Every Year You Grow

Mike Leake 1 Comment

I’ve been preaching through the gospel of Mark on Sunday mornings. Mark, perhaps more than the other gospel writers, wants the readers to see the disciples as the boneheads they were at times. So as you are reading through the gospel you can really shake your head at the disciples—wondering how in the world they could be so dense.

In Mark 8 you’ve got the disciples on a boat freaking out because they forgot to bring enough bread. And this comes after Jesus had fed 5,000 and also after he has fed 4,000. He did all of this with a few measly loaves of bread and a couple fish. How in the world the disciples are freaking out about this when Jesus is right there in the boat with them is beyond me.

And then I remember that I too am a total bonehead at times. I haven’t witnessed with my own eyes Jesus turning a couple loaves into enough to feed 5,000 but I have watched him take my paltry check as a youth pastor and feed my family.

On one occasion (this was some 7-8 years ago) my wife and I had an unexpected bill come up. There was no way that we could pay it, but if we didn’t then my wife would have to drop out of school. As we prayed through this, I came up with a solution. I’d ask for about a months advance on my pay and we’d eat eggs and Jell-o for the next month. On my way over to the secretaries office, I was met by the pastor who handed me an envelope. With absolutely no knowledge of our need some folks in a prayer meeting felt led to throw together their resources. Inside this envelope was enough cash to cover our unexpected expense and an additional $20 to take my wife out for dinner. (And this isn’t the only time).

I’ve watched God do unthinkable things. And yet, like the disciples, I have serious bonehead moments. I get stressed out wondering how things are going to come together. I have sleepless nights thinking about the management of His church. I have to come to grips with the fact that I’m in the boat with the disciples, probably leading the freak-out during the bread crisis. (And that’s not it).

Boneheads, the whole lot of us. But as I read through Mark this week, I started thinking about the whole story. Jesus never gave up on the disciples. And I see that in my own life as well. I see how my weak faith is able to lay hold of a strong Christ. I see with the disciples that the key thing was really their union with Christ and so long as their in union with Christ then everything is eventually going to be okay.

This whole thing reminds of a scene from The Chronicles of Narnia. After a long time away from Aslan, Lucy speaks to the great lion who is the Christ-figure in Lewis’ tale.

“‘Welcome child’, he said. ‘Aslan,’ said Lucy, ‘you’re bigger.’ ‘That is because you are older, little one,’ answered he. ‘Not because you are?’ ‘I am not. But every year you grow, you will find me bigger.’” C. S. Lewis, from The Chronicles of Narnia, Book 2 — Prince Caspian

Every year you grow, you will find me bigger.

That’s my prayer, that every year we grow we’ll find him to be bigger. Here in this boat, the disciples weren’t quite there yet. But every year they grew they found him to be bigger and he’d blow their minds. And what’s amazing and marvelous—I bet, though they’ve been gone from this earth now for some 2,000 years and spending it in the unadulterated presence of the Lord—I almost bet this still rings true—every year you grow, you will find me bigger.

Brothers, Our Daggers Won’t Do

Mike Leake 1 Comment

Tucked away in John Bunyan’s little book on broken-heartedness was this little gem which relates to preaching:

The Word of God, when in a man’s hand only, is like the father’s sword in the hand of the sucking child; which sword, though never so well pointed, and though never so sharp on the edges, is not now able to conquer a foe, and to make an enemy fall and cry out for mercy, because it is but in the hand of the child.

 

But now, let the same sword be put into the hand of a skilful father, and God is both skilful and able to manage his Word, and then the sinner, and then the proud helpers too, are both made to stoop, and submit themselves; wherefore, I say, though the Word be the instrument, yet of itself doth do no saving good to the soul; the heart is not broken, nor the spirit made contrite thereby; it only worketh death, and leaveth men in the chains of their sins, still faster bound over to eternal condemnation (2 Cor 2:15, 16).

This is such a powerful image. If the Spirit does not come in power then not even the best of preacher is strong enough to wield the sword—we are but children playing with daddy’s weapons. But when God uses His Word through us—He can wield it and accomplish the purpose He has set for it.

As I thought through Bunyan’s image another image came to my mind, that of a preacher who has tried to lift that mighty sword only to fall. Instead of pleading with God for power from on high he decides to craft for Himself a few tiny daggers which will get him by. These are just about the right size for him to wield effectively.

Such a thing, I’m convinced, can help a preacher keep his job for quite some time. Especially if every preacher before him also crafted his own daggers. The congregation won’t know what their missing having only been pierced by the preachers dwarf blade. In fact the congregation might even grow accustomed to only feeling a tiny prick of conscience on occasion.

Brothers, our daggers won’t do. We need to wield a sword that only the Father can lift. Only His work will last into eternity. Though we might feel as if we are playing the man by lacing our congregation with our self-made sabers, in the end all of the bloodshed will be meaningless. We must have God’s power to engage in any meaningful preaching.

Lord, make us preachers no longer satisfied with our own worthless daggers. Stir within us a holy desperation, in which we realize every time we speak that only You can lift the sword. Help us believe in your goodness and your sovereign care, remembering that you desire to wield the Word through our feeble hands.

