Lucky Socks

Have you ever noted the curious superstitions of athletes? “I wore this particular hat last Saturday night, and on Sunday we beat New England. I’m going to wear that same hat this Saturday.” Or, “these are my lucky socks. I wear ‘em for every game!”

Sounds silly, right? Except, that’s exactly what many of us do as pastors. Pastor XYZ’s ministry is blessed by God, and so he assumes it has something to do with him. He analyzes and then packages “his success,” writes a book about it, and before long his clones are running around, wearing his “lucky socks,” thinking that God will bless them, too, because they’ve adopted Pastor XYZ’s secrets.

Now it’s pretty easy to sit back and throw rocks at Pastor XYZ (and his clones). But what about me? What about those of us who are pastoring little churches that will never grow up and become big churches? What about those of us who don’t have the exegetical or pulpit skills, or the administrative abilities, or the charisma, or the social skills to sustain a large ministry? We often have precisely the same problem as Pastor XYZ. Our self-pitying attitude, our secret jealousy of Pastor XYZ, our disappointments in our ministries reveal that we think about success in exactly the same terms that Pastor XYZ does. We just haven’t found our lucky socks. [Full Disclosure: This post is written from me to me, in case you’re wondering. I’m just letting you listen in. Shhh!]

I’m sixty-one years old, and it’s only recently that I realize how wrong I have been about this preaching business. I bought the numbers racket hook-line-and-sinker when I was a young Bible college student, because it was heavily pushed in those days in the Pastoral Theology department of the college I attended—something I’ve come to see as grotesque theological malpractice.

What a far cry from our modern expert mentality is what we see in Scripture. There really aren’t that many highly skilled, highly successful people headlined in Scripture. There are a few—but not many. We don’t see success mavens selling their formulas, their lucky socks. But on the other hand, nor do we see Andrew sulking because he doesn’t get the good press that Peter does. (Upon further review, we do see the disciples asking, “who is the greatest?” I guess some things don’t change.)

In God’s book we see broken, timid, frequently ill Timothys, to whom are entrusted the crucial task of shepherding churches. He’d have not passed anyone’s personality profile for a successful pastor. But he is the one Paul hands the torch to in 2 Timothy: “I solemnly charge you in the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who is to judge the living and the dead, and by His appearing and His kingdom: preach the word; be ready in season and out of season; reprove, rebuke, exhort, with great patience and instruction.” (2 Timothy 4:1–2, NASB95)

Success in ministry is not measured by any standard employed by business. It’s not measured by attendance, or conversions, or how many books you’ve written, or how many conferences you’re invited to speak at. Success in ministry looks like this: a love of Christ, long-term faithfulness, brokenness, a humility that promotes and serves others rather than self, a passionate loyalty to Scripture, a servant’s heart. A truly successful ministry seeks to reproduce that attitude in others—even if it winds up being just one or two others. It’s not a success susceptible to elaborate formulas or methodologies.

This kind of success won’t produce “the fastest growing church in the state.” No one will write an article about you. No one will be calling you to consult your opinion on the news. On the other hand, guard your heart, because this kind of success won’t nourish a heart that frets about those things, either.

We can (and should) learn to do what we do, better. We need to continue sharpening the axe with training, education, reading. We need to think creatively about ministry. But at the end of the day, God and God alone gives the increase.

Ain’t no such thing as lucky socks.