Chuck Swindoll's blog, especially for pastors!
Each week Chuck posts a thought to encourage fellow pastors in their souls, their roles, and their homes.
Addressing everything from issues such as integrity, priorities, and rest, to pastoral care and preaching, to daily life in the “fishbowl,” Chuck draws from his more than forty-five years in ministry to offer wisdom and support for pastors in the trenches alongside him.
Years ago Dan Fogelberg wrote a song about his father called “Leader of the Band.” In the chorus he calls himself a “living legacy” to his dad. I love that phrase. Why? Because it tells of the impact a mentor can have on another life.
When I look at my own life, I see that I am a living legacy to a handful of men who took an interest in me. They saw potential where I did not. They encouraged me to become something more than I was. One of the first of these men saw the most potential in me where I saw the least. His name was Dick Nieme.
When I began high school, I stuttered so badly I could hardly finish a sentence. With that speech impediment came a very low self-esteem. I learned to keep my mouth shut and maintain a low profile. The last place I wanted to be was in front of an audience!
I managed to get through the first weeks of my freshman year without embarrassing myself when, one day, Dick Nieme found me at my hall locker and shocked me with his words: “Chuck, I want you on my debate team.
“Who, m-m-m-m-m-m-me?” I looked over my shoulder at the guy standing behind me. I thought for sure the teacher was talking to him. “Y-y-y-y-y-y-you want hi-him. You d-d-don’t want m-me.”
“No, I know who I want. I want you. You’ve got the right stuff, Chuck. We just need to tap into it.” Starting the very next week, Dr. Dick Nieme met with me from 7:15 to 7:45 each morning before school for speech therapy sessions. Very common now. Unheard of then. He helped me understand that my mind was running ahead of my ability to form the words in my mouth properly. My mind was running ahead of my mouth. (I have the exact opposite problem now!) He taught me to slow down, pace my thoughts, and concentrate on starting the words I wanted to say. He gave me exercises to hone my enunciation and give a rhythm for each syllable to follow.
I joined the debate team . . . and ultimately, I loved it! That led to my participating in school plays. Our drama team went on to enter the finals of the one-act play competition in the state of Texas. Dick Nieme was there all the way. When I failed, he coached and encouraged. At each triumph, he applauded. He challenged me and inspired me and we continued to set goals just beyond my reach. Finally, I auditioned for the lead role in the senior play . . . and landed it.
When the curtain rose that night, Dick Nieme sat front row, balcony. When I came out for my bow, he was the first to stand . . . he cheered the loudest. He really embarrassed me . . . but I loved it.
Today, over fifty-five years later, I look back and realize how much I owe that man. He believed in me. He respected me. He started me down the path to becoming the man—the preacher—that God intended. I’m glad I was able to express my deep gratitude to him before he died. I’m glad he knew the impact he had on at least one life.
Why do I share this with you? Because you can have that kind of an impact in the life of someone. God has given you a place of influence as a pastor. Look around for a young man who needs coaching and encouragement. Build into his life over the next few years. Use your character as well as your words. You never know how God will use your efforts at mentoring for His glory.
I am a living legacy to a handful of great men. The first was Dick Nieme.
—Chuck
Last week I shared the first half of a stack of lessons I’ve learned over the years as a pastor. Before I share the last half, I want to help you smile a little. (We pastors need to smile a lot more!) Years ago somebody sent me a cute article from some newspaper. A class of fifth graders had submitted the things they had learned in life. Here is a sampling from their gems of wisdom:
Some of those are worth remembering!
Okay, now let me continue with my stack of life lessons.
I’ve learned that perception overshadows reality. I hate that . . . but it’s a fact. How people perceive things is, to them, more convincing than a truckload of evidence. Unfortunately, most draw their opinions from the shallow stream of perception instead of the deep reservoir of truth. I find that strange and disappointing.
I’ve learned that time spent with my family is a good investment. The older I get the more I treasure those early-morning talks with my wife . . . the friendship, love, and counsel of our now-grown “children” . . . the acceptance, hugs and kisses of the grandkids who call me “Bubba.” God did a winning thing when He came up with the idea of moms, dads, kids, and their kids. Home is still my all-time favorite place to be.
I’ve learned that grace is worth the risk. I know, I know . . . rules, regulations, policies, and procedures are helpful boundaries—and necessary—at times. But the freedom of living by grace is still the lifestyle to pursue. Grace relieves guilt and removes shame. Grace smiles, You’re forgiven. Grace helps me sing and skip through life with hardly a care. It also reminds me to release others from expectations. But won’t some take advantage of it? Yep. It’s still worth it.
