:

I pray that my children would “grow up in the presence of the Lord” (2:21); that they would “continue to grow in stature and in favor with the Lord and with men” (2:26); that they would learn to clearly hear and respond to the Lord’s voice (3:1-14); that they would become individuals who are known by God’s presence—that He would “let none of [their] words fall to the ground” (3:19) and, that God would continue to reveal Himself to them through His Word (3:21).

This story also makes me sick, however, because of what I see in Eli:

Here is a Priest of Israel who is not raising his children well. His boys, who Eli has installed into ministry, have no regard for the Lord. They are stealing from the offerings and sleeping with the women who serve at the tabernacle.

We know that Eli is aware of the grievous sins in which his sons are engaging, and that he fails to restrain them. The sons, in fact, end up championing the worst religion has to offer—they are leaders who know how to run the religious machine but who are totally in it for themselves, and worse, who do not even know the Lord.

As a pastor who is raising three kids I want my children to look like Samuel, not like Hophni & Phinehas.

I understand if I want them to reflect Samuel I must teach them to be ready to hear the Lord speak to them and train them to obediently respond to the revelation that comes through God’s word.

But how do I keep them from acting like Eli’s sons?

I’m not really sure.

As I read the story this last time, however, I saw something I hadn’t noticed before. It seems, like most parents, Eli cared about his kids (2:23-25 & 29), but I think He cared about the Ark of the Covenant even more.

It is telling that when both the Ark and his sons go off to battle that Eli sits at the side of the road worrying about the Ark…and the news that came regarding the death of his kids didn’t kill him, but the capture of the Ark did.

It turns out that the Ark would be OK (as we discover in chapters 5 and 6 God takes care of the Ark better than Eli could). But twice leading up to that event God castigates Eli for not raising his children right and for getting his priorities all mixed up.

It looks like he had religion (the Ark) first, his sons second, and God dead last.

In other words, he was enticed to sacrifice his family on the altar of ministry and leave God standing on the sidelines.

Why do I get the feeling that if Eli would have paid better attention to the Lord and taken responsibility to raise his kids, that the function he carried out as priest would have been much healthier, too?

I’m not suggesting that we can guarantee our kids will turn out righteous—each person makes their own choices in life. But I do think that putting ‘ministry’ (religion) above both God and family is always a disaster in the making, and that wrong priorities ultimately undercut the very thing that should be most important to us.

This week I was reading my Bible alone in a Starbucks and I kept being distracted by an exchange that was taking place at the next table.

There was a new Starbucks partner (employee) being trained by a more seasoned worker. Binders were out and conversation was flowing. They were talking about the cash register, morning and afternoon pastries—yes there is a difference—and scheduling, among other things. There was more than information being transferred here; culture was being developed.

It reminded me of my days training for Starbucks almost 12 years ago. There were classes and there were workbooks, but what I remember best are the one-on-one conversations. These connections were the backbone of the training program then, and they still are today. Every new partner had (has) various veterans who ensured that positive development was being made.

And it made me think of how we might help new believers get acclimated to the faith.

Many of our churches have regular classes for new Christians. These training opportunities are important and can provide an overview or primmer on what is necessary to understand as a person follows Jesus.

It is probably a good idea, too, to give people some material to read and work through. Lectures in classrooms can sometimes be static; most of us need to engage with and tangibly work through information on our own to make sure it ‘sticks’.

However, I wonder if we tend to miss the most vital element of passing important understanding from one ‘generation’ to the next? Relational connections can’t be beat in discipleship, because ultimately our faith is not simply about information, it is about transformation, and a relational, discipleship-based connection promotes a transference of life and not just of knowledge.

Just a thought: What if every person at your church who indicated they were interested in following Jesus was partnered with a more seasoned believer for a series of conversations that flowed around some important aspects of the faith? Maybe a workbook could serve as a practical tool for those conversations, but the outcome would be more impacting than a workbook alone could give.

Propagating relational connections might be a little more work than simply providing a class and it would certainly take more investment than handing a new believer a book, but in the long run, I think it would be much more effective.

Seeing the commercials for the ‘return of Jay Leno’ over the last couple of weeks has made me think…

Five years ago, NBC announced that half a decade later Conan would sit in Jay’s chair hosting the legacy Tonight Show. At the time I was impressed. Here was a network full of Baby Boomer executives that was actually doing some forward thinking regarding the upcoming generation. They were rightly concerned that a demographic sea change was on the horizon, and they were doing their best to get in front of it to ensure the continuance of current younger fan-base as well as to reach out to ones that didn’t yet exist.

