Pastoral ministry is a holy calling, but that does not make it invulnerable to perverse motivations and desires. Every pastor knows all about the peculiar temptations and idols of ministry which revolve around success; or merely the appearance of success.
The particular way that success is defined will be different depending on which tribe a pastor belongs to. Some tribes value intellect, others value charisma, and still others have strange attachments to idiosyncratic behaviours that are part of certain Christian sub-cultures (ways of speaking, dressing, and acting).
Regardless of your particular tribe and its measures of meritocracy, the common streak that runs through the human heart is the sin of vainglory; that longing for the praise of man as the primary motive in ministry.
It is probably true that this season of lockdown has exacerbated this temptation. I can think of a few reasons why this would be the case. First, there is the fact that we are spending more time online and part of that time is spent poking around and looking at what our peers are doing which leads to comparison – that mother of all misery. In the normal run of things these comparisons are impossible because I cannot see what happened in your church this past Sunday, nor you in mine. Taking church online has changed that. Second, there is the fact that we have fewer meetings to distract us with the humdrum of business as usual. That leaves a vacuum in our days in which we can mull on our deeper existential longings, such as the desire to be liked. Third, we are experiencing less encouragement in our work. We cannot see the faces of our people when we preach, or their responses to God in worship. That desire for encouragement is not at all a bad thing; nobody wants to live a fruitless life. But in its absence, the heart searches for ways of finding significance.
Success in any field often follows an arc, like the journey of the stars across the sky. A star will rise until it reaches its apex, but then it will fall behind the horizon where it is out of sight, forgotten. So too in ministry. This means that the temptation towards vainglory has to be resisted at each phase of ministry life, whether your star is rising or it is falling.
That is why the words of John the Baptist resonate so deeply. His star had risen as one uniquely called to prepare the way for the Christ. But just as soon, his ministry began to diminish and fade precisely because he had been successful: He had cleared a path for Jesus, and now all eyes were swivelling to behold that man. And how does he speak of this experience?
A man cannot receive even one thing unless it is given him from heaven. You yourselves bear me witness, that I said, ‘I am not the Christ, but I have been sent before him.’ The one who has the bride is the bridegroom. The friend of the bridegroom, who stands and hears him, rejoices greatly at the bridegroom’s voice. Therefore this joy of mine is now complete. He must increase, but I must decrease.
Two sentences stand out as life mottos for pastoral ministry.
First, he speaks to his visible success: A man cannot receive even one thing unless it is given him from heaven. Every natural talent you possess, every opportunity that has opened, every experience of the power of the Holy Spirit working through you has been a gift from heaven. That is grace; that God would use us undeserving, frail and flawed vessels for his glory.
Second, he speaks to his fading into obscurity: He must increase, but I must decrease. There is only pain in obscurity if your deepest desire is for recognition. But this self-worship will diminish as our love and longing for the glory of Jesus grows. And while the Scriptures are clear that in Christ’s kingdom ‘star differs from star in glory’ – that is, God will raise up some to prominence above others even in our eternal home – it is equally clear that all stars will be rendered as nothing in comparison with the glory of the Son.
What kind of ambition should we therefore nurture? ‘I must decrease.’ Or, in the words of Count von Zinzendorf that have so often been on my mind in recent years: ‘Preach the gospel. Die. Be forgotten.’