I’ve learned to stop saying “never” or “always” when it comes to the future. Change happens. Detours and unexpected curves and dead-end streets and quiet rest areas are all part of this journey called life. Your map may seem both infallible and indelible. Don’t kid yourself. The Lord reserves the right to do reprints.
I’ve learned that thinking theologically pays off, big time. It’s taken me years to stop reacting emotionally and let God be God. Being sovereign, He has a plan that is unfolding whether I like it or not . . . whether I understand it or not. When I interpret my circumstances with that in mind, peace and calm kick in, replacing panic and complaining.
I’ve learned that some things are worth the sweat. Not most things. Often, not the big and bold things. But intangible things. Like telling the truth. And admitting inadequacy. And emphasizing quality. And asking for help. And expressing gratitude. And saying, “I’m sorry.” And being generous. And studying hard. And demonstrating affection. And adoring God.
I’ve learned to give credit where credit is due. We pastors often get the credit when we need to be passing it on to the one or to those deserving it. We give enormous encouragement to our staff and lay-folks when we publicly acknowledge them—and that affirmation motivates them to use their gifts in even greater ways. Also, our families (I’m thinking especially of my wife, Cynthia) deserve a great deal of credit for any success in ministry we enjoy.
Finally, I’ve learned that you can’t beat having fun. Folks who relax and refuse to take themselves so seriously are contagious. They’re easier to be around than those who look like they’re holding their breath under water. One of my great goals for the future is to have more fun, to be less intense, and to laugh louder and more often. Can’t think of many things worse than becoming a grim-faced, old jerk lugging around a big thick Bible, yelling at people from a pulpit. Jesus didn’t . . . I shouldn’t.
—Chuck
I’ve been in ministry a long time. Almost fifty years. (Can it really be that long?) In these five decades of serving in the trenches I have learned some valuable truths . . . most of them the hard way. And honestly? I wouldn’t trade truth for youth or for anything else. I really mean that.
What’s more, I’m still on a learning curve. I’m glad the lessons don’t stop at age 45 . . . or 74 . . . or once you have your last child . . . or when you preach your fiftieth Easter sermon.
It occurred to me that there has been some pretty important stuff I’ve learned these many years. (As far as the things I haven’t learned, you’d have to ask my wife. But let’s don’t go there.) I want to share with you, in no particular order, a sampling from my growing stack of lessons that has been building over the decades. I’ll give you the first half this week . . . and the rest next week.
I’ve learned that I should tell people how I feel about them now, not later. Later seldom comes. Furthermore, death has a way of making all communication one-sided. Many times as I have walked away from a funeral, I’ve wished I had told the deceased why I admired her or him . . . or what I appreciated . . . or how much I’d been helped.
I’ve learned that things I’m not even aware of are being noticed and remembered. You wouldn’t believe the things folks have mentioned over the years that have encouraged them. A smile. A glance. An arm over the shoulder. A song sung loudly. A tear. Laughter. It’s really true: small things mean a lot . . . which can be a little scary.
I’ve learned that being real is a lot better than looking pious. You don’t need to worry about making a good impression. You don’t live under a pile of guilt because you’re not perfect. Authenticity keeps you from gettin’ your underwear in a wad over petty stuff that legalists expect. Pursuing holiness is biblical and right. Trying to look holy stinks.
I’ve learned that when you “fit,” most things flow . . . they don’t have to be forced. I learned that from my twenty-three years in the pastorate in California. From the day I walked into the lives of that flock I felt at home. Didn’t have to fake it or act excited when I wasn’t or hold back my opinion or hide my style. I fit, right off the bat. It’s the same at Stonebriar Community Church where I currently serve as senior pastor. I can’t remember ever having to force something to work.
I’ve learned that it doesn’t pay to talk someone into or out of a big decision. We need to let people be. Pushing or pulling creates complications and consequences. Looking back, I can recall a few times I put added pressure on individuals to get them to say “yes” or “no” and invariably, I regretted it. The old gospel song is still true: God still “leads His dear children along.” I’ve learned to step aside and let Him.
I’ve learned that days of maintenance are far more in number than days of magnificence. Over half of any job is just showing up. Staying faithful pays great dividends. Longing for the big-time tingles to occur is a waste. And answering “Fantastic!” every time somebody asks how you’re doing is phony. Most days call for little more than the discipline of staying with the stack.
I’ve learned that some people aren’t going to change, no matter what. This used to drive me nuts! No longer. It was a great moment in my life when I realized I couldn’t win ‘em all . . . in fact, I can’t even fix those who wish I could. And so, I’ve learned to lighten up. It’s a full-time job taking care of the logs in my own eyes.
