My Reaction to Pride in Church Leadership

A confession.

I've always intended to be a leader to make a change, to start a movement, to shift the church from stagnancy to exponential growth.  I have an awareness of inconsistencies, a personal perfectionism, and a critical eye towards churchy things, and it somewhat fuels my desire to do something different.  Better.

And the thing I hate most is pride, particularly in leaders.  In young Christians, I expect it.  In folks who don't know the Lord, I don't think twice about it.  It's still ugly, still repugnant.  But expected.

In church leaders, though, I absolutely hate it.  They should know better.  Christian leaders never have any right to gloat over anything*.  Church planters that rattle off statistics in a 'we've done this right' fashion, and 'you should all learn from us' reject grace.  Because grace has nothing to do with what we do right, nor our statistics.  Grace is a gift.  Salvation is a gift.  The church is a gift.  Transformation, sanctification, are gifts.  And they only happen by the work of the Spirit.

Truth be told, a lot of people are doing a whole lot of really good things.  And we all have a ton to learn from each other here.  But the little we do know about how to do church, even if it is good and true, is a gift.  Nothing more.  And therefore it should be held with humility.  We are honored by what we hold, not by what we do.  We are honored by what we have been given, in a place and a name and a calling, not by what we have done with them.

Unfortunately, my reaction to seeing this pride in other leaders is nearly always to sink into pride myself.  I become cocky, arrogant, proud.  You know how to do church?  You know how to do small groups, how to teach, how to think rightly?  Well, I can find your flaws.  I can biblically challenge your presuppositions.  I can shoot you down.  If nothing else, I'm not as prideful as you are, which has got to count for something.

And immediately I become proud.  Smug.

The past few months have been filled with me seeing problems in the church universal.  Seeing things that are wrong, or aren't working- mainly things that just don't feel right even if I can't put my finger on just why.  And at times I've been quite frustrated, and often arrogant.

However, the past few months have also been filled with me seeing problems in myself as I engage in the church.  I don't really know how to lead a lifegroup well.  I don't really know how to teach.  How to be both organic and organized, systematic and Spirit-led.  And I really feel like I've come up short.  Which slams my arrogance into insecurity.

The truth is, the truth I have to keep telling myself, is that no matter how many people have told me that I am something special, that I am meant for great things, and that I should be proud, and no matter how much I can critique or deconstruct leaders around me- I really have nothing but what God has given me, in creation, redemption, and the present indwelling of the Spirit.  And no matter how well trained I might be, well studied, well pedigreed, if God should choose not to act, I would have no meaningful success, no worthwhile endeavors.  I could change no heart by my work, not even my own.

Which would lead me to despair, were it not for grace already supplied in full.  Even so, despair lingers close.  And so, when I consider the church, and my role in it, I must begin with the gospel, lest despair wrap me up and tie me down.  And this is the gospel to my heart: it does not matter at all what I do, save what He has done.  All program, all theology, all systems, all spontaneity- all is filthy rags in comparison.

And so no one can be proud, certainly not I.  Church 'works' only by the grace of the Spirit.  It exists by that same grace.  And so for it we must pray, work, strive, study, dialogue.  But, I pray, in humility, that we might be the church of a gracious Lord instead of a church of self-confidence.

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*  I honestly think pride ought to be eradicated from positive Christian vocabulary.  Now, to take joy in something, good.  To be grateful and honor something, even better.  To worship God because of what He is doing in you, through you, around you?  Perhaps out true purpose.  But to be proud of ourselves?  Honestly, the feeling that accompanies 'to be proud' is the feeling of 'receiving honor' from something.  'I am proud of my son,'** literally means 'my son gains me honor', honor which can only be gained if I (the parent) had an extensive role in what the son has become.  Honestly, our role in creating change and formation in the lives of those around us is passive at best, merely as conduits of God's grace and presence.  Every power that we have 'of our own strength' is but a gift remaining from the original image of God in which we were made.  And every continuing good that comes of our hands is by grace alone, the grace that the Lord poured onto His children when He did not obliterate them (as they willed) in the removal of His presence, but instead remained engaged in their lives, desiring the restoration of all that is good.  Therefore, pride is never the appropriate response.  Honor, gratitude, joy, celebration, definitely.  The key difference: pride centers around you, or at best around them.  Honor, gratitude, etc., centers around Him, and draws us to worship.  We ought to be deeply glad for others, and deeply honored to have been used in the process.  But again, humbled, not lifted up.