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Weathered Grace

Nick Horton

Slowly and with evident pain he gets out of his car, half falling on the door for support. He steadies himself with his cane for a minute or so, marshalling the resolve to will his body forward. The glint of metal braces show just beneath his dress pants and are strapped to his shoes. A clean and pressed dress shirt is tucked neatly in and a tie circles his neck. With slow, tottering steps he makes his way forward to the door.

Someone sees him and quickly moves to open the heavy metal entry door, for which this weathered soul expresses genuine gratitude. He stops and trains his eyes undimmed by age at this person. “Hey fella, how are you? God bless you!” His voice is full of warmth. Rich. Deep. The Old Man’s love for his unexpected helper is palpable. Warm smiles grace both faces, and he moves inward. His cane is hung on the door, and he leans on the walker left just inside. It’s there for him. The conversation between the Old Man and the Helper continues. He pauses in the hallway as they talk to give his full attention to the Helper.

“I’m praying for you,” says the Old Man in his baritone voice.

“Oh thank you Pastor! I know you are.”

The reply expresses the gratitude for prayer, and the assurance that when the Old Man says he is praying, he is most certainly praying. They part company and he continues slowly, sliding the walker along on its tennis balled feet to the choir loft. He collapses into his chair, a satisfied smile on his face.

When service starts there is no mistake which voice is his. His body is tired with age, but the lungs and vocal chords refuse to give an inch. His voice is powerful, but not overpowering. He holds tune and sings praises to his God with his brothers and sisters.

When service is over the love of many for him is evident and there are no shortage of conversations full of joy and love. He is tired, and it is plain to see. Concern creases the eyes of those who are near. Another helper comes, talking all the while yet standing guard lest this Sequoia of the faith stumble.

His years have seen him serve in several churches as pastor. He has been a Director of Missions, a music teacher, a husband, a consummate encourager, the mightiest of prayer warriors. If the church doors are open, he will be there. Sunday morning, Sunday evening, Wednesday nights, choir practice, committee meetings.

Time has weathered him, yet while his legs still work, while his lungs draw breath, he serves the church and thus his Lord. His lips drip with praise for God. His heart beats with compassion and love.

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This is a real man. He is someone I look up to. I cannot tell you what an encouragement he is merely by watching him remain faithful. He exchanges comfort for service. He lives to praise and give glory to God. His encouragement and promises of prayer are soothing balms to the souls of many in my church, myself included. I love him, my brother in Christ, a father in the faith.

Get to know the seniors in your church. They’ve often seen more, done more, lived more, and loved more than we have any idea of. Talk to them. Befriend them. Honor them. Rich friendships cross barriers and the church of God transcends every one of them from age to culture. We often overvalue the changes technology and knowledge have had and assume the aged can’t speak to it. We, the young, are wrong. Ignoring living wisdom is to our peril.

The Old Man is one of the most precious souls I know. There is so much I want to learn from him. He embodies Proverbs 16:31, and I am grateful to God he is a member of my church.

“Gray hair is a crown of glory; it is gained in a righteous life.”

How Do I Define Success as a Pastor?

Mike Leake

A dear brother recently asked me a great question. It was one that I had thought about before, but when his asking it forced me to make it a bit more concrete. This was his question: “How do you define success as a pastor?”

My easy response is “faithfulness”. But how do I measure whether or not I have been faithful? What does that look like?

I know that my faithfulness is not determined solely by the response to my preaching and efforts at discipleship. If it was, and we were to judge folks like Isaiah or Jeremiah (or even perhaps the Lord Jesus) by the same metric we’d have to conclude that their ministry wasn’t much of a success.

But I also believe that not really caring much about response doesn’t reflect the heart of the New Testament. There is something to be said for Proverbs 22:29, “Do you see a man skillful in his work? He will stand before kings; he will not stand before obscure men”. We ought to work has hard as we can at what the Lord has called us to do.

Part of me wants to say that I measure success based upon whether or not I declared the truth. But then I think of Job’s miserable counselors and even someone like Balaam who declared the truth (at least in part)—but certainly weren’t to be commended. And so a bare declaring of the truth is not quite my measure of success.

So here is what I’ve come up with:

I’ll consider my pastorate successful if I have lovingly and winsomely declared the whole counsel of God’s Word to the people the Lord has given and in the season that the Lord has placed me.

I say “lovingly and winsomely” because this causes me to strive for saying things the best way possible. I don’t want to use the sovereign omnipotence of God as an excuse for laziness. Instead I want to be motivated to work as hard as I can to accurately deliver God’s Word in a way that matches the glory of God.

I say “the whole counsel of God’s Word” because this is our standard for truth. I get this from what Paul said to the Ephesian elders. He, using eschatological language, believed his ministry was successful because he did not shrink from declaring to them the whole counsel of God’s Word.

I say, “to the people the Lord has given” because I’m not called to shepherd someone else’s flock. God has sovereignly placed me here to shepherd the people He has given to my care. This means that I will “with all humility and with tears and with trials” declare the whole counsel of God’s Word to a real flesh and blood, warts and all, people.

I say, “and in the season that the Lord has placed me” because there might be seasons in which God’s Word will be used to harden instead of to harvest. If this is the case then I want to still faithfully declare God’s Word. This also means that if I’m behind a pulpit or standing behind a hospital bed, my mandate is the same.

That’s my answer. So how would you answer this question?

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Photo source: here