I’ve learned that I have seldom felt badly for things I did not say. This business of the tongue—ugh! We preachers can be the worst, thinking everyone must hear our wisdom. Please. Occasionally, I have shown unusual restraint and held back. Later, I’ve been pleased I did. Talking too much is never wise. I do mean never.
That’s a good place to stop for now.
—Chuck
Some pastors live so carefully they absolutely refuse to take risks.
Everything has to be carefully regulated and kept under control . . . their control. Borders defined, guidelines spelled out, every penny accounted for, and absolutely no surprises. After having expended so much time and effort trying to stay safe, they usually end up never having accomplished much of eternal value. They have built nothing, tried nothing new, and invested in no one or nothing . . . except their own security.
Not Abraham! By the time Genesis 22 rolled around, his faith had matured to the point that his absolute confidence in God’s character gave him the freedom to throw caution to the wind and risk everything to obey. Remember? If you don’t, you need to read that chapter!
This would be an excellent moment for you to do some self-analysis. Before the week gets underway and you get distracted by your pressing agendas, I urge you to stop for a moment. Be honest: to what, or to whom, are you clinging? What circumstance are you demanding to remain under your control? Once you identify that answer . . . let it go.
The Lord may already be in the process of taking it from you. He’ll gently tug on it at first, giving you the opportunity to release your grip. Can you feel the pull? If you resist, He’ll eventually have to pry your fingers away, and I can assure you that it will hurt. I’m writing from personal experience.
My advice? Don’t resist. Voluntarily release it. Trust the Lord to provide. He has another ram in the thicket. You can’t see it right now, but He has it waiting. Only after you have placed your sacrifice on the altar will you be ready to receive God’s provision. And not until then.
You may find yourself in a challenging situation as you read this blog. Your circumstances may have reached a point where you have no other choice but to commit the issue completely to God’s care. You would love to work out the details, but you cannot. You know the Lord is good, and you have prayed for a resolution, but nothing has changed. Only God can intervene. Because that is true, you can take your cues from Abraham. Let it go!
Place whatever it is that you’re struggling with or trying to control on the altar today. Surrender it to the Lord as an offering. Take this risk and step back. Let go. Trust God.
In His time, He will provide.
—Chuck
Like the set of a television show, behind the scenes, where the camera doesn’t go, life can be a messy network of plastic, metal, and wood—a flimsy façade—held together with cheap material and duct tape. Phony living could happen in your house or my house or any house . . . even the White House. Phoniness can find a way in. Rehoboam proves it.
Behind the scenes, Rehoboam did as his father and grandfather did, building a harem, while maintaining a public perception that he held steadfast devotion to the Lord (see 2 Chronicles 11:18–23). He nurtured an impressive public image while he passed on a dark legacy to his sons. Rehoboam polished his image as he appeared to seek wise counsel while formulating his domestic policy. But as soon as he felt secure, the real Rehoboam burst forth. Rehoboam rejected the counsel of elders in favor of the counsel of his peers. He didn’t seek advice; he sought justification. Ever done that?
In the final stage of his life, Rehoboam’s façade crumbled to reveal the hypocrisy that propped up his phony public image. When the kingdom’s wealth was pilfered by Egypt because of his apostasy, Rehoboam replaced the gold shields with bronze, polished to shine like gold, but worthless in comparison. The image-conscious king hid them in secret so nobody would know the truth—a third-class substitute after a first-class blunder by a second-rate king.
Throughout the Old Testament we see that “like produces like”—a lust for sensuality produced children with lust in their hearts. And within a generation or two, a tiny seed of compromise grew to shameless rebellion in full bloom. I call it the domino effect. David’s compromise weakened Solomon. Solomon’s carnality impacted Rehoboam. In the end, the sin that Mom loved and Dad permitted entangled the son. Hypocrisy, rather than a love for the truth, defined the life of Rehoboam. How tragic.
Now here’s the tough question: Have you fooled yourself into thinking you can manage the consequences of sin? Have you considered the effect of your sin on the people you influence? I don’t mean just your flock—in particular, I mean your spouse . . . your children. What does your family see behind the pulpit?
If we were to set up the cameras behind the scenes of your private life, what would everyone see?
—Chuck
Tucked away in the folds of Hebrews 11 is a two-word biography worth a second glance: “. . . he endured” (11:27). The New International Version reads, “he persevered,” the Amplified Version, “he held staunchly to his purpose.” Moffatt renders it, “he never flinched.”
“He” was Moses, the one who hung tough, who was committed to God’s desires for his life, and who decided not to surrender to rising odds. He had staying power. He was faithful. He possessed the discipline of durability. There aren’t many qualities we pastors need more than this one.
Moses endured despite the contempt of Pharaoh, the mightiest monarch of that era. No amount of resistance from Egypt’s throne dimmed his faithfulness. Moses stayed at the task that God gave him despite the stubbornness of the Hebrews who grumbled, blamed, complained, and rebelled. Nothing they said or did made Moses retreat. Misunderstood, maligned, murmured against, and misrepresented, Moses never flinched.
So what’s the lesson we pastors can learn from his example? Stand firm when conspirators and critics seem to prosper. Stay faithful when the wicked appear to be winning. Endure in times of crisis—in the church . . . in your finances . . . in your family. Stand firm even when no one would ever know if you compromise. Stand firm, stay faithful, and endure!
I have no idea where this finds you. For all I know, you are stronger than ever, determined not to shrink back, pressing on with a full tank of resolve. That’s great. Or maybe your moral purity and ethical integrity are wearing thin. It’s possible you’ve begun to listen too closely to your critics or need others’ approval too much. Maybe you led with decisiveness in the past . . . but today you’re feeling yourself weakening. Maybe you’ve started shrugging off your better judgment. Don’t go there; it’s just not worth it!
Moses endured, but how? The same verse tells us—by focusing his attention on “Him who is invisible.” Moses continually reminded himself that his sole purpose in life was to please God, to obey Him, to glorify Him, to gain His approval at all cost. Such lasting durability is rare but not impossible (see Matthew 19:26).
Whatever it is you’re facing right now, remember Moses’ example: stand strong—stay faithful.
—Chuck
One of the most effective evangelists I have ever known was a fellow who ran a service station in Arlington, Massachusetts, a suburb of Boston. He never spent a day in seminary or took one course in a Bible institute, but his Bible was well-worn and open near his cash register. He regularly dealt with souls who came into his place of business. He’s now changed locations, but you can be sure, he is still a faithful witness.
This man doesn’t nitpick when he shares the gospel. He focuses on the life of Christ, the hope of eternal life by faith in the Lord, and then he lets the Lord do the work in bringing results. In marvelous wisdom and love he presents the most attractive and encouraging message of eternal life. Through the years, hundreds of people came to know Christ at that little gas station, thanks to this consistent man who leaves the results with God.
What a relief it was the day God convinced me that He doesn’t hold me responsible for how people respond to the gospel. He holds you and me responsible for giving and living the gospel; what someone does with it is His business.
Think about the thief on the cross who hung there next to Jesus. If ever there was a deathbed conversion that was it! The thief lived his entire life as a sinner. As he hung on that cross with blood coming out of his hands and feet, he said, “Lord, remember me.” You know Jesus’s response by heart: “Today you shall be with Me in Paradise” (Luke 23:43).
From this scene we witness the exchange of death for life. The dialogue teaches us three important truths about conversion.
1. No one is ever too far gone to become a Christian. Can you think of someone you’ve written off? “Oh, they will never come to know Christ. I’ve tried everything I know to win him, and he’s never going to respond.” When you’re tempted to think anyone is beyond the reach of grace, remember the criminal on the cross.
2. Your godly life is the most effective tool of evangelism. Socrates once called words “stupid things.” I’ve never seen that more pronounced than when people force a witness with words. The real message is in your life. When your life draws the attention of lost people, you will have sufficient proof to back up the words you use. Let God do the work in their lives and in yours. When He does, you’ll be amazed at how He brings you the appropriate words . . . at just the right time.
3. All that God requires and accepts is simple faith. What qualified the thief for heaven? He didn’t perform any good works to earn heaven. In no way did he prove himself worthy of eternal life. So, what had he done to receive eternal life? What did Jesus accept? Faith—simple, unadulterated, and unproven faith in the living Christ. That’s all God requires, and that’s all we can offer when we share Christ.
Like my friend in the little service station, be ready to share the wonderful truth of what God has done for you at every opportunity He provides—not just in the pulpit. God will give you the words of life to share with others right then and there.
—Chuck
It’s simplistic to say that the only kind of battle going on today is the war against terrorism, though that is what the Enemy of our souls would love for us to believe. He would love to preoccupy us with the physical struggles and have us miss the spiritual conflict that rages every day of our lives.
As a pastor, you know more than most that we fight on the frontlines of an invisible war. But our flock may not realize that. They may have been taken hostage and not know it. They could be wounded, but nobody notices because they don’t bleed. The most spiritually bloodthirsty, wicked creature on earth, our adversary the Devil, wages a bloodless, invisible war against you, your family, your flock, and every other person who has been redeemed by the blood of the Lamb.