Alas, it was all talk. Sure there was the actual switch, but you could tell that they were nervous from before it happened. Because they could not bring themselves to sell out to this generational transition, they hedged their bets and kept Jay on at 10— where nobody thought he would thrive, but where he was guaranteed to upstage the younger host. And they told Conan to change his presentation and personality so he could more respectfully reach the aging population who may not “get” him so much; in the process he lost the very thing that made him appeal to millions of younger viewers. Predictably NBC tanked in the ratings for both shows.

Now I don’t watch much late night TV anymore and I really don’t have anything invested in the goings-on at NBC. But, all week I have been wondering about the church leadership implications. In a time when denominational overseers talk a lot about restocking the shelves of pastoral leadership and reaching an emerging generation, I wonder if they are really committed to the follow-through without hedging their bets. I wonder if they are taking the long view and planning to place competent but younger pastors who can reenergize legacy churches to connect with an emerging generation. I wonder if they are willing to do this with the knowledge that if these new pastors are free to maintain their own personality and style, that they just might loose some of the older folks. And, I’ve wondered if successful pastors who have brought on younger leaders to wait in the wings for their retirement will ever truly be able to let go.

I’m not suggesting that the current aging generations (The Silent & Baby Boom Generations) are irrelevant and shouldn’t continue in leadership. Neither am I contending for younger pastors to irresponsibly alienate our valued elders. I am questioning whether, as humans get older, we have an inordinate need to go back to the way it was, while not investing everything in the way it will need to be—more than anything I question if we unconsciously but instinctively neglect the next generation of lost people in our most important leadership decisions.

I hope that I remember these lessons in 25 years when I am at retirement age. And I pray that I take a note from the life of Moses who was told to “commission Joshua and encourage and strengthen him, for he will lead this people across and will cause them to inherit the land that you will see” (Deuteronomy 3:28).

One of my favorite writers on organizational dynamics is Patrick Lencioni, author of such business fables as The Five Dysfunctions of a Team and The Four Obsessions of an Extraordinary Executive. He’s a sharp, engaging thinker and writer. He’s also a fellow Christ-follower, and many of his principles are Biblically based.

His brand new book, Getting Naked, is NOT about taking your clothes off; it’s about vulnerability in the corporate sector. It’s a good, quick (2 hours) read, and worth the cover price. While the book specifically deals with the consulting profession, I found it oddly applicable to pastoral work.

Here are the three main points of this book, along with one take-away from each topic. Through the story of a strategic consultant’s awakening, Lencioni tells us…

1. Don’t be afraid of losing the business: Too many pastors live in fear that if they make the wrong decision they will lose the church, or at least will lose someone important to the church. While leaders must steward responsibility well, we should always remember that is it not our church.  An unreasonable fear of losing the church can lead to some pastoral sins, including treating big givers with more respect than small givers (Luke 21:1-4), being overly conservative with investing Kingdom resources (Luke 19:11-26), worrying too much about what people will think (Luke 7:33-35) and not telling people truth that might challenge them too much (John 6:25-71).

Take away #1—Tell the kind truth: If I am afraid of loosing the ministry, I’m not going to be honest with people who need me to be honest with them. My goal must always be their growth, rather than my church’s attendance or financial position.

2. Don’t be afraid of being embarrassed: Fear of embarrassment is a major hindrance to ministry. If I am more concerned with making myself look good than I am with really helping someone out, I’ve lost any authority I have to minister into his or her life.

Take away #2—Ask Dumb Questions: We can’t be afraid to reveal that we don’t know it all. In fact, instead of trying hard to create an appearance of having it all together, we probably should work to intentionally reveal when we don’t have it figured out. Lencioni says that one way to do this is to ask questions to which everyone else seems to know the answer when you don’t. Often others don’t know the answer either, and by asking the question you have just articulated what is in their heart and helped them to not be embarrassed. And then you can figure out the answer together. That’s more helpful than acting like you know it all.

3. Don’t be afraid of feeling inferior: There is no room for a bloated ego in ministry. Pride is at the root of sin, yet pastors can be some of the worst offenders in this. Fear of inferiority will often lead people to be pushy and arrogant, and that rarely allows for true servanthood (Mark 9:35/John 13).

Take away #3—Do the dirty work: This is all about being a servant. Though I passionately believe in distributed ministry, and releasing tasks to others so they can do their part, this never lets leaders off the hook from doing the actual “dirty work” at times. You may be released to spend time in prayer and the ministry of the Word (Acts 6), but sometimes you’ve got to roll up your sleeves and wait tables (or clean toilets, or set up chairs, etc,) to support the value of the task and the greater value of the people who are doing it.