** Footnote of the footnote:  I don't think saying that you are proud of someone is a ridiculous statement.  I know what we mean when we say it, generally: that someone has done well, and we celebrate the good that has come from them.  But how much more powerful a blessing would it be to say, not 'I am so proud', or 'you have done so well', but 'The Spirit has used you so beautifully', or 'how incredibly God has made/redeemed you', or 'how beautiful you are'.  Semantics, perhaps, but as language creates culture, perhaps phrases that emphasize grace and gratitude would be good for our churches.  They would be for me.

Invited to Dinner

Hard summer, in parts. Several times I just burned out. So many challenging things, with so much pressure I place on myself, of my house, work, girlfriend, lifegroup, future. I sometimes felt like I was eternally pouring out. So many good, beautiful things, so many gifts from God. But still I grew burned out and exhausted. The very things I felt called to I deeply felt incapable of executing. And then I noticed sin creeping in. I started feeling a twinge of bitterness towards those in leadership over me, and towards those I love. Growing suspicious of particular friends, pride over others, anxiety and selfishness- all while trying to do so much good. What happened?

I was praying about it the other day, praying though my bitterness towards one friend/mentor in particular. And in discussion with one of my roommates, a thought crossed my mind. I was growing bitter largely because a great desire of my heart lay unfulfilled.  Deep down, I yearned to be invited over to dinner. I longed for someone older, wiser, someone I respect, to invite me over for dinner with their family. Someone who requires nothing, needs nothing, asks nothing from me, who is entirely stable without my presence, but still invites me in. Someone who seeks me out for the love of me, and serves me. Someone with whom to walk, to find comfort, to learn.

And the more I've thought about it, the more it's true. I long for the freedom of love that pursues me, the freedom of love that requires nothing but offers peace, rest, security, help. Love that invites me over for dinner, just to have dinner, and be with me.

And I knew something further, as soon as I recognized this unmet desire.  I knew that what I desired was exactly that which Christ offered.  Wasn't that the love of God? Inviting me to the feast of a lifetime, of an eternity? A Father that ran from the porch to me, a Son who condescended to my lowly attic room, a Spirit that applies grace over and over again onto the gaping wound of my remaining iniquity. Am I not offered that freedom? Am I not pursued for me, by a stable One who needs nothing in Himself, but Who still loves beyond reason? Am I not invited to dinner, to rest, and sit, and be safe.

I have not felt His pursuing love, in a large way, for a while now. I have not perceived His hand, nor His heart, nor His Spirit in more than little, day-by-day ways. Is it necessary to feel it? No. The Truth is not founded upon my experience. Yet I long to feel Him, to know Him, to experience His pursuit and to be fully freed therein. Like the Psalmist writes,

“As a deer pants for flowing streams,

so pants my soul for you, O God.

My soul thirsts for God,

for the living God.

When shall I come and appear before God?b

My tears have been my food

day and night,

while they say to me all the day long,

“Where is your God?””

My heart is the chief accuser in these seasons. “Where is your God?” And I respond, “I am not sure. But I know where He's been. In the garden, on the cross, in the church. At Awanita in 6^th grade, at camp in 2008, in my car talking with Joseph in 2011. He was there.” Remembrance is a great weapon of faith.

But so too is rest. Spending time sitting, drinking tea in the morning instead of rushing to get some Bible reading in before a frantic bike to the cafe to start my shift. Even biking to work instead of walking [which I sometimes do to make time to pray for folks], so that instead I have time to rest and be at peace.

I find a juxtaposition there, between doing what I am called to do and resting as I must rest. I don't know how to fit them both into a world where 'the days are evil', and time is short. But I hold to scriptures like Exodus 14:14, in which the Lord fights for His people as they rest in silence. Or like Isaiah, in which returning and rest is indeed our strength. How to fit that in to an increasingly busy schedule? I need prayer for that. Practically, I have to cut some things out. I'm learning. And I'm finding that I still often trust my abilities over the work of Jesus to make me clean and make me able. I'm preaching the gospel to myself again, as I have to do so many times. And trying to make time to sit, rest, receive- time to participate in the dinner to which I've been invited.