The apostle Paul knew this conflict well and wrote of it often:
We are engaged in a battle, not for our bodies, but for our minds. Now, don’t think of the mind as just a brain inside the cranium. Think of the mind as the inner person, with emotions and will and intellect all connected. It involves the way we think and how we react in life.
It is in these vulnerable areas that Satan works. He battles through people or without people; he battles in events, in depression, in success, or in failure. He battles in money or in poverty. He is constantly at work, bent on our destruction.
Why does he despise God’s people and fight so insidiously against us? The answer is that he has a consuming hatred for the mission of Christ. Knowing that he can’t overthrow it—because the gates of Hades will never do that—Satan plays a wicked game of spiritual chess. He knows he’s doomed, but he’ll get your last man if he can. He knows Christ has already won, but he won’t give up without a fight.
So what are we to do? How do we engage such an enemy? I can think of two ways.
1. Identify the Enemy’s tactics. Look at 2 Corinthians 2:11: “. . . so that no advantage would be taken of us by Satan, for we are not ignorant of his schemes.” One of the Enemy’s most cunning tricks is to make you think you’re listening to your own voice inside your head, when it’s really him at work. Next time you feel discouraged or tempted, test each thought against God’s Word (1 John 4:1). Deception is best noticed when held up against the truth.
2. Defend yourself in Christ. We can defend ourselves against the Enemy’s schemes by “taking every thought captive to the obedience of Christ” (2 Corinthians 10:5). Isn’t that a great verse! Since Satan makes our mind his battlefield, our best defense is to surrender our thoughts to Jesus Christ and ask Him to guard and protect us. When we release ourselves to Him, He takes charge—and Satan runs. I make this practical in my own life by regularly telling God, “Lord, I need You right now; take charge of this. I need Your thoughts, I need Your strength, I need Your grace, I need Your wisdom, and I need Your very words. Protect me from fear. Hold me near. Get me through this stormy time.” He will; He’ll get you through—victoriously.
We, as well as our families and flocks, will face many skirmishes this year, both publicly and privately. But we have no reason to fear—Jesus Christ already won our spiritual war. I challenge you today to step out in courage and claim the victory that is yours in Christ Jesus. Don’t listen to the Enemy’s mind games anymore.
Let’s dare to live courageously!
—Chuck
Two years ago I had the privilege of serving as the honorary chairman for the National Day of Prayer. When I was asked, naturally, I felt very honored. But I have to admit my next thought was, with all of my responsibilities, when am I going to find the time to prepare? I mean, you don’t just waltz up there and wing it! The people in Washington have better things to do than listen to some preacher ramble. If you’re going to accept a responsibility like that, you better have your stuff together. So, at first I considered saying no.
But I decided to participate for two reasons. First, it was a huge honor. You don’t casually say no to something as important as this, especially when you consider the personal sacrifices many of our leaders are making to serve our nation.
I remember having dinner with a Cabinet member many years ago. “So, what’s it like to be in a position like that?” I asked. I’ll never forget his response.
He looked up from his plate, set his fork down, and quietly asked, “Chuck, have you ever been hung in effigy?”
“Um . . . well, no . . . never.” He then described how that had happened to him earlier that very day. I sat and stared at him. No words came to me.
I realized I was asked to be a part of our nation praying for these straight-thinking, courageous servant-leaders. Such a small sacrifice of my time compared to what they give us.
I had another reason for participating. It occurred to me that taking part in the National Day of Prayer was my opportunity to underscore the importance of prayer. How easy to overlook its priority! It’s not unlike the decision we face every day concerning prayer. I mean, who ever has time to pray? Who says, Ah . . . I’ve got some extra time I don’t know what to do with . . . so, I think I’ll pray!?
Let’s face it; taking time to pray means you have to set aside something else that’s important. It’s an investment. Investments require that we sacrifice something today for the sake of something greater tomorrow.
My point, my fellow-pastor? We never have the time to pray. We have to make it.
It didn’t take me long to recognize this for what it is: a very worthy investment, something well worth my time. Suddenly, saying yes seemed the only answer I could justify.
—Chuck
P.S. To learn more about the National Day of Prayer, or to find out what you can pray for, visit the official Web site at www.ndptf.org.
As a follow-up from last week, let me urge you to use this spring as an opportunity to get next to your children . . . to come to grips with the barriers that are blocking the flow of your love and affection (and theirs) . . . to face the facts before the bruise leads to a permanent, domestic fracture.
Three biblical cases come to my mind:
You see, no one is immune . . . not even Bible characters . . . not even pastors! So then, move ahead. Refuse to pamper your parental negligence any longer.
If this post spurs you on, it will have done its deed.
—Chuck
