Advice From a Curmudgeon

Is youth really wasted on the young?

06 April 2024
Today is my sixty-fifth birthday and, honestly, just seeing those words on the page makes me itch. Sixty-five seems to be the final step over the cliff of old age. So I might as well face it—I’m an elderly man.

As I wrestle with my new status as a card carrying curmudgeon, it occurs to me that my advanced age comes with a few benefits, not the least of which is perspective. I tend to be somewhat introspective anyway, but as the years have clicked by with accelerating speed, I have grown increasingly reflective, more frequently rehearsing the decisions, the experiences, the pains, the pleasures, the people. Ah, the people—a topic for another time.

Recently, at our weekly pastors’ meeting, one of the guys assigned us the task of writing down any advice we’d offer our young pastor selves. After decades of life and experience, what sort of guidance could we offer that might make smoother the road winding into the distant future? Upon hearing the assignment, I was instantly reminded of the idiot I was at twenty-four, the year I received my first ministry paycheck. I was newly married and a confident expert on all things Christian. Like I said—I wasn’t too bright.

As we discussed our responses, our lead pastor offered a question: “Would our young selves have listened to our advice?” Now that he mentioned it, even if I could jump into my DeLorean and zip back forty years and magically appear to my twenty-four-year-old self and graciously dispense the wisdom of my experience and learning—would he have heard me? Or would he instead dismiss me as a worn out grump, droning on about the brevity of life and how a young man should, above all, avoid fast women?

Well, I can’t visit my former self, so with the hope that someone—anyone—will be interested, here is my advice—a partial list anyway. Now I realize that you may not be a pastor or serving in church leadership, but you do influence someone. We humans constantly bump into each other and inevitably leave an impression, a mark, for better or for worse. So, here goes…

Find a Mentor and Be Persistent About It
For most of my ministry life I craved a mentor, someone who could help me navigate my attitudes, perspectives and choices that would affect my place within life and ministry for years to come. Along the way, I drove straight into so many potholes and obstacles, hazards I could have avoided if I had the benefit of ready help and guidance from a mentor who was further along the road. I did have access to long distance sources of counsel—writers, pastors, musicians, etc.—but there was for me no one up close and personal, someone who knew me and my penchant for silly, short–sighted and ridiculous motivations and choices.

When I was thirty, one of my college professors—a godly man whom I greatly respected—presented himself as that guy. God answered my longing with a good man whom I’m convinced would have mentored me well. But for reasons that still escape me, I fumbled that ball when I failed to pursue a relationship with him. That one missed opportunity aside, as I look in the rear view mirror of my life in ministry, it’s impossible to calculate how my journey would have unfolded differently had I been more proactive—even aggressive—about navigating the pastoral mine field with the assistance of a godly mentor.

Cultivate an Ear for the Voice of the Holy Spirit
I spent the majority of my ministry years serving in churches with whom I couldn’t align theologically, as well as in other ways. For the better part of thirty years, unmistakable red flags were waved at me warning me to flee, to pursue a more appropriate venue for ministry. But I convinced myself that this was the ocean I was swimming in and, besides, I simply didn’t know anyone in a more suitable church world, wherever that better place might have been. Yet, even then I recognized that the Holy Spirit was working in practically every way to move me in another direction. In the end, God resorted to knocking me on the head, grabbing me by my hair and dragging me out of that world.

With this bit of advice, I certainly don’t mean to say that I should trade my reliance on the Scriptures for a ‘voice’ that, in all likelihood, may not come from God at all. I have never understood why it’s reasonable to prefer a personal message from God when there is a wealth of clear instruction in the Bible.

What I do mean with this instruction to my young self is this: Learn to recognize and trust the nudges, the inclinations, the urgings of the Holy Spirit, not for explicit instruction, but to drive you deeper into the Scriptures to hear with clarity what he is whispering—or what he might be shouting—in the quiet of your heart.

Don’t Aspire to the Big Job
As I wandered through my school career and into ministry, I had big ideas about leading a large and well–known church. Naturally, I never paused to consider if I was even capable of such a thing or if leading a big congregation was even a biblical or godly ambition. But, back in those days, the men we admired were ‘successful’ pastors of large churches, men who were famous primarily because their churches were shining examples of where we wanted to go. This is who we wanted to be—who I wanted to be. I can still remember fantasizing about my future as I sat in a pastors’ conference, listening to a big shot pastor: “Some day, I’m going to be that guy.”

I now understand that such aspirations are vain, even sin-inspired, and will only lead to a bloated ego, the increasing need for self–promotion and the pathetic obsession to be perpetually applauded. None of these bear any resemblance to the image of Jesus and neither do they help anyone along the road of authentic discipleship. So, my young and ridiculous self, I advise you to aspire only to serve God’s people in whatever way He leads you.

Resist the Temptation to Make Being a Pastor the Root of Your Identity
For my entire ministry life my need to be recognized and respected as a pastor was fused with my identity as a human being. It was important to me that people admired me as a pastor; in fact, this craving was more crucial to me than my desire to authentically fulfill the role of being a pastor.

A fourteen-year exile from vocational ministry helped me to recognize and face the ugly truth of this cancer within my character. The root causes of this soul-eating disease might be legitimate and worthy of further exploration; but, whatever the source of my insecurities, I do know of one clear contributing dynamic.

As I was finishing high school and considering my path forward, I eventually landed on enrolling in a Bible college in Seattle. When I revealed my plans to my parents and church leaders, they congratulated me on my decision. Before this, when I was initially planning to attend art school and pursue a career in graphic design, none of these folks was helpful or encouraging. But Bible college and pastoral ministry—this was a goal to be proud of. Ironically, I never expressed any desire to be a pastor—I simply wanted to go to Bible college. My parents and leaders wrongly assumed I wanted to be a pastor. That goal came much later for me.

Intentionally or not, our parents and church leaders endorsed a sort of religious social climbing, with vocational pastoral ministry as the pinnacle of Christian achievement. The implied message to my young Christian brain and ego was this: ‘The Pastor’ is a sanctified celebrity—recognized, admired, respected. What Christian young man wouldn’t want to ascend to such a status? So when this mentality is married to the insecurities that drive many of us into positions of esteem, the rest of the story writes itself.

It took me far too long to understand that whether I’m a pastor, a graphic designer, a grocery store clerk, or a shoe salesman (and I’ve been all of these), I am not called by Jesus to be admired.

Don’t Take to Heart the Glowing Compliments or the Harshest Criticisms
We pastors (and other leaders) are prone to fragile egos. I spend so much time and energy guarding, pampering and nurturing my ego, because I know it’s so easily wounded. So in those moments when I am complimented—whatever the reason—I can easily convince myself that I’m a pretty cool guy. And I don’t think I’m alone in this sort of thinking; the need for applause has led to all sorts of trouble in today’s evangelical arena, especially among those we now refer to as ‘celebrity pastors’. But I don’t have to be Joel Osteen or Steven Furtick to think myself pretty darned impressive.

A second danger is the tendency to internalize criticism so deeply that it derails me. The resulting self-pity and false humility are sneaky manifestations of an enlarged ego. I can receive a critical observation—even when it’s offered in love and good will—and, because my precious self-image is wounded, I can spend months digging holes in the basement. The better path is to hear every criticism as an opportunity to learn something about myself, about the critic, about my place in the bigger picture. My ego—that is, my need to be promoted, congratulated and affirmed—is a present and relentless adversary that demands vigilant, strategic battle.

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Am I Listening Even Now?
In Walter Wangerin’s little book of essays entitled Ragman and Other Cries of Faith he tells the story of an old pastor whom Wangerin cared for at the end of his life. His description is stark as he writes of the everyday indignities of caring for an elderly man who had lost the ability to care for himself. In concluding the story, Wangerin describes the nature of a true pastor—and, by extension, a genuine Believer—who in very real and selfless ways offers his life for another. I humbly submit this passage as my best advice to my young and silly self—as well as to this current version of myself, old and weathered…
“…this sort of ministry severely diminishes the minister, makes him insignificant, makes him the merest servant, the least in the transaction. To feel so small is to feel somehow failing, weak, unable. But there, right there, begins true servanthood: the disciple who has, despite himself, denied himself. And then, for perhaps the first time, one is loving not out of his own bowels, merit, ability, superiority, but out of Christ: for he has discovered himself to be nothing and Christ everything.”