The Person in front of me

I love being a dad. Not because of the role but because I love Being Obi's dad and wesley and the rest. I also love being a pastor. What a privilege each of those vocations are.

We generally think about these as roles that come with general responsibilities and jobs. Providing and guiding, listening and supporting, reaching and teaching, connecting and caring.

But the more I try to do these jobs well, the more I realize they are not really jobs.

My role as Dad is shaped completely by the ones who call me by that name. The responsibility is not to be a figure or fill roles and responsibilities—at least not primarily. I’m first a person in the lives of each of my kids, and all ten of them have a different view and relationship with me.

I’m more Audrey’s “Dad” and Victoria’s “Daddy” than I am a dad.

No one has ever become a famous dad or public-figure dad without being known for who their kids are, because the very nature of fatherhood is relationship first. The role is dependent on the relationship.

I’m only a good dad when I’m supporting, caring for, and connecting well with my children. I’m not a bad dad if my family isn’t as big as someone else's or I’m not famous for fathering. That would be silly, wouldn’t it, if every dad measured his success that way?

How Do We Measure Significance?

It’s funny how our culture has such a fascination with celebrity, being publicly known, and success by numbers. Actors and athletes don’t just aspire to perform well. The best want to dominate, break records, hold multiple titles.

And still: What satisfies?

I think I’ve been treating father like a relational role and pastor a little more like a title.

But Jesus didn’t do that.

Pastor has been turned into a title like actor or athlete. When the Lord called me into this role, He didn’t use the word pastor or shepherd. He said, “Love my church and preach the gospel.”

Pastor is simply the borrowed Latin word for the English word shepherd. I’m not sure why the church decided we needed to distinguish pastor from shepherd. In Spanish, shepherd is pastor and pastor is—you guessed it—pastor.

Words have power.

We have inadvertently made pastor into a role over a relationship: someone who preaches and runs a “church.” But the church is not a building and an organization with ministries. It is a gathering of the body of Christ, a flock.

We certainly know this, but listen to the way we talk about church. It’s easy to say, “I’m going to the church,” even when no one else will be there. Or, “We’re fixing the roof on the church.” Or, “That’s a nice church.” Rather than thinking of individuals, we’re thinking about a building, an organization, and worship services—things that are related to people but distanced from face-to-face connection with actual people.

This hurts the body of Christ because we can begin to see pastors as people in charge of ministries, facilities, and jobs rather than as people God has brought into our lives to shepherd us.

Jesus Redefined the Title

This isn’t a modern problem.

The disciples had their own idea about the title “Messiah”—the Chosen One. From the questions they asked, it sometimes seemed like they were saying, “When are you going to be the Messiah?”

To them, Messiah would sit on a throne, be in charge of the nation, have jobs and responsibilities.

Jesus redefined the role for them by saying the Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve.

He was Messiah in the manger. He was Messiah as teacher and miracle worker. And He was just as much Messiah on the cross.

On the cross, I’m sure many disappointedly thought, “Oh, I guess He’s not the Messiah.”

But Jesus revealed what Messiah actually meant.

He came to relate that way not just with all of humanity but with each person He ministered to.

Bartimaeus. The Samaritan woman. The woman with the issue of blood. Mary washing His feet. The woman caught in adultery. The Roman centurion.

Jesus didn’t let His title define how He treated those people. The way He treated people defined His title.

Now we think of Jesus’ time on earth as Messiah like a shepherd sacrificially seeking to save the lost sheep.

Of course there is more to it—but it’s not less.

Success or Service?

I’m not just reflecting on fatherhood and ministry today. I’m thinking about how our fallen flesh is so easily tempted to turn our purpose into a job title.

We depersonalize our vocation.

Maybe we do that because we’re tempted to be personally elevated rather than do everything for the glory of our heavenly Father.

Jesus, as always, is our constant example. He revealed the clearest living image of God’s love that we will know in this life, and He did it without holding any worldly office, title, or platform.

You could count Peter’s boat and the cross as platforms—ones that no other leaders wanted.

What if we don’t need to be given titles, jobs, or recognition by people in order to be great?

Maybe the least really are the greatest.

Maybe influence could have a more descriptive definition: tying shoes, sharing a meal, listening, encouragement, sacrifice for a friend.

Dad: a person serving his kids.

Pastor: a person serving the church.

Construction worker: a person working alongside others, bringing glory to the Shepherd through his work and recognizing that Jesus is there even when no one else is.

Maybe all of our roles are about people, not tasks or things.

I think about Jesus words. The greatest is the least. The first is last and the last first. The greatest among you is the servant. Love one another.

Maybe I’ve been measuring significance by success, when Jesus measures it by service.

The Person in Front of Me

That changes something practical for me.

I’m being invited to reorder my time and priorities around directly serving people—and doing things that indirectly serve them—rather than accomplishing ministry and building the “church apparatus.”

Instead of asking, What can I do to help Lighthouse Church have more influence? or How can we make Lighthouse more attractive? I want to ask:

What can I do that helps people experience Jesus’ love?

When a person is in front of me, I need to take more time to understand what they need.

Maybe it's not a problem they have that needs solving or a task that needs accomplishing.

Likely they need friendship. Encouragement. A trustworthy person.

Maybe those things are more important.

With someone at church, maybe I need to take more time to listen and get curious enough to know them better—to listen to what their heart is saying.

 

It’s probably the same with my kids. With kids, you have to make significant time for them before they open up. Fatherhood cannot be accomplished efficiently.

Neither can shepherding. Neither can _________ . 

What would it look like if we all did this?

Heidi Baker calls this practice of serving Jesus “stopping for the one.”

Jesus stopped.

So perhaps the question that orders my day isn’t, What do I need to accomplish today?

It’s much more personal:

Who can I help Jesus